The best films, for me, are not essentially different from a nice walk, a wonderful meal, interesting sounds, interesting light. And this is not to say that film is something one might call mundane, as in devoid of life. I'm merely saying that life is magical. I'm not surprised, then, that this film, so very effortlessly, speaks to me without trying to say too much. I can now say I've been a witness – I was there, I saw him, I saw her. I was both him and her. I was outside, too, looking in embarassedly, full of shame and anger for not knowing, not being part of it.
I can't ask much more from a film, really. This is the first film I've ever seen by Rivette, and while I'm not in a rush to go to see more, "La belle noiseuse" (1991) is among the most rewarding and memorable film experiences of my life.
The great motif is time. It's a presence on its own, the space and air in which we live, either strengthening us or eroding us, even evading us when we chase its tail.
Some films insist the viewer feel the passing of the time with intense awareness. Béla Tarr works this way, "Sátantangó" (1994) and "A torinói ló" (2011) two examples. In those films time persists, it hangs over the viewer heavily like a pregnant cloud or thick mist. There part of the point is to react, then subside. This is how I feel about those films, the former which I've seen about a dozen times, the latter only once and would struggle to see again in its entirety.
But here, time flies, or as the Latin saying quite aptly has it, time escapes. I was shocked at how engrossing every single moment is, a testament to Rivette's expertise to rivet us, to make us care. About what, exactly? The painting? Marianne? Edouard? The film? Ourselves as witnesses? Art? Ourselves as artists? Voyeurists?
Does it have to be either/or?
The ending is appropriate, and is, below the surface, a thunderous climax – what we see is not what we've witnessed, and, as accounted by the narrator, Marianne would after the experience merely assume a new mask. The dialogue between Edouard and Nicolas about the former's categorical impetus for truth contributes to the film as an appropriate summa.
I can't ask much more from a film, really. This is the first film I've ever seen by Rivette, and while I'm not in a rush to go to see more, "La belle noiseuse" (1991) is among the most rewarding and memorable film experiences of my life.
The great motif is time. It's a presence on its own, the space and air in which we live, either strengthening us or eroding us, even evading us when we chase its tail.
Some films insist the viewer feel the passing of the time with intense awareness. Béla Tarr works this way, "Sátantangó" (1994) and "A torinói ló" (2011) two examples. In those films time persists, it hangs over the viewer heavily like a pregnant cloud or thick mist. There part of the point is to react, then subside. This is how I feel about those films, the former which I've seen about a dozen times, the latter only once and would struggle to see again in its entirety.
But here, time flies, or as the Latin saying quite aptly has it, time escapes. I was shocked at how engrossing every single moment is, a testament to Rivette's expertise to rivet us, to make us care. About what, exactly? The painting? Marianne? Edouard? The film? Ourselves as witnesses? Art? Ourselves as artists? Voyeurists?
Does it have to be either/or?
The ending is appropriate, and is, below the surface, a thunderous climax – what we see is not what we've witnessed, and, as accounted by the narrator, Marianne would after the experience merely assume a new mask. The dialogue between Edouard and Nicolas about the former's categorical impetus for truth contributes to the film as an appropriate summa.