Welcome to Godard 101, an unofficial and unaffiliated online undergraduate seminar where Ben and I take on the great man and his works, doing our best to understand how Jean-Luc got from there to here. First up, Ben and I took a look at Breathless, the film that, along with Francois Truffault's 400 Blows, blew the roof off the joint back in 1960, kicking off the Nouvelle Vague and recreating cinema. Pretty heady shit. Then, we reviewed A Woman is a Woman, which you can find here. This was followed with an examination ofTo Live Her Life, Contempt, The Little Soldier and Band of Outsiders. Most recently, we looked at Alphaville and I did a solo turn with A Married Woman and The Riflemen. Now, Ben is back in the saddle, and so we ride off together into the sunset after checking out Godard's followup to Alphaville...
Pierrot le Fou/Crazy Pete (France, 1965, Godard)
Ben Begins:
By 1965, Pierre le Fou (Crazy Pete) would not be best described as the apogee of Jean-Luc Godard's work in film (I consider Alphaville, Band of Outsiders and Vivre Sa Vie superior movies), but it must be recognized as a culmination of sorts. This will be welcomed with relief by some, and disgruntlement by others. Imagine that you had been waiting for months for one of your favourite musical artists to release a new record, only to find out that what they've released isn't a collection of new songs, but a greatest hits record. To be sure, there are a couple of bonus tracks of previously unreleased material, and they are pretty good. But there's is much about Pierrot that just feels a bit too...familiar.
At the centre of this story, or what there is of one, are Marianne (Karina) and Ferdinand (Belmondo), two one-time lovers who meet again after five years apart and start up where they left off. What that means for Ferdinand is abandoning his bland middle class life, including a wife and the requisite two children, for a bohemian life on the run. And they are on the run because there is a dead man in Marianne's apartment that neither she nor Ferdinand seem too concerned about. In a move typical of so many of Godard's film's, Crazy Pete's heroes race through their cinematic world, but never seem to get anywhere. You can't even complain that they are agents of the plot, for there is so little of that. Ultimately, Ferdinand and Marianne are agents of Godard's cinematic whimsy.
Structurally, the film adopts the form of a picaresque, or a particularly wobbly interpretation of a picaresque, one where Godard's loose-limbed conception of a narrative has scenes bump up against each other that often have only the vaguest of connections to one another. This is one of the film's most appealing qualities, as Godard's command of juxtaposition, as well as his willingness to shift tone on a dime, often adds a strong element of surrealism to the proceedings. And while Godard is not quite up to Bunuel-ian standards, as his surrealism lacks the Spaniard's sharp edge and keen sense of target, it nonetheless keeps the audience off kilter, and contributes to the film's kinetic energy and irreverent tone. Further, Karina and Belmondo are boffo here. There is a potent chemistry between these two actors, and their commitment to this material and each other is clear and enchanting. The sing, laugh, play, fight and dance their way through the film with a level of charm and easy grace that matches Godard's tone and scheme well.
Now, going back and reading your review, Ben, I see that we share a similar reaction to the film. I particularly like how you describe the film's action as being "comic book, albeit with pages torn and even missing." I think this fits as a description of much of the film, not just the action. The overall look of the piece, from the colour palette, to the costume design, the settings, the pacing, all have that comic book feel. Even some of the mis-en-scene, such as the art hanging on the walls (a de rigueur move in a Godard film) has a comic book feel. And lastly, the narrative definitely has a comic book feel to it (with pages missing that would connect some of the dots for the more conventionally minded in the audience) full of twists and turns, backstabbing (literal and metaphorical, as well as double (and triple) crosses. Easy to see why this film appeals so much to QT, whose comic book sensibilities are pretty transparent in his own (highly entertaining) films. The key difference is, Tarantino does not have an intellectual's aspirations, so we do not expect more than we get from one of his film's.
Then Ben:
Pierrot le Fou/Crazy Pete (France, 1965, Godard)
Ben Begins:
Messed up. Was supposed to see Alphaville before this. Honest mistake or Freudian defense mechanism? Hardly matters because Alphaville will definitely be next. And it hardly matters because I've missed from 1963 not just The Little Soldier (ed. note: we took care of that one) but also The Riflemen, another work to deal with war directly; to say nothing of A Married Woman: Fragments of a Film Shot in 1964 in Black and White, from... ugh... 1964, (apparently it was shot in b/w, and, by the way, in fragments.) Clearly, I am obsessing. But it really hardly matters because I believe I have seen enough already to start forming a term paper thesis for GODARD 101.
