As part of my continuing and wandering journey through Susan Sontag's Against Interpretation and Other Essays, weird movie night was an encounter with Jean-Luc Godard's 1962 film My Life to Live / Vivre Sa Vie.
Sontag (in a glowing review): "The film eschews all psychology; there is no probing of states of feeling, of inner anguish." & "Being free means being responsible." (p. 205)
Roger Ebert (also glowing, slightly different reasons and a good analysis of the camera work): here
I disagree with Sontag's assertion that the movie explains nothing. Nana doesn't narrate how she's feeling, but the actress isn't a blank monotonous slate either. The linearity isn't crystal clear, but you can generally pick up the hints about how one thing leads to another. I'm not sure I particularly agree that Nana's "free" either; I mean, she's managed by a man and ends up dead because of a transaction between men. Ummm ... not exactly a ringing endorsement for #YOLO, 1960s style.
Other tidbits of interest:
- Carl Dreyer's Jeanne d'Arc -- clearly included to draw parallels between Joan and Nana, kinda heavy-handed in my opinion, ah male oppression and female martyrdom, etc -- but let's pause and appreciate the wholly unexpected appearance of crazy Antonin Artaud as the priest (WHAT?)
- Edgar Allan Poe's "The Oval Portrait" -- reference makes sense once you realize the actress who played Nana was Godard's wife (perfect lifelike depiction, thus, death)
Bottom line: The best philosophical film about a 1960s Parisian prostitute.
