This one is far less... sexually transgressive than Louis Garrel's other works discussed on this blog, dear readers-- which is okay, because: 1. his dad Philippe is the director, and that would be really weird; and 2. this film makes up for it in high-quality French-leftie content. Think of it-- hot, brooding French men and women stare at each other, and the camera (and that means you, dear viewer), in long, lingering shots. Street battles from May '68 in Paris are lovingly recreated, anarchists and communists make common cause in basement meetings and smoke opium together in art lofts. For three screen hours! Never mind the 90 minute rule-- in this case, the rule is meant to be broken-- just like that one about looking directly at the camera-- and all in glorious black and white!
I wondered aloud, elsewhere I think, what relation this would have to Bertolucci's I sognatori (eng: The Dreamers, also starring Garrel with Eva Green and that kinda-cute white boy who played Tommy Gnosis in Hedwig and the Angry Inch)-- which covered pretty much the same subject, but in a much more interiorized setting and presentation, if somewhat more perversely. Much to my delight, P. Garrel has a main character directly invoke not only Bernardo Bertolucci, directly to the camera by name, but also, the sacred name of Pasolini rolls directly off Louis Garrel's romance-language tongue. Cinegasm!
All of that is a lot of satisfaction, from both a political and a cultural view, and shih! The only thing that could have made it more perfect, reality notwithstanding, would have been anachronistic soundtrack contributions by Noir Désir.
Here's a dream-sequence clip from the film:
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