A small-time thief steals a car and impulsively murders a motorcycle policeman. Wanted by the authorities, he reunites with a hip American journalism student and attempts to persuade her to run away with him to Italy.
During the Algerian war for independence from France, a young Frenchman living in Geneva who belongs to a right-wing terrorist group and a young woman who belongs to a left-wing terrorist ... See full summary »
Ferdinand Griffon is married with his wealthy Italian wife and has been recently fired from the television station where he worked. His wife forces him to go to a party in the house of her influential father that wants to introduce Ferdinand to a potential employer. Her brother brings the babysitter Marianne Renoir to take care of their children. Ferdinand feels bored in the bourgeois party and borrows his brother-in-law's car to return home. He meets Marianne, who was his lover five years ago and insists on calling him Pierrot, and offers to take her home. However, he spends the night with her and finds that she is involved in smuggling weapons. When Marianne is chased by terrorists, they decide to travel to the beach without any money, leaving Paris and his family behind in a crazy journey to nowhere. Written by
Claudio Carvalho, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
When Marianne mentions Vivien, the nephew of William of Orange, and his slaughter of Saracens, she is referring to the "Chanson de Guillaume" or "Chançun de Willame", a poem (chanson de geste) from around 1140. See more »
Regardless of what you will hear from pompous leftist professors in your Film Studies classes, kiddies, Jean-Luc Godard's "Pierrot le Fou" is really nothing more than an egotistical exercise in cinematic masturbation. That would be acceptable for a movie made for private viewing at home, but when it is released in public theaters it also becomes exhibitionism. Of course if you enjoy this kind of voyeurism it might be right up your alley, so to speak. All others should be warned.
'Ooh, look at me,' Godard seems to be saying. 'I'm an artiste, and a philosopher too! Not only can I juxtapose reality with surreality, I can be absurdist as well, with doses of deep Marxist commentary thrown in for good measure! Isn't that like, so cool, and revolutionary?" Uh, no. Not really, Jean-Luc.
It is movies like this that give so-called "art house" films and filmgoers a bad name. When I overheard a couple of obnoxious self-styled cineastes analyzing and deconstructing the film afterwards with references to Roland Barthes and Jacques Derrida I almost wanted to puke.
The best directors do not purposely draw attention to themselves, their craft or their directing style because they realize that, aside from documentaries, good filmmaking is primarily about one thing - telling a story in the best possible way. If you have to sit through this movie in Film Class bring a barf bag and some NoDoze. To cleanse your cinematic palate when you get home enjoy a movie made by directors like Frank Capra, Preston Sturges or even Clint Eastwood with a bag of popcorn or a box of Raisinets.
8 of 11 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful to you?