![]() On the other, long (soft-core) nude scenes are both complicit in, and critical of, her sex-goddess status. On the one hand, her acting talents are utilised to greater effect than in many of her films. Brigitte Bardot here finds at once both a self-consciously iconic and a substantial acting role. Or for whom the challenge of discovering cinematic jokes within references to Rio Bravo and works by Fritz Lang (who plays himself as a director) become an intellectual conceit. Whereas the French version of the movie raises serious questions about the film industry, about the relationship between man and the gods, and even explores some of the more challenging questions about love, life and Homer's work in the English-American version these things become like added confectionery, arty flourishes for more passive audiences. And third are autobiographical references to Godard's personal life - both his love life and his life as a filmmaker. Second is an examination of the gap between cinema-for-profit and cinema-as-art, partly mirrored in the Le Mépris' actual production as well as in its subject matter. One is the tale of Ulysses separated from his wife Penelope, in which he is protected by Minerva but threatened by Neptune (Homer's Odyssey is the subject of the film-within-a-film). Three further parallels are neatly woven into our story. Not only are the producer and director at odds with each other, but the marital breakdown of the script doctor and his wife (played by Michel Piccoli and the glamorous Brigitte Bardot) is placed under the microscope. This is important, as one of the themes of Le Mépris is the breakdown of communication. Only in the French version, is it apparent she is an interpreter. ![]() Crucially, in the English-American version, the producer seems to be followed about by a quirky assistant who paraphrases the somewhat vainglorious proclamations of her boss for the benefit of other mere mortals. ![]() Whereas the English-American and Italian versions are entirely dubbed. The story tells of the making of a movie in Italy with an American producer, an Austrian director, plus a script doctor and his beautiful wife. But what if it is a multilingual film, released in different versions? Would you be tempted to choose the version of your own language? Such a choice with Le Mépris (Contempt) yields a radically different experience, well beyond the mere question of subtitles. Most cinephiles, faced with a choice between an original language, subtitled film, and a dubbed version, will choose the former. Must be seen several times under different angles to be fully appreciated. But if you really follow these characters, you're in for a unique, edifying and sometimes unnervingly uncomfortable ride. Le Mépris is slow, and if you get caught too much in Goddard's referencing and hyper-stylization, it will bore you. It is sad that this was the German master's only performance in front of the camera. The film also serves a more sarcastic and amusing (and far more conscious) duel between Palance's Prokosh, superbly vulgar and dramatic, and Lang, who becomes a wise and immensely charismatic figure that stands against compromise. It is a cruel lesson and warning about relationships. Picoli's Paul is easier to sympathize with, as the "reasonable" whose every move to please anyone dooms him further. ![]() Camille never convinces when she speaks, but the pain in those eyes is intensely real. Bardot is perfectly cast as the ignorant innocent who strives to appear and be smarter than she is (even sporting a brunette whig at some point, in what is really a sad moment of self-loathing), but fails. But thankfully, Godard's message and cast survive the director's pseudo-intellectual short-comings. Godard typically references his love for film in a way that many will find pedantic, and the lush score isn't always wisely used, overwhelming and sometimes even obtrusive. He and his wife hide it in different manners: Paul by trying to assert intellectual superiority over his wiser-than-she-appears wife, therefor earning her contempt. Raoul Coutard's cinemascope photography, filled with lush colors, only serves to highlight how little Paul is and how out of his depth he is. It is about film-making - of course! - it is about the plight of the artist, but where it succeeds most is in the carefully examined slow destruction of Camille and Paul's marriage. Paul's relationship with his trophy wife Camille disintegrates as she feels abandoned by him to Prokosh's advances, and sees him subdue himself to these great men. Paul (Picoli) is hired by vulgarian US producer Jerry Prokosh (Palance) to rewrite a screenplay for his adaptation, which Fritz Lang (himself) insists on shooting in a hyper-stylized, mythological fashion.
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