Jules Et Jim (PG.)
Directed by Francois Truffaut.
Starring Jeanne Moreau, Oscar Werner, Henri Serre, Boris Bassiak, Vanna Urbino. 105 mins
This treasure of the French Novelle Vague, Truffaut's third film was a sensation on its release in 1962 and is being re-released as the centrepiece of a season to celebrate Jeanne Moreau 80th birthday. It’s horrible.
I can understand, just about, that at the start of the sixties, or rather at the end of the fifties, there could be something thrilling about this giddy ménage a trois set either side of the First World War. To a contemporary audience though it’s like listening to an episode of Around the Horne; not without its pleasures but fundamentally an artefact trapped in its period.
It is supposed to be an expression of free spirits, but is just a bad case of wacky. It starts off happy wacky, like a poor man’s Hard Day’s Night, but goes on to be maudlin wacky which is just a horrible combination.
Truffaut had launched himself with two stunning movies The 400 Blows and Shoot The Pianist but though you can appreciate the skill with which he stitches a historical piece together from newsreel footage and the occasional burst of energy from his sweeping aerial shots, most of the film is a static yak fest.
Jules (Werner) et Jim (Serre) are a couple of gallivanting writers (though their existence seems blissful untouched by anything approaching work) who become friends in Paris in pre-war and then both become entranced with the clearly loopy Catherine (Moreau.)
Like the Marie Celeste, the great appeal of Jeanne Moreau is a mystery that remains lost in time. In French movies Catherine is a daringly capricious free spirit, yet her actions seem mostly spiteful and vindictive. The men aren’t much better. Jim treats the woman who loves him disdainfully while Jules is a doormat. (Or is it the other way round? If only Truffaut had thought to always have them stand in name order, like Ant and Dec.)
Directed by Francois Truffaut.
Starring Jeanne Moreau, Oscar Werner, Henri Serre, Boris Bassiak, Vanna Urbino. 105 mins
This treasure of the French Novelle Vague, Truffaut's third film was a sensation on its release in 1962 and is being re-released as the centrepiece of a season to celebrate Jeanne Moreau 80th birthday. It’s horrible.
I can understand, just about, that at the start of the sixties, or rather at the end of the fifties, there could be something thrilling about this giddy ménage a trois set either side of the First World War. To a contemporary audience though it’s like listening to an episode of Around the Horne; not without its pleasures but fundamentally an artefact trapped in its period.
It is supposed to be an expression of free spirits, but is just a bad case of wacky. It starts off happy wacky, like a poor man’s Hard Day’s Night, but goes on to be maudlin wacky which is just a horrible combination.
Truffaut had launched himself with two stunning movies The 400 Blows and Shoot The Pianist but though you can appreciate the skill with which he stitches a historical piece together from newsreel footage and the occasional burst of energy from his sweeping aerial shots, most of the film is a static yak fest.
Jules (Werner) et Jim (Serre) are a couple of gallivanting writers (though their existence seems blissful untouched by anything approaching work) who become friends in Paris in pre-war and then both become entranced with the clearly loopy Catherine (Moreau.)
Like the Marie Celeste, the great appeal of Jeanne Moreau is a mystery that remains lost in time. In French movies Catherine is a daringly capricious free spirit, yet her actions seem mostly spiteful and vindictive. The men aren’t much better. Jim treats the woman who loves him disdainfully while Jules is a doormat. (Or is it the other way round? If only Truffaut had thought to always have them stand in name order, like Ant and Dec.)
