When someone like JeanLuc Godard (19302022) dies and the way he died life makes even less sense. Godard spent his life trying at all costs to escape stereotypes that limit everyone, and that’s all the worse when you’re an artist of your caliber, daring, who insisted on experimenting, testing the different possibilities of his art, that, what he knew to do better. I know two or three things about Godard, and they all remind me of myself, the odd child I’d always been, resenting both idyllic convescots washed down with Homeric drunkenness in the Parque da Cidade and the lessons Of course, my parents made some sacrifices to hide me in the endless pitch and mite wasteland at Cine Brasília from 2 p.m Projector brought older than the Lumière brothers. There, almost always alone with my spirits, anxious to understand them—and thus to understand myself—I was introduced to this man whose somewhat obscure physiognomy I discovered only years later, not without some astonishment.
Godard was already an old man in the early 20th century, two decades ago, perhaps a little broken at the time. Me, this alien in a civilization that had never made much of me, a beast of my mind, an old man trapped in a mass of tender flesh, I only liked myself when nobody saw me and in fact, nobody saw me in the extended matinees of Cine Brasília, not even Jules, nor Jim, nor the two English girls, and much less love. I admit it: Truffaut was my ideal film man for many years and I thought he would always be my greatest idol. Our first memories not only shape our character but also serve as a guide; It is on their basis that we decide where to go and with whom, even if it is difficult for some to see that such a cold, almost Cartesian criterion determines the way in which we will conduct our affection. I was faithful to Truffaut in a monogamous and metaphysical intellectual marriage, since the master of the Nouvelle Vague had died almost twenty years ago, still young when I had just turned two years and two months old, until Godard existed for me. It’s time.
Truffaut’s crooked romance was a good master of ceremonies for Godard’s outspoken misanthropy, perhaps the best. The work of the first would not exist (and would not struggle) without the second’s slightly too idiosyncratic interpretations of all that concerns humanity, but especially of that which has always mattered so little and has less and less importance. Artists can have any opinion they want about anything they consider relevant, but the raw material that one who wants to be a worker of beauty must look for is human feelings, especially the most hidden, the most shamed, the open secret. . I have loved Truffaut all my life, but I found myself dividing my scarred heart more and more in two as I encountered new mages able to seduce and melt my iron spirit.
It was through “Acossado” (1960) that I first came into contact with Godard’s production, and the road to “Carmen de Godard” was a long one. I became interested in many other jobs in Godard until I came across the story of a terrorist who is in love with a cop who supplements her salary with odd security jobs at a bank. Even at first glance, a wealth of possible comments and interpretations are revealed, more or less skewed to the right and left, which sometimes praise, sometimes ignore the screenplay by Godard and his last wife, AnneMarie Miéville, grist to the polemical mill throwing one of the great specialties of the master with scenes of nudity and explicit sex with the title character of the Dutch Maruschka Detmers and Joseph played by the excellent Jacques Bonnaffé. The year of mercy was 1983, and these marketing diversionary maneuvers by Godard still aroused the vicious ire of embryonic censorship, particularly in some ugly South American countries, as it did again with double force two years later, in 1985, when the premiere of ” Je Vous Salue, Marie”, immediately embargoed by a certain casual president, descendant of the recently ended dictatorship in those parts and obviously nostalgic for brucutu and paudearara. What would certainly have stirred the spirits of rotten powers owners even more when it came to Godard was his ability to give canon a banana. It didn’t matter to him whether the plot alluded to the opera of the century by Georges Bizet (18381975) or to the Holy Scriptures; the most genuinely controversial filmmaker of the 20th century never shied away from saying whatever came to mind, and heeded the rare intuition of a reviler who told him heartily what was or wasn’t worth messing with, while he, of course knew the possible consequences. And that amused him.
JeanLuc Godard grew weary of the world, of life, of himself, until on the 13th May God have mercy on his rebellious and unique soul, understanding that he has given himself up to death as he spent his life: everything and to insult everyone.
Movie: Carmen de Godard
Direction: Jean Luc Godard
Year: 1983
genres: drama romance
Where to watch: NetMovies
note: 9/10