Many years ago I asked my brother about a certain jazz guitar player. He acknowledged a number of excellent things about the player but in conclusion judged his music to be too much about the specifics of the guitar itself and therefore not enough about the essentials of jazz. I feel this way about Godard. He's too much about the potential of film as a medium and not enough about the meaning of life. This objection is meant to go deeper than the ideologically loaded phrase "bourgeois formalism" that I prejudicially brought to GODARD 101 at the outset. And it is meant to go deeper than criticizing the artist for confusing technique-for-technique's-
As delightfully whimsical as most of A Woman is a Womanis, as downright charming as some parts of Band of Outsiders are, as sincerely good humoured as all the films are at certain points - Godard's socio-philosophic disposition is decidedly dark, menacing even. He is entitled to this, of course. But what is beginning to grate on me is his unwillingness/inability to face this directly and deal with it. Hence, my materialist antena picked up a suspect signal from the get-go with respect to his handling of violence and he has consistently subjected it to the most far-fetched and phoney treatments; the action in Crazy Pete being the sort from a comic book, albeit with pages torn and even missing.
Burrowing now to even lower depths of the problem, I've seen six of his films and in all of them without exception, intimate personal relationships that purport to be loving are revealed to be dubious bonds that collapse under the weight of estrangement, deceit and betrayal. Sometimes this is given a comedic spin but even more is a sinister undertow, a sense of dread, perpetual pessimissim. The characters continually doubt themselves and each other, lacking confidence in both their common sense and their ability to discern fact from fiction, right from wrong; not that they generally spend too much time worrying about the latter, ethics are ambivalent with Godard, to say the least.
Now, as I've already indicated, he is allowed to be negative; to posit the universe as ultimately untrustworthy and people as ultimately self-destructive due to inculcated distrust. But I have come to the conclusion that his artistic expression is evasive. Rather than confront the grim reality he is presumably experiencing, he engages in aesthetic tactics that are - I'm going to say it - escapist. He takes flight in the artifice of film as such, building up concentric rings of cinematic citations that relinquish the responsibility of returning to a referent. In other words, it's what will soon enough be called postmodernism.
I liked Crazy Pete a lot. I couldn't take my eyes off it. And I was completely captivated by the chemistry of the actors as well as the wild ride of the story. By now I've figured out that there's b/w Godard down-and-dirty and there's Godard colour-totally-too-much-
Although it is in Band of Outsiders that a tiger incongruously turns up in the middle of Paris, Crazy Petebrings out and waves THE flag of cinematic surrealism - verily, the word "surreal" is spoken in the dialogue and parts of Crazy Pete almost beg to be called Felliniesque - yup, a midget. Well, can't tell if the actor is actually a dwarf, could be a kid with a false moustache. Whatever, a midget. With a machine gun, no less. Does him no good though. Ends up dead in a pool of obviously bogus stage blood, pair of scissors plunged into his neck. And there's lots more besides. Bafflingly beautiful lights reflecting off of the windshield of a moving car at night, a cocktail party perversly documented by way of a kind of negative magic realism, a car wreck laid out in a Madame Tussaud tableau, fireworks, vehicles aflame, trains rushing by...
What for? When do I get to care? I said I liked it alot and I meant it. But what's it all about Alfie? I mentioned Hitchcock way back at Breathless, but that will no longer do if it ever did. Hitch would kill his own mother to make the plot function as a steel trap of suspense. Godard could give a damn. The stakes are not high enough for his characters, Hell, there are no stakes. Shit happens folks. Including, in the case of Crazy Pete, him killing her and then himself. The End. Watch it all happen in brilliantly perplexing ways. And of course, they get to say and do some ultra hip, darn smart and occasionally shocking things along the way.
Indeed, shock value is big part of the project. In Contempt, Bardot's character is goaded by her partner into speaking a list of profanities, including the word "cunt." In 1963! InCrazy Pete, the protagonists do a bit of theatrical busking for a tourist group of American military men on shore leave. They perform a little play in which the US army man attacks the Vietnamese woman, played with near-Nazi ferocity and over-the-top racism respectively. The Yankie sailors applaud with approval. Where to begin? Not just bizarre and rude, it's shocking. In 1965!
My point is that Godard - in 1965, I can't wait for '68 - seems to think shock and critique are the same thing. Crazy Peteis geopolitically topical. One of the characters is connected to an arms merchant and she makes cursory comments about military conflicts in Angola and Yemen. There is talk of the cold war in terms of the space race to colonize the moon. And in addition to the aforementioned, there are ongoing refererences to the war in Vietnam. The film is seriously tuned in to the contemporary situation.
To what end? About what are we supposed to care? One more time: I liked Crazy Pete alot. But I am losing my patience. Just when I go so far as to say about Band of Outsiders that Godard has grown up, Crazy Pete makes me think that I am still being stylistically shocked by the fast and flashy moves of L'enfant terrible. It's counter-culture alright. But the limits are in sight. In the meantime, I am waiting to see if the director will make at least one film without including a moment of voice-over narration, with ersatz explanatory value, just a narcissistic pretense allowing Godard to literally read himself into the movie. Hummnn... maybe that comparison with Hitchcock ain't so off the mark.
