Clémenti to Obscurité

La Brune et moi (“the brunette and me”) is a 50 minute film which explores French punk in 1979, showcasing several bands that were dominating the scene back then.

I’ve been meaning to watch it since discovering Edith Nylon and Taxi Girl over a decade ago, but I was too slow on the uptake to notice it was available on YouTube all this time, and for a while on Henri—Cinémathèque française’s free VOD platform.

Most of the music in this feature is actually pretty great, but it is unfortunately punctuated by a low-effort screenplay about a notorious (at the time) groupie called Anouschka who decides the time is ripe to be exploited by a businessman in return for a music career.

Bizarrely, the businessman in this puerile flick is played by none other than Pierre Clémenti. I heard his career had been derailed following conviction and imprisonment for drugs offences in the 1970s, but I had no idea the event was of such Granville-Paris Express proportions that the trajectory had taken him from Belle de jour to something as tawdry as this.

Nevertheless, La Brune et moi does offer an interesting look at how punk counterculture was playing out in Paris back then—something the media in the Anglosphere largely ignored—and for that alone, it’s worth a watch.

Actually… not for that alone. You need to see Pierre Clémenti in this. You really do.

Lacks Bells and Whistles, But Still Worth It

Following the breathtaking success of The 400 Blows in 1959, François Truffaut toyed with the idea of documenting the life and times of its central character—Antoine Doinel—in a series of films. Between 1962 and 1979 his vision was realised, and this box set comprises all five chapters of the story.

Of the five titles, the second (Antoine and Colette) was made for TV, not cinema, and although it is an essential part of the series, it seems to have caused something of a curation headache.

There is a strong sense that it was rescued from the archives, for example, and as such the quality is not quite up there with the other four films—which are, by the way, excellent Blu-ray transfers. Secondly, because it’s only an hour long and was encoded at a lower bit-rate than the other films, it has been included as an extra on the third disc. So to watch the films in order, you have to jump from disc 1 to 3 (extra feature) to 2 back to 3 (main feature) then finally 4. This undoubtedly causes some buyers to initially watch the films in the wrong order.

I suppose the most disappointing thing about this box set is that the bare minimum was done before getting it into production. There are no booklets or tributary notes inside—just four Blu-rays in unusually thin cases. What’s more, the special features on the discs are minimal. A trailer and film length commentary on each one at the very least, and very short presentations—each no more than a few minutes long. My favourite extras are the 1958 screen tests with child actors Jean-Pierre Léaud, Patrick Auffay and Richard Kanayan. I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat while watching, but still… they represent no more than six minutes of material.

To conclude, although I’ve always felt strongly that The 400 Blows should have been allowed to exist in isolation—to have not become part of a soap-operatic series—the films are nevertheless very good and an important part of French cinema history. With the exception of the first film, they will never be as celebrated as Truffaut landmarks like Shoot the Pianist, Jules & Jim, The Last Metro, etc., but I have owned this box set for a year now, I still watch the films for enjoyment from time to time and I consider them an essential part of my collection.

When the legend fades, the dream ends

The first two seasons of Le Bureau des légendes were incredible. The third had not been filmed when I last saw the show and I have only just got around to watching it.

Unfortunately, it does not deliver.

While not at all bad for a TV production, its values have fallen substantially. What was once an intense psychological drama demanding little empathy for its characters has become almost soap operatic in some respects. With the exception of Agent Malotru—portrayed at significant personal sacrifice by Mathieu Kassovitz—the legends of the DGSE have become too fallible and incompetent. For two whole seasons they impressed us, but they now do anything but. At times I wondered if René Artois might do a better job.

The profiles of some characters have even been compromised in order to deliver cheap emotional conflict. Céline (Pauline Étienne) is a prime example of this: Originally so cold and intense in pursuit of professionalism, she is now sometimes indistinguishable from a petty adolescent in a teen drama. Not her fault. She is a fantastic actress. She has merely been dealt bad cards by the writers.

I don’t regret watching season three. Despite my criticism, it is not appalling. It’s just nowhere near as good as seasons one and two—and the contrast in quality is really the problem. Being shunted from something so amazing to something so ordinary is a very jarring experience.

Season four is already airing in France and I have decided that I will not be watching. For a story that will be continued, season three provides a surprising degree of closure… so while I don’t know where the road will end for Malotru, it terminates here for me.