Eurotrash

This was a cinema term from my youth, when pretentious artsy films were released, but had no real art to them. A notable precursor to Eurotrash films was the crap of Jean Cocteau; but Eurotrash hit its heyday in the 1960s and 1970s.



Sorry, but Buster Keaton did it better.

Perhaps the first Eurotrasher, chronologically, was Luis Bunuel, whose pompous, bloated films were dull, although he had a modicum of filmic talent.



The same could be said by New Wave poseur Jean-Luc Godard: no depth, but a little skill, here and there.



How about Rainer Werner Fassbinder? His films were pretentious, but bad....yet, some were so bad that they engendered an Ed Woodian level humor to them.



The same could not be said for Pier Paolo Pasolini; possibly the worst film director who's taken 'seriously' as an artist by critics. Why? Because he was a Left Wing lunatic who stuffed all sorts of crap into his films with that sort of ideal.



But his films were garbage- soft core porno.

Yet, the films of Spanish B film superstar Paul Naschy (whose films I recently got and NEED to watch) were laughed at, as piffle. It's been well over 30 years since I saw a wolfman or a vampire ravage a bare Castilian breast, but, even though my memory is not perfect, Naschy's films were far superior to all the Eurotrashers I have named.



See?

Breathless's Jean Seberg

Jean-Luc Godard was a bad filmmaker who rose to mediocrity, then faded back to nada. He was part of a bad group of film critics for a magazine called Cahiers du Cinema. I mention this because I was recently thinking of his first film, the Charles Bukowskian 'so bad some idiots think it's genius' film, Breathless. The link will give you my take on this lame film.

But, in scanning over some of the increasingly inane comments over at Roger Ebert's post about me, and aside from the silly digressions on Hitler, perhaps the oddest claims (made by Ebert and others) is how the film Casablanca is so geared toward the beauty of Ingrid Bergman. True, she is highlighted, and she was quite a looker, in her day. So?

The film is not even about her character, nor even the two men in her life's takes on her. To read some of the comments one would think she was the first actress to ever be adored by a film camera. Hello? Two words: Greta Garbo.

But, this returns me to Seberg:


Godard and his camera fetishize her even more than Curtiz did Bergman. And, while Casablanca's not a great film, it is a fun film. Breathless is neither. But Breathless is far more about the beauty of Seberg, by Ebert's definition of 'face time', than Casablanca is about Bergman. And, let's face it, attraction is subjective, beauty is not, and Seberg's face is as flawlessly symmetrical as Halle Berry's. In short, Ingrid was a babe, but Seberg was a goddess. I'm talking rival to Grace Kelly gorgeous.

But, again: so? Does her beauty make Godard's bad film good? No. Neither does Bergman's lesser beauty make the solid and enjoyable Casablanca a great film.

A few other cleanup points: I'm hardly a snob. On Cosmoetica I've written of soap operas, Godzilla films, and pro wrestling, enjoying them all. There's simply a difference between liking something and its quality. I like many bad works of art, and dislike great ones. But, I recognize the differences. I like Richard Brautigan's doggerel, but don't really like Ingmar Bergman films. But, I know Bergman was a great artist. However, Saraband was a terrible film. And I didn't like it. Plan 9 From Outer Space is a terrible film. So is Robot Monster. I love them. It's really not difficult to grasp. No one has ever said it's wrong- in a moral sense- to like bad art. But, acknowledge the bias. I prefer Roger Moore to Sean Connery as James Bond. I can make good arguments as to why. But, on a purely acting level, Connery's a better actor. So? I like Moore's irreverent Bond more. But, I acknowledge my bias. That's not snobbery. It's honesty and intelligence.

Folk like the Cahiers du Cinema critics were snobs, broadbrushing whole schools of work, rather than seeing good and bad in all. They were the film school/film theory/auteurist snobs. Folk like Ebert or Siskel or Maltin are pop critics of film. I bridge the gap between both, exposing both the extremes' flaws: the fundamentalism of the snobs and the embracing of dumbed down culture of the pop crowd.