And Dan:
Ben, I'm going to write my review, then read yours, and if I have any comment to make on your insights, I'll do so at the end of my review.
Here goes.
By 1965, Pierre le Fou (Crazy Pete) would not be best described as the apogee of Jean-Luc Godard's work in film (I consider Alphaville, Band of Outsiders and Vivre Sa Vie superior movies), but it must be recognized as a culmination of sorts. This will be welcomed with relief by some, and disgruntlement by others. Imagine that you had been waiting for months for one of your favourite musical artists to release a new record, only to find out that what they've released isn't a collection of new songs, but a greatest hits record. To be sure, there are a couple of bonus tracks of previously unreleased material, and they are pretty good. But there's is much about Pierrot that just feels a bit too...familiar. Consequently, Pierrot's familiarity may breed a little contempt, as one could be excused for wondering if Godard is a significantly different filmmaker from the man who made Breathless five years before. The film is a self conscious mash up of every movie genre that Godard loves, of every movie he has made, of all the artistic references (music, painting, literature) that have influenced or affected him. Godard rakes the coals of his previous films to give a virtuoso performance in self-reference. So much of what we see here is familiar, and I'm not just talking about Godard's leads, Anna Karina and Jean-Paul Belmondo. It's all here, whether your fancy turns to the breakdown of the fourth wall or peculiar and amusing musical interludes, an elliptical plot centred on beautiful young lovers on the run or inter-titles that are alternatively thought-provoking or head scratching.
At the centre of this story, or what there is of one, are Marianne (Karina) and Ferdinand (Belmondo), two one-time lovers who meet again after five years apart and start up where they left off. What that means for Ferdinand is abandoning his bland middle class life, including a wife and the requisite two children, for a bohemian life on the run. And they are on the run because there is a dead man in Marianne's apartment that neither she nor Ferdinand seem too concerned about. In a move typical of so many of Godard's film's, Crazy Pete's heroes race through their cinematic world, but never seem to get anywhere. You can't even complain that they are agents of the plot, for there is so little of that. Ultimately, Ferdinand and Marianne are agents of Godard's cinematic whimsy. 
Structurally, the film adopts the form of a picaresque, or a particularly wobbly interpretation of a picaresque, one where Godard's loose-limbed conception of a narrative has scenes bump up against each other that often have only the vaguest of connections to one another. This is one of the film's most appealing qualities, as Godard's command of juxtaposition, as well as his willingness to shift tone on a dime, often adds a strong element of surrealism to the proceedings. And while Godard is not quite up to Bunuel-ian standards, as his surrealism lacks the Spaniard's sharp edge and keen sense of target, it nonetheless keeps the audience off kilter, and contributes to the film's kinetic energy and irreverent tone. Further, Karina and Belmondo are boffo here. There is a potent chemistry between these two actors, and their commitment to this material and each other is clear and enchanting. The sing, laugh, play, fight and dance their way through the film with a level of charm and easy grace that matches Godard's tone and scheme well. Otherwise, the key concern in the film seems to be a simmering battle of the sexes between the leads, set against some pertinent and pressing contemporary social issues (the Algerian and Vietnam wars being primary among them) as the fugitive lovers wend their way across some picturesque and beautifully photographed French country- and sea-side. The film's only concession to any sort of substance comes from the personal conflicts, as Ferdinand is more artistically and intellectually inclined ("literature before song!"), while Marianne is a more impulsive and sensual beast, dancing her way towards oblivion and breaking into song at the most peculiar times. As for the film's socio-political backdrop, there are Algerian gun runners, and the Vietnam War does make repeated appearances in a variety of media, including a scalding "improvisational" theatrical piece starring Marianne (in yellow face) and Ferdinand (the obnoxious American), but, the theatrical attack notwithstanding, Godard does not deem these matters worth much more than passing mention.
Now there is little doubt that by this point in his career, Godard has command of the tools of his trade. Nearly every frame of this film is an audio-visual treat; clearly, the dude knows how to talk, cinematically speaking. However, after viewing Pierrot, which appears between the delightful Band of Outsiders and the sinister and dystopic Alphaville, the question remains: What is Godard trying to say? He toys with ideas and has a giddy time mocking and yet adoring his favourite genres and cultural icons, points a crooked finger at the goings-on in Vietnam....and yet, what is one to make of it? The tune is gorgeous, but the words are, as of yet, if not indecipherable, at least muddled and lacking focus.
