Documenteur

Out of the few films that I've seen from the iconic French New Wave director Agnes Varda, "Documenteur" is probably the one that I found to be her greatest accomplishment. There's something about it's strange, cold atmosphere that really stuck with me, and the film is so well made that I'm surprised how little people ever discuss it. If it were a bit more popular, I bet "Documenteur" would be analyzed countless times and get as much praise as more well known Varda films (like "Cleo from 5 to 7")

The film mixes a realistic documentary-like style with a strange, borderline surreal atmosphere, creating a bizarre and experimental treat that made me feel oddly moved and, in one way or the other, kind of uncomfortable. It basically tells the story of a woman and her son living in Los Angeles, and that's really it. But it is made in such a way that it feels like its actually something much more than that. It is a film that is about emotions as much as it is about a mother son relationship.

It's also very well made, from the lovely camera movements, various experimental editing techniques, and brilliant use of voice-over, it truly is a mystical experience.

My review was written in October 1981 after a screening at the New York Film Festival: Reversing the normal procedure, Agnes Varda has made a fictional feature: "Documenteur, an Emotion Picture" to accompany her docu study of Los Angeles wall murals titled "Mur Murs". Standing alone as a picture in its own right, "Documenteur" is an unusually sombre, muted piece with enough audience-alienating effects to limit its commercial potential to Varda devotees. Programming in tandem with "Mur Murs" seems advisable.

Spare narrative involves a French woman (Sabine Mamour) living in L. A. with her son (Mathieu Demy -Varda's own child), suffering from loneliness since her man has split. With much voice-over narration of a poetic, word association type, her moods are expressed, accompanied by well-chosen minimalist shots of the city and beach plus montages of blank, lonely faces. Though her life is viewed as a series of pointless repetitions, glum film offers some hope in her loving relationship with her young son.

Varda has a great eye for composition, with remarkably bleak but arresting shots of the beach where the woman works as a typist for an absent filmmaker. Shots of wall murals are kept at a minimum, with lead moving amongst blank walls in her daily life.

Desaturated Fujicolor visuals (with a distinct bluish cast) set the film's tone, but pic is hampered by extremely poor post-synched sound, rarely even matched to the thesps' articulation (though several scenes are presented with direct sound). Acting under the circumstances ranges from flat to awkward.

Frenchwoman Emilie (Sabine Mamou) struggles to pull her life together in L. A. She left her partner and has to find a place for her and her young son. This is a French film located in America. It's done in a documentary style. It's a slice of her life but it's not really hooking me in. It's interesting but not really.

I see where the reviews below are almost equally divided between Varda lovers and haters. So let me perversely fall somewhere in the middle with perhaps a slight predilection toward the adoration side of the spectrum.

God knows the haters' case is easy to make. Exhibit A is the bad acting from the subsidiary members of the cast. I mean the gal who plays the waitress friend of the mom and the guy who plays her ex are so stiff and without nuance in their line deliveries it is almost as if Varda directed them to be crappy. And exhibit B is that pseudo profound narration by the mom which Varda wisely soft peddles about halfway through, as if she realizes it's boring as hell to listen to.

But, hey, I lived in pre gentrified Venice at about the time this thing was made and it really took me back, so I'm pre disposed to like it. And as lousy as the co stars were the two leads, played by Varda's kid Matthieu Demy and especially Sabine Mamou, were excellent. And finally, and most importantly, I was taken by the film's understated, but stronger for that, message of indomitability in the face of adversity. Quite a stark contrast with the working single mom protagionist of "Jeanne Dielman", directed by the current darling of the avant garde, Chantal Akerman, whose instinct, first last and always, is to give up.

Give it a B minus.

"Me, that's all I see - faces. They seem real, more real than what's conveyed by words."

"The ocean washes from the sand the footprints of parted lovers."

"This pain can't last. I'll wake up soon and then, like before, I'll do all those things, and it will simply be my life. Simply my life."

"Now I don't need to live with him anymore. He knows, wherever he is, that I'm crazy about him. I love him. Wherever he is, I'm crazy about him."

"Desire, you brought me to the shores of rapture. I drift away. I want the shore."

"I like it when we're sad, and then we say we'll go outside and dance. Don't you?"

...

There is such a loving look at humanity in all of the simple downtrodden faces we see here, as well as in the relationship between this newly divorced mom and her son, that it melted my heart. Despite the film's simplicity, or perhaps because of it, Agnès Varda had me in the palm of her hand from beginning to end. Her gentle wordplay in the narration managed to touch on the simple aspects of the human condition that we don't often think about, and her imagery of common life and the ocean's waves continuing to roll in unperturbed by it all felt profound. The intense ache of separation from a loved one is rendered hauntingly, and yet with incredible restraint. Meanwhile, Sabine Mamou is fantastic as the mother, and if you have any doubt about that, just watch the emotions on her face when she tells a friend of her breakup over the phone. I loved the little bits from 'Mur Mur' and the female perspective of the memories of sex as well. Just a wonderful, touching little film, and a snapshot of an emotional time for both Varda and her character.