Nooooooo!!
This is one of the best (in my opinion
the best) film of the 60s! Robert Stam does an excellent job in his commentary talking about the film. I'll just quickly go through some of the things that I love about this film.
Stam explains the sequence of Bardot and Piccoli in bed at the opening of the film as Godard's response to the producers requesting more Bardot nudity. It is filmed in such a way as to occur before the story (so has not real impact on the characters, as Stam says it happens before Bardot becomes Camille and before Piccoli becomes Paul) and to be just a shopping list of bits of Bardot that she is pointing out, all shown in red, white and blue light! I understand that it seems a bit strange when you don't realise it is a teasing of his producers but with that knowledge it becomes wonderful and Piccoli's line when Bardot asks him whether she loves him: "Totally, tenderly, tragically" could sum up the story to follow and the themes of Godard's films up to that point - even the way we love cinema when we might have to struggle through watching terrible films to reach the wonderful, effort-affirming stuff!
I don't know whether others notice but I like the way that the added bedroom digression occurs between the opening credits showing the film camera following Francesa Vanini reading her book and then the shot following the bedroom scene is from
that camera's perspective, from that same position showing Paul coming to meet her and then we track back along with the pair down the same tracks we saw previously in the credit sequence. I've not seen a film show the mechanics of cinema in such an effective way, before or since.
Barmy, do you also hate The Bad And The Beautiful and Two Weeks In Another Town for their cynical portrait of the studio system? Contempt is about that
specific era of international co-productions, about the way that creativity is being lost and art sterilised by lack of interest in that aspect by dictatorial producers only interested in the bottom line and achieving the power the movie moguls of the past had (this is Jack Palance's best performance, playing the producer like a small time hood with delusions of grandeur).
Sure you get your Greek epic directed by Fritz Lang but you smother any creativity he would have brought by tying his hands so the film turns out as dead and deadly dull as a pan around a bunch of statues. And the sad thing is the producers don't care because they only wanted Lang because of the name value he represented, so it doesn't matter to them that they've indirectly contributed to destroying his career and 'name value' once the terrible film eventually appears in theatres! The fact that the film is part way through production and they're hiring Paul suggests a similar contempt for writers, an interchangability that the producer is sure will not affect the quality of the film, simply because they don't usually watch the final product, unless it is with an eye to catching the nude scenes!
Barmy: 'irrelevant'? Sure this is a film of a specific era, specifically dated but can you not find pleasure in seeing a film about a different time? By that logic Gladiator is dated because the Roman Empire no longer exists, so why should we care? #-o
It is that attitude that suggests Homer's Odyssey is dated and needs a modern spin with a couple of modern day stars!
At least Godard realises the absurdity of that notion, which is why the film is
both a comedy and a tragedy!
I'd even argue in this era, not of international co-productions filmed at big studios but of piecemeal funding from various sources stitched together for funding, that this film remains just, if not more, relevant today as it did then - the only change being that today's producers look back on the Pontis and Levines as inspirational figures holding unimaginable power!
Filmmaking is only one part of this magnificent film. The story of the couple is breathtaking. The first shot of the apartment shows the importance of this place to, at least Paul, and shows what all the problems with Prokosh are for - to facilitate a private life and live in comfort. However these people aren't in comfort, they needle each other. Paul gets everything he wants in his professional life by going with the flow, by selling out and taking the cheque for the rewrite and even flirts with Francesca, deluding himself of his wit and the possibility of an affair.
But he is almost obsessively jealous of Camille (a classic case of "I don't want you but I
definitely don't want to see you with others"), so much so that when
he insists she go off with Prokosh in his bright red, growling penis-substitute of a car he then accuses
her of using the time alone with the producer to cheat on him. One of the great things is that Bardot is left opaque - she is stripped bare at a number of significant points in the film, including the forced on Godard opening sequence - but we never understand what she is thinking and feeling beyond the words she says to Paul and her actions in the apartment. What does the ironic invitation of sex to Paul mean emotionally to Camille? This is magnificently underlined by the way the film breaks down at that point (similar to way it breaks down at the opening for the bedroom scene) to simply dwell in almost third person terms on the relationship and the figure of Camille - going into flashbacks, scenes we've already seen and almost photoshoot like scenes of idealised moments.
When did love stop for her? - before the film started?, in the Rome sequence with Prokosh when Paul abandons her?, during the apartment scene where the cracks in their relationship are discussed? Is there still hope in Capri for Paul to 'slay the suitors' and win her back, and does he even want to? After all Paul, whenever he has had a chance to 'win' Camille or empathise with her has retreated back in preference of his own interpretation of the way he wants to see her - he doomed the relationship by not seeing her as a real character, just someone he could write on a page.
I've written about the ending before but it is worth repeating. We are much closer to Paul in this film, nowhere better shown than in the final sequence when Bardot makes a grand gesture, sheds her clothes and swims off nude leaving the guys alone to stroke their egos (amongst other things!) but Paul has to invent an ending. He has to twist the words on the note simply saying Camille is leaving Paul into a tragic, bloody, ironic death for her. And, hey, why not kill Prokosh off at the same time - that wouldn't be such a bad idea!
The fakeness of the car crash scene only shows that Paul is not coming to terms with the reasons why Camille left him, but instead is doing what he always does - is writing her out of his story on his own terms in the manner that will allow him to rest easy nights.
It leaves Paul seeming just as pathetically out of touch with a reality of a situation as the characters in the Lang film and suggests just how bad a writer he may be!
This film is everything: the mechanics of filmmaking, the search for ideas to use in your work, a portrait of a co-production, a comment on selling-out, the problems of translation and miscommunication both personally and professionally, and finally the importance of art used blindly to justify your own worldview but also when properly used with the power to illuminate.
I hate to be so dismissive but since the comments above dismissed this perfect film I would venture to suggest that to hate Contempt is to hate the very idea of cinema itself!
