Poetess

She misunderstood my attempt at a sense of humor. I wanted to distance myself, despite the look of feminine disapproval. I smacked the remnants of soy from the tips of my chopsticks, somehow with an air of arrogance. Although I knew all the while it was in poor taste, I wanted the distance.

Into the hole

le mépris

Bardot captures the namesake perfectly. I thought to myself, What a dreadful feeling. Feeling morally ignored and unattractive. Yet it's clear that she is gorgeous. As the film progressed, I remarked out loud, "Wow, she's been mad for a long time." And thought to myself, Must be serious.

Ignored and unattractive. There is a nice juxtaposition in the opening scene where she is openly expressing her insecurities in an endearing, nonchalant fashion and the contrasted scene in the trap of an unfinished apartment, where she is desperately looking for a way to seem new and mysterious... and cannot seem to escape him. Even though she is mouthing off curtly. She cannot make herself scarce, even of her own will. Silence is her strategy... But it is more like the proverbial cold shoulder, which he cannot stop poking.

Until he finally does. And she is silenced. First by indifference. Then indefinitely.

My only criticism is that it seemed much too neat for a Godard with the obvious analogy between the film tragedy, the Greek tragedy and real tragedy, although it was still peppered with Godardian high-brow puns and playful cynicism. A part of me started to question his integrity. But then I thought, Maybe this is important to him. Autobiographical.

I loved the scene when he halfheartedly knocks on the female sculpture's breasts and groin... and reflects, "Hmph. Doesn't make the same sound." That is the sort of thing that makes me wonder if Jean-Luc smokes pot. The comment seems loaded yet insignificant at the same time.

I also love the fact that you can't be lazy when you watch this film. You have to remain pensive throughout. I resent the fact that modern cinema spoon-feeds the intended audience. Godard makes no apologies - yet in this one, he seems to be trying to stick to a formula. But it got me thinking about the subtle artistic decisions within this structure. What do those flowers symbolize? Does Godard hate women? Is he being sentimental? Why always with the red?

Thank Godard I don't have to write an actual paper on this. I can just leave it at that.

la belle noiseuse

Grave reminders of pure unrest lay deep. With which invokes the latent desire to sow. Nearly as deep as the vague twitch amidst fingertips. Every actual trove of shadow should yield a true line of sorrow. And the determination of one fingertip would uncover all. In dismay and utter hesitation, another. Another. Then one last before those troves bleed deep within themselves. Only after they've discontinued the toils of anguish, trivial even - of questionable existence even - only at that fateful, wistful yet curious, rustle will emit either sigh or gasp. Or yet another grave reminder.

Of pure unrest.

regular lovers

Feelings of everything and nothing. Everything in the past. Nothing in the moment. Everything in the moment and nothing of the past. That sky of oblivion is the only end in sight. Every cry, every whisper lost at night. Lost in a stroke with one's passing eye.