Friday Night

The traffic jam sequence alone stands as an amazing and lyrical study of the rhythms of stop and start driving. The two lovers are so anchored in the magnetism of the present. This movie is a homage to human nature, and sexual attraction consummated. Also, I absolutely love that the film accepts and cherishes the moment as the lovers do. It's very French.

This was a damn good movie. Very different, the closest movie that comes to the feel and over all effect is The Loss of Sexual Innocence. Movies such as this catch many off guard because they don't follow the de facto movie format. Meaning, an event happens, people react to said event, drama, conclusion, resolution.

This movie takes a totally different approach, and that's what makes it shine. This movie defies being labeled as a movie altogether. People say this movie is boring, that nothing happens, there are almost no words. They'd be right, there is no real drama, conclusion, resolution. I don't believe that's what this movie is even about.

From the opening moments of the Paris rooftops I knew I was in for something special. The long shots, the turning off of lights, the gazes at the Paris skyline. This was a visual feast with poetic credentials, and I expected as much.

Folks, this movie was not about Jean and Laure. I believe thats where all the critical flack stems from. This movie isn't about a brief encounter that is over by sunrise. The plot that you all speak of, that's secondary.

The movie tends to focus on their surroundings more so then them. A cluttered car, a heater, traffic, boxes. A best example of this is their skin, during the sex scenes there are close ups of their skin rather then showing them making love. As if the plot, in this case, making love, is secondary to the poetic element of the story.

In any given event, the surroundings are just as important as the story itself. This movie displays that perfectly. That is the purpose of this movie, that is it's beauty, that is what it is about.

If this movie is about the surroundings rather then a plot or story, then what would be the purpose of showing rooftops, skin, lamps, boxes? Because is it life, and it is poetic and beautiful. What is the purpose of a rose? Why take a picture of it, or give it to someone? A rose simply is, this movie simply is. The nuances of life deserve appreciation and this movie pays homage to that fact. That is what this movie is about.

It is life, it is the beauty of everything around you.

Claire Denis uses close-ups better than anybody since Sergio Leone. Agnes Godard is amazing. A Denis film almost always has a human warmth few other filmmakers achieve with their films, even if it's their intention to do so. All these qualities are present in "Vendredi soir", yet I felt it was significantly weaker than the three Denis films I had already seen: "Chocolat", "Nenette et Boni", and "Trouble Every Day". It's not that the film is 'slight' or that it doesn't have much narrative drive that bothered me, either, but that it never took on the sort of gravity I thought it should have. Moreover, the film falls apart toward the end, when it should have come together. The opening stages of the film, with Godard's camera taking us through Paris were absolutely gorgeous, the first few scenes after the two main characters meet were great, especially the brilliant impressionistic montage after Jean unexpectedly takes over driving Laure's car (accompanied by a Hitchcockian musical score), but when they actually get together and have sex the film just falls apart. Here's a film which is technically brilliant (direction, cinematography, acting, Dickon Hinchliffe's great debut score), formally interesting, but which just doesn't have enough in it to justify even its short length.

This film resists all that is wrong with blockbuster cinema, totally refusing to offer straight-forward, passivity-inducing narrative structures. It is one of the most book-like films you are likely to see, taking its time to develop the central characters in manner that leaves them open to determination by the audience's imagination. It is an erotic film that has no climax. It is a film that engages in life rather than distracts us from it.

This is an immensely subtle film that uses a broad range of cinematic techniques so you should definitely see it on a big screen. In fact, I wouldn't even bother seeing it on TV, so diminished would its impact be.

Claire Denis' films may look slick to the jaundiced American audiences, since many fashion and advertising makers employ devices that create Denis-esque effects. Beau Travail was unfortunately evocative of Bruce Webers' damp pretty man ad campaigns and books, yet the power of the film remained when the memory of the packaging had faded.

This film was beautiful to my innocent eye, as it wistfully, abstractly spreads out night-time Paris as a diorama into which drivers and passengers are thrown during a harrowing transit strike. The intimacy that occurs in the film between strangers is intensely depicted - close close close and the camera - as with Beau Travail - is genius. The film made me sad to consider the sense of loneliness inside of that city and my own during the night, yet I am pleased to have seen such a lovely rendering of that idea. I saw the film last night and the pictures are still downloading inside today, my mark of great films.

Finally, THANK YOU Claire Denis for never being ponderously intellectual during appearances and for not feeling that you need 3 hour films to make art. This film - in less than 90 minutes - is more profound than any of the 3 hour French films made.