By Aaron Dumont **** (out of four)
Screw 'The Jazz Singer'--one of the few genuine revolutions of cinema can be found here; Breathless is the 30's-hipster-esque precursor to Wong Kar-Wai and Antonioni--it is a kinetic tour de force film that, much like Antonioni's own inflammatory Zabriskie Point(less, as some say) and his meta-classical-oddity L'eclisse, gains momentum as it whirs through circuitous colloquy, modern babble, and revolutionary metaphysical pivots. As well as that, the film, just like Hong Kong's hue-saturated auteur Kar-Wai's masterfully structured, humane, moving-Impressionist-portraits, is one few that purely encapsulates, if detachedly fractures, a whole romance within a short hour-or-so. The two protagonists, two lovers, might as well be real--they tease, laugh, learn, talk, live, love, hate, betray...they are both universal and forcible--they don't spew quirky one-liners and haul, even heave their alienating, stereotypical personalities and petty, melodramatic social-cum-crisis; something that sadly cannot be said for films today. Main character Patricia Franchini said it best: "Informers inform, burglars burgle, murderers murder, and lovers love."
The premise renders simple at first greeting; Michel, a man running from the law after killing a policeman, runs off to be with his beautiful girlfriend, Patricia. It's a smidgen-bit tawdry, kitschy way to craft something belonging to such a medium known for such great artistry, and it has been seen many times before here and there.
And then they talk to each other.
Their deep arguments of hate, happiness, unhappiness, freedom and love is a sweeping one. Their nature is sophisticated; they are disenchanted freelancers in a caustically desolate atmosphere that feels terrifying, quite simply unfair--but life assuring. Every second of the film gains an increasingly cosmic breath and life, and the relationships grow more and more in dynamic intimacy. By the closing minutes, everything is romantically vigorous, fizzing with verve, and leaves you--and I say this truthfully, not as a referential pun to the title name; breathless, but alas, this ravishing, self-reflexive, self-devouring mood mix abruptly ends with a great bang.
With the ending, which I won't spoil, a quasi-comedy ends in full-on-tragedy in one of the most iconic, penetrating, devastating and embodying scenes in cinema--to make a great romance is pure magic today, and people must realize that budgets, stars, black and white are all superfluous and overestimated for the outcome of the film--sometimes, all you need is a bit of love and a lot of thinking.
Screw 'The Jazz Singer'--one of the few genuine revolutions of cinema can be found here; Breathless is the 30's-hipster-esque precursor to Wong Kar-Wai and Antonioni--it is a kinetic tour de force film that, much like Antonioni's own inflammatory Zabriskie Point(less, as some say) and his meta-classical-oddity L'eclisse, gains momentum as it whirs through circuitous colloquy, modern babble, and revolutionary metaphysical pivots. As well as that, the film, just like Hong Kong's hue-saturated auteur Kar-Wai's masterfully structured, humane, moving-Impressionist-portraits, is one few that purely encapsulates, if detachedly fractures, a whole romance within a short hour-or-so. The two protagonists, two lovers, might as well be real--they tease, laugh, learn, talk, live, love, hate, betray...they are both universal and forcible--they don't spew quirky one-liners and haul, even heave their alienating, stereotypical personalities and petty, melodramatic social-cum-crisis; something that sadly cannot be said for films today. Main character Patricia Franchini said it best: "Informers inform, burglars burgle, murderers murder, and lovers love."
The premise renders simple at first greeting; Michel, a man running from the law after killing a policeman, runs off to be with his beautiful girlfriend, Patricia. It's a smidgen-bit tawdry, kitschy way to craft something belonging to such a medium known for such great artistry, and it has been seen many times before here and there.
And then they talk to each other.
Their deep arguments of hate, happiness, unhappiness, freedom and love is a sweeping one. Their nature is sophisticated; they are disenchanted freelancers in a caustically desolate atmosphere that feels terrifying, quite simply unfair--but life assuring. Every second of the film gains an increasingly cosmic breath and life, and the relationships grow more and more in dynamic intimacy. By the closing minutes, everything is romantically vigorous, fizzing with verve, and leaves you--and I say this truthfully, not as a referential pun to the title name; breathless, but alas, this ravishing, self-reflexive, self-devouring mood mix abruptly ends with a great bang.
With the ending, which I won't spoil, a quasi-comedy ends in full-on-tragedy in one of the most iconic, penetrating, devastating and embodying scenes in cinema--to make a great romance is pure magic today, and people must realize that budgets, stars, black and white are all superfluous and overestimated for the outcome of the film--sometimes, all you need is a bit of love and a lot of thinking.