On a small note: I've gotten some bizarre emails re: this whole thread- ranging from the sinister to the absurd. On the dark side, an emailer who claimed to have posted on the thread issued me a dire warning that the original emailer to Ebert, Peter Svensland, had intended his email to cause Ebert to unleash a firestorm of scorn against me- thereby consigning my website to a Dantean outer ring, but it all backfired, and that there might be hell to pay from a cyberstalker's revenge denied. Well, while I wouldn't put it by that character, I doubt it. I do believe I may have been just a tool to get Ebert's attention because when the great man deigned to recognize him, he went into ecstasies, and this is a familiar pattern with stalker types. Either way, this isn't 2001, and I'm much more prepared for shenanigans of the cyber/virus sort.

On the absurd side, one of my biggest fans thinks I blew it with Ebert. He claims that Ebert is on his death bed and (having watched too many samurai films) was looking for a successor to bequeath his critical fiefdom to, and that I was not suitably deferential enough ('You gotta kiss the brass ring, Baby!'). This fellow, I know, is harmless, although his own home planet is a place I do not think I'll travel to. But, if correct, it means I won't 'own' Chicago, like Ebert, and Capone, before him. Too bad, I've always heard Chicago had fine babes.

Natheless, I'll always have Jeannie:


Y'all can have Ingrid!

"Theme de Camille" by George Delerue.

This is the famous song found in the Godard film Contempt. I love this song, and it's about the only thing that made the film watchable. Although I don't really like Godard very much, I have a sentimental attachment to the film because of this song. Some might claim that it is this song and Brigitte Bardot's ass that make the film worthwhile.

Which leads me to ask, who do you think is better? Bardot or Deneuve?

Both blondes with brown eyes. Personally, I choose Deneuve. And who do you think has aged better? Deneuve or Bardot? Again, I choose the same. Though I like Bardot for what she called Sarah Palin.

Read Dan's review here.

French Sci Fi

It must have been in the early to mid 1980s that I first got a dose of French sci fi on public television. It was a twin bill of Francois Truffaut's Fahrenheit 451- his first English language film, and Jean-Luc Godard's Alphaville.

I've seen the Truffaut film 2 or 3 times since, but have yet to rewatch Alphaville. Trufaut's film was based upon the same titled novel by Ray Bradbury, whereas, I believe, the Godard film was original.

Nonetheless, both films were crashing bores. While I recall a few scenes from the Truffaut film, and the bad sets, the Godard film seems lost to me. All I recall is striving to stay awake, since the Truffaut film, which ran first, came on at about 10 pm, and the Godard film started around midnight.

Anyway, here's a slice of Godard:



And, as I'm not ready to yawn again so quickly, I'll pass on the whole film, but, as I am a generous sort, you can take a looksy and remind me of the sleep I missed:

Francois Truffaut And French Cinema

Francois Truffaut is one of those directors who is solid, competent, but has little to say. Unlike his bitter rival, Jean-Luc Godard- who had some technical talent, but slathered on his politics with foot thick butter, Truffaut was sort of like his gastronomic foodsake, truffles.

His films are wan, filigreed, and after a second viewing, you realize just how little was given to you.

Of all the French filmmakers whose work I've seen- admittedly only a dozen or less, the only one who seemed consistent was Jean-Pierre Melville, and even his films are lightweight. The only ones who reached greatness were Alain Resnais, Louis Malle, and Robert Bresson, and even their work is hit and miss.

I shall watch more, but French cinema (at least that I've seen) seems to pale next to the Italians, and even the Brits. The Spanish are equally hit and miss, as was New German Cinema- let's face it, after Werner Herzog, it is a long, steep cliff.

Anyway, here's to Truffaut:

Wim Wenders & Jean-Luc Godard

What happens when two hacks get together and their combined creativity takes hold?

Witness:

Godard's Breathless

Here it is in all its overpuffed glory:


This film is not homage, but imitation.

If you cannot see why, then compare it to true homage films, like, say, Herzog's Nosferatu to the original Nosferatu and Tod Browning's Dracula.

If you still need help, then, a final query: why are you even reading this blog?