Le Petit Soldat (1960), Jean-Luc Godard

A parody in the voice of Jonathan Romney.

Watch the film of the bard! No, it’s not Terence Davies again. Instead let us take a deep breath, dab ourselves at the celluloidal stoop and genuflect to Godard, whose Petit Soldat has verily reinvented through its transcendental vision our cinematic art. Because let’s face it, when pinned at literary luger-point by the brilliant criticism of myself and my very good friends (and terribly brave they all are too) in the Sunday supplements, you’d have to be some sort of Galahad to dare release a film that made people a bit uncomfortable. And yet with Soldat, for almost two hours, the man’s concrete coglioni brazenly inseminate his captive viewers’ unblinking eyes with black and white torture and suicide – with nary a flinch at the thought that audiences might not be quite so fist-clenchingly bold as himself!

The plot unfolds as messily as an origami water bomb, so instead of preamble we cut into the retrospection of a broken man, a fellow so psychologically crumbled that he’s jolly tough even to be walking around, if you ask me. And I have to stop here and marvel at just how brave Godard is – quick pans and shaky camera-work dominate the visual style already. In his own way, it seems Jean-Luc is reprimanding fellow auteurs with the stern reminder that ‘dollies are for girls’. We know that this is one director who’ll be getting an Action Man for Christmas – An Action Man, a box of knives and a smoking habit.

But is he dangerous enough? Certainly his romance lacks originality; Karina’s energetic but bland brunette, complete with ditzy morals and a penchant for espionage, is hardly a far cry from Honey Rider or Plenty O’Toole, seeming more suited to a Birkin bit-part in a Gainsbourg Union Jaxploitation TV special than a leading role in what is undeniably art cinema (did I mention that it’s in black and white?). Are Noirish Bruno’s five o’clock shadow, slight fatigue and eyeliner enough to build a fractured figure sufficiently convincing to seize the crowd’s emotional sympathy?

Possibly, I couldn’t say. But what would have been much better and super-brave is if there’d been more religious imagery. Because let’s face it, as a literature graduate and a critic in the nationals I would latch onto that like a pair of barnacles to an ark. Come to think of it, there’s one bit where Bruno has his arms stretched out a bit. That means he’s Jesus.

Explore posts in the same categories: Arrogance, Parody, Review

Tags: film, Godard, Jonathan Romney, le petit soldat, Review, Romney

You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.