Akin to seeing a painting by being shown each brush stroke individually as they appear then dissappear on the canvas. There is no obvious order here but a few hours in an idea starts to coalesce in your head; how much of it is memory and how much is imagination, your thoughts wandering off, is impossible to know but it embeds. Chaos/connection, conspiracy/collective, didactic/synonymous, masterpiece/prank.
As an uber-postmodern film text, Out 1 basically necessitates the existence of the hyperlink. Its obsession with doubles is facilitated by its own oscillating nature, with its dueling figures pushing further away and being drawn back together. It's in love with the act of creation, interpretation, investigation - a call for engagement with art, life and people that can lead to enlightenment, dead ends or death.
It treats Paris and life like this mystery of conspiracies that may only be imagined, and artistic groups and friendships as fragile and shifting webs of connections that can also be abruptly interrupted by the lives or plots of others. It's long (obviously) but after I saw it all I definitely felt like without all the time it wouldn't be what it is
So, nearly 99% of all the people who watched this will now proclaim me an idiot and ask the most obvious Qs: “Have you even watched it cripple-minded dumbass?" and stuff like that. Well, I withstood it. Now I'm sitting in my chair, which is soon about to form some sort of cavity in form of my butt, and I think to myself "I won! My eyes hurt and I’m significantly fatter, but I won!" In other words, this movie is shit.
Possibly the greatest film i've ever seen on big screen (with Godard's Éloge de l'amour). I wanna thanks the cinematheque of Montreal for their courageous and worthy effort for the projection of this wonderful digital restored copy of this once called « holy grail masterpiece ». This film need to be seen in big screen only to feel more « la durée », the performances and brilliant camera works. Rivette was the illest.
Certainly the most demanding film I've ever seen, and large stretches veer between tantalizing and irrelevant—but have faith, it's going somewhere. Combining Feuillade's serials with a May 1968 hangover, it's about nothing less than the desire to be part of something deeper than mere mundane reality. Maybe a group exists, a secret faction operating under society's radar? Is that paranoia? Or is it a happy fantasy?
97/100 - Ultimately the film is rather simple: two theater groups perform Aeschylus, some were once members of a semi-secret group of intellectual idealists, and a seemingly crazy boy with bizarre ideas and actions forces them to reconnect. This occurs over 13 protracted hours, wherein the wait, the confusion, and the will to solve the puzzle becomes part of one’s... Read full review here: bit.ly/1PJc7Lu
Art as heroic undertaking. Undertaken by the excluded, the denuded, and the deluded. That Out 1 is still w/ us, reverberating into our now, leaving paranoid traces in the cities we navigate and into the machinery of which we will never be initiated, speaks to the power of art on the margins (on the outs) to pollute the world in a way that will continue to rescue some of us from barren days varying shades of bleak.
My thumbnail thought as the credits rolled on the final episode was, "Jorge Luis Borges, meet John Cassavetes and the melancholy ghosts of the New Wave and May '68." Almost too rich to bear; one of the most challenging and most rewarding of cinematic chances taken.
Yoga and cigarettes. Antoine Doinel is still obsessed with Balzac, but this time, instead of starting a fire, he infiltrates a secret society of chain-smoking thespians. Like my own life, this is full of offbeat histrionics and mystery. And Rivette did the backwards-talking thing 21 years before David Lynch.