And while the director's considerable skills make the film an awful lot of fun to watch (particularly for his acolytes) Godard's inability to engage his material at a more human level prevents this film (and many of his works) from being more than clever and pretty, hip and droll. Now, if that is as high as you aim (say, if your name starts with a Quentin and ends with a Tarantino) then there are no problems here. It seems, however, that Godard sees himself as something more than a po-mo hipster, and something more of a cine-philosopher. And as such, he owes it to us to be considerably less cagey about what he really believes in. And coming on the heels of Alphaville, a film that hinted at an Orwellian sort of intellectual engagement with his material, and embraces a decidedly un-hip reverence for love as the ultimate socio-political political agent, Pierrot's undeniably highly entertaining energy but ultimately slick post modernism, and it's glib rejection of any sort of hopefulness, rings a little hollow.
Now, going back and reading your review, Ben, I see that we share a similar reaction to the film. I particularly like how you describe the film's action as being "comic book, albeit with pages torn and even missing." I think this fits as a description of much of the film, not just the action. The overall look of the piece, from the colour palette, to the costume design, the settings, the pacing, all have that comic book feel. Even some of the mis-en-scene, such as the art hanging on the walls (a de rigueur move in a Godard film) has a comic book feel. And lastly, the narrative definitely has a comic book feel to it (with pages missing that would connect some of the dots for the more conventionally minded in the audience) full of twists and turns, backstabbing (literal and metaphorical, as well as double (and triple) crosses. Easy to see why this film appeals so much to QT, whose comic book sensibilities are pretty transparent in his own (highly entertaining) films. The key difference is, Tarantino does not have an intellectual's aspirations, so we do not expect more than we get from one of his film's. Then Ben:
In regard to those pages Godard ripped out of the comic book of this film, we appear to be on the same one of them. You watched Crazy Pete in chronological order; i.e., after Alphaville. Hence, you were in a position to view Crazy Pete as something of a step backward for the film-maker. I mistakenly watched Crazy Pete before Alphaville. Hence, in my review of the later I apologized to Godard for accusing him of escapism in the former. Yet that criticism still stands.
Perhaps the key scene to substantiate this criticism is the torture scene in Crazy Pete. Having now looked at The Little Soldier, I can see that the torture scene in that film is the direct referent for the one in Crazy Pete. Beyond a direct referent really, it's a recapitulation. I believe it was Marx (in The 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte) who said that history repeats itself - the first time as tragedy... the second time as farce. In The Little Soldier, Godard attempted to repeat history with art; that is, realistically show something of the tragedy of the Algerian struggle. In Crazy Pete, he resorts to farce, full-stop.
And I use the term "farce" not just to be consistent with my Marx quotation. Crazy Pete must be counted among Godard's comedies. It is certainly the most puckish piece since A Woman is a Woman. It might not seem this way considering the fun-loving and even upbeat moments in Band of Outsiders. It also might not seem this way considering how unpleasantly odd Crazy Pete tends to be, even when it is at its most sensual and attractive. But in my estimation, the film is a running joke, a series of gags rather malevolent, but nonetheless ironic through and through.
This is the crossroads for Godard. I think you are correct to feel that Crazy Pete is a culmination of sorts for him. It's not that he will lose his sense of humor as he becomes more overtly political. Not conforming to the cliche about strident radicals, Week End is no less ironic than Crazy Pete. But the irony ceases to be the sign of escapist entertainment and becomes instead a satirical weapon for engaged critique.
You mention Tarantino in order to make a negative point and I hear you. I want to make the same negative point, this time by name-dropping David Lynch. You are spot on in labelling the surrealism of Crazy Pete not up to Bunuel (at his best) for lacking "the Spaniard's sharp edge and keen sense of target" and the moody, sometimes quirky, sometimes nasty surrealism of Lynch is the escapist entertainment footnote made safe for Hollywood. More substantively, the scene in Crazy Pete I called "a cocktail party perversly documented by way of a kind of negative magic realism," this made me flash on the mumified sex club in Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut.
Speaking of whom, we've observed a number of times already in GODARD 101 that both directors are intellectuals who do not excel at portraying the wetness of violent wounds and sexual orifices. So I am pleased to hear you say that you found the chemistry between the two leads in Crazy Pete potent. Pleased for you, that is. I didn't pick up the scent. Sure, they are sexy enough. I agree with you that the actors are having a hoot, flirting like mad. But the coldness that chills the film as a whole made their relationship for me just another exercise in role playing, of role playng, of role playing; a hall of mirrors with no heat.
Yet, I must repeat, I liked Crazy Pete. I liked it alot. It is bloody entertaining. And Godard is the first to admit in it that it is escapist... which, dialectically enough, makes it that much less escapist. Point being, he knew he was on the verge of something else.
Voici le zany trailer pour Pierre le Fou:
