JE VOUS SALUE, JLG

In September 2022, we lost three cinematic heavyweights within days of each other: William Klein (Sept 10), Alain Tanner (Sept 11), and arguably the most singular cinematic artist of the 20th century, Jean-Luc Godard (Sept 13).

Godard's oeuvre could be described as the epitome of artistic reflexivity and, arguably, the most forthright career-long defence of the auteur theory. His authorial signature was strikingly unique from the get-go, each film bearing his undeniable stamp even as his body of work morphed from 60s pop-art chic to the deliberately jarring video-saturated cut-and-paste provocations of his post-Histoire(s) du cinema output. Heavily influenced by Brecht, he was an uncompromising and demanding artist, on himself as much as his audience committed to working principles and practices that developed in tandem with his ethical and political positions. While his artistic output is nothing short of extraordinary, and his reputation as one of the all-time giants of the art form unquestionably assures his place at the top of the cinematic canon, his body of work is probably the least seen and, shall we say, "enjoyed" of all the great masters.

His work may be revered, but much of it isn't widely liked or "understood" even by many of his champions, and for good reason — they're not "easy". Few, if any, of his films can be digested in a single viewing. The fact that his first and arguably most "accessible" feature, À bout de souffle (Breathless, 1960), is celebrated by some as his greatest masterpiece indicates how each successive work, all the way to his final feature, Le livre d'image (The Image Book, 2018), increasingly challenged viewers by requiring (if not demanding) that they stop, consider, reflect, read up, watch again, ponder more, watch again, watch again and watch again. Indeed, home video technology could have been invented to accommodate the demands of Jean-Luc Godard's films!

One could also say, without exaggeration, that Godard was ahead of his time, as his films are likely to be for the foreseeable future. The clothing and hairstyles may date, but the content will never. One of the reasons, plausibly, why his post-1980 output hasn't been as critically examined as it should is that his films place significant demands on anyone seriously considering tackling them. Godard laid down a gauntlet that one picks up with some trepidation.

Godard was an iconoclast from the first to the last. He had little interest in conventional cinematic forms, famously saying that his films all have a beginning, a middle and an end, but not necessarily in that order. They are often cryptic and allusive, full of obscure cultural and political references, but never uncertain. Godard could never be accused of not knowing his own mind, and his formal strategies were as "political" as his content.

He feared no one. His films were an extension of his film criticism and sociopolitical views. He was never shy when voicing an opinion, and communicating ideas and seeking meaningful connections with audiences was central to his practice. However, his work was too didactic for some, while for others, it was too obfuscated to fathom. I'll never forget the self-conscious sniggering at both screenings (yes, I went to both) of Helas pour moi at the Auckland Film Festival in 1993. I can't claim to have “understood" the film at the time (and struggle with it still), but it was an exhilarating experience and is still a pleasure to revisit, revealing more with every return viewing.

Godard was fundamentally an "image-maker." Like many of us, he was infatuated with cinema, so one of the central keys to "unlocking" Godard is to just look at his images and enjoy them purely for their cinematic beauty: their surfaces. It's worth remembering that blood in movies wasn't blood for Godard as much as it was the colour red. So, when jumping into any Godard film, it might be helpful to just let the images flow and allow thoughts and impressions to come and go. Register the various tangible and intangible connections without being concerned about fixing them into a coherent narrative. Enjoy the literary and visual quotes, jokes, and cinematic resonances for what they are in the moment, and see what happens the next time you put the film on. As American film critic Manohla Dargis said, “Godard taught me how to watch cinema even as he reinvented it".

Godard was known for being cantankerous, unpleasant, dismissive, offensive, objectionable, insensitive, demanding and impossible to work with. He was also a constantly critical and high-minded artist who was fully aware of his complicity and failings, a tension that (in my view) provided balance and humility, an enormous amount of humour and playfulness (which often go unmentioned), empathy for suffering, loss, and mortality, openness to the mystery of existence, and reverence for simple kindness. His contribution to cinema is ultimately an act of love.

If, as some would have me believe, Godard was a shallow huckster, a cynical, self-serving trickster who pretended to be an artist with humane concerns, who faked the longing for honesty and truth that informs every one of his films, then I am content to go to my grave conned and ridiculed for my faith in what I happily perceive as the unique voice of Jean-Luc.

In the Darkness of Time is an extraordinarily concentrated meditation on humankind's inability to overcome enmity, our tragic failure to structure human society around compassion and kindness, lost in greed and cruelty, fear and misanthropy. Ironically, our capacity for love and awareness of our dysfunctions only make it worse. If you fail to connect with this film, walk away and don't look back. Jean-Luc is not for you.