J'entends plus la guitare (1991)

For those who were young, living under the delusions of love and soft drugs in Paris, May 1968 - even if the guitar is still playing, they can't hear it any longer.

Director:

Philippe Garrel

Writers:

Marc Cholodenko (dialogue), Philippe Garrel (screenplay),

Stars:

Benoît Régent, Johanna ter Steege, Yann Collette

1 win & 2 nominations.

Cast

Cast overview:
Benoît Régent	...	Gerard
Johanna ter Steege	...	Marianne
Yann Collette	...	Martin
Mireille Perrier	...	Lola
Brigitte Sy	...	Aline
Anouk Grinberg	...	Adrienne
Adélaïde Blasquez	...	Linda
Philippe Morier-Genoud	...	The Stepbrother
Edith Boulogne	...	The Grandmother
Thomas Salsmann	...	Marianne's Son
Alexis Piccolo	...	Ben
Chantal Trichet	...	Aline's Friend

Storyline

For those who were young, living under the delusions of love and soft drugs in Paris, May 1968 - even if the guitar is still playing, they can't hear it any longer.

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Genres:

Drama

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Details

Country:

France

Language:

French

Release Date:

7 March 2008 (USA)

Also Known As:

I Can No Longer Hear the Guitar

Box Office

Opening Weekend:

$337 (USA) (11 July 2008)

Gross:

$12,011 (USA) (11 July 2008)

Company Credits

Production Co:

Les Films de l'Atalante, Centre National de la Cinématographie (CNC), Procirep

Technical Specs

Runtime:

98 min

Color:

Color

Did You Know?

Connections

Featured in Cinéma, de notre temps: Philippe Garrel - Portrait d'un artiste (1998)

User Reviews

Painfully real.

'J'entends plus la guitare' is dedicated to the memory of Nico, the Swedish model and actress who was director Garrel's muse, most famous as the blonde Marcello meets at the castle party in 'La Dolce Vita', and the singer with the haunted monotone on the Velvet Underground's extraordinary 'Banana' album. the heroine of the film is a blonde German who, like Nico, turns to drugs - her last appearance is marked by a pun on heroine/heroin (the Velvets' most famous song), and the Velvet-esque guitar of the title is no longer heard by the hero, or the director. The female is usually signalled in Garrel's films by music, as if music itself was somehow a feminine principle - the 'Je', therefore, is plausibly the director's, offering the film as a mea culpa, blaming himself for a death triggered by pure male egotism. Gerard is one of the least likeable characters in European cinema, an emotional vampire who needs to suck the emotional blood out of countless women, leaving them diminished, empty, to save himself from a similar fate.

Perhaps, again in tribute to Nico, Garrel's usual stylistic austerity is filtered through a Warhol-like sensibility. this is one of the most gruelling films I have ever squirmed through, in terms of style - long, punishing takes in shabby, bare environments of people either talking self-serving philosophical twaddle, or, worse, little at all, the peeling of the walls against which the characters are framed speaking more eloquently for the emotional and imaginative inertia; takes that are so long and unadorned that the characters (or actors) arent' allowed to hide, and the various mannerisms or tics or little theatrical heightenings are exposed for what they are, not as accretions to be stripped away to reveal some real 'truth', but as part of the truth that we can never strip them away, never truly give ourselves to another - and in terms of content.

the film begins as a stereotypical French film, with two couples frustrated in love: one is in love with another but won't give him a child; one refuses to tell his lover he loves her because she doesn't know what the word means. The men begin the first of their discussions about their relations to the women, one grounded in culture, the other in experience. One could argue this as the philosophical base of the film.

In any case, things go from bad to worse, people start leaving each other, losing their children, sleeping with prostitutes or older, abused women. What is unusual in this film is that 'seedy' subject matter usually treated luridly or with too much downbeat detail, is here represented in a flat, monotonous visual style, and through a disarming ellipsis that doesn't warn the viewer that five minutes or five years have passed. This is the closest cinema has gotten to the numbed, unsensational texture of life itself. To even ask entertainment of it is besides the point.