Far removed from Godard's onslaught of references, Rivette uses allusions as a means of creating a space where these young individuals can find some comfort amongst kindred spirits. Instead, akin to Bergman's exploration of an inexplainable terror due to the threat of nuclear annihilation, they are also consumed by a fear so debilitating that neither these spaces nor the liberated streets of Paris can free them.
It is more a love poem to Paris than a coherent story and for the most part, a confusing bore. But I loved its cold unemotional characters (very characteristic of the French New Wave), the beautiful camera pans and spatial composition, the boldness in making a political film this vague, and the tap tapping of Anne's heels on the pavement as she runs to Gerard's apartment under the most extraordinary circumstances.
Rivette's city-rambling open-ended film (not unlike the porous metropolis it appropriates) adds on semantic overtones enabled by our current plight as it hints at a poisoned gift passed on to closest people. An arcane piece of knowledge, elusive & contagious, fraught legacy of trust & friendship that forges sect-like ties to a mysterious common ailment, the frailty herein oddly recalls Jarman's last years @Dungeness.
há uma obstinação de rivette em fazer com que os objetos expandam o campo cênico, porque para ele não bastam as teorias conspiratórias ou a atuação dos atores, mas os próprios objetos têm de saírem do campo cartesiano e se imporem como atrativos dignos de nota.
Certainly an autuerist production, through and through. Its ambiguity works in its favor for the most part, creating an atmosphere which is both disturbing and compelling. Not the most immediate film experience and it will certainly be too diffuse for some people, while others just might love it.
Of the many later Rivettes anticipated by this early land-grab, Paris Belongs to Us, albeit conventional by comparison, felt to me (and it's just a feeling, unfocused by any analysis) most like Le Pont du Nord. Multivalent mazes that double as their own maps, both films are strangely gripping, spellbinding even, while also evincing elements of deep play; as, I suppose, any serious mystery must. A many-marveled debut.
Paris belongs to us. Paris belongs to no one. Should seem obvious at this point that you don't get to discuss youth and radicality in the 60s without discussing serious attempts to establish new groups and new psychosocial formations in relation to groups. Rivette was really the only great filmmaker of the groupuscule until Godard came along w/ La Chinoise. No other new wave director began nearly as socially radical.