This is a direct, unflinching yet somehow otherworldly piece of cinema. To describe it as anything other than a filmic experience would take away from its power and Bresson's vision; it's like watching life unfold before your eyes. Everything is stripped back to its very core: acting, motions, noises, emotion. We are left with the cruelty of human nature right in front of us.
Bresson is a poet, writes poetry about hands and the finger movements. All hands and fingers move carefully with emotions and are followed with care and precise by camera. He makes movies about young generation stocked in a stubborn distant prejudice society which is filled with limited thoughts of religion and family stereotypic features. Applause for Bresson’s enormously Avantgarde method of thinking.
There are few stories sadder than Mouchette's. I'm a big fan of Bresson's minimal, broken down style of film making. Technically speaking, Mouchette lives up to it. However, I think there may have been a bit too much going on plot-wise for me. Also, I think Nortier was only right for the part by default as her nature seems to be a heavy air of indifference.
In line with a Christianized 'redemption' of De Sade, Bresson's film opens with a brilliant credit sequence of 'displacements' where 'emptiness' (the vacant chair in the shot) becomes a rich signifier of cinema's own gaze on 'dying'. Mouchette's plight aligns with the cinematic redemption of objects, purified by Bresson's lens, which offers the greatest, maybe, incarnation of the monism of matter and spirit on film.