Contempt (Mépris, Le, 1963)

Jean-Luc Godard

France

102 min, color, French-Italian-English (English subtitles)

Jean-Luc Godard's 1963 outing cannot decide whether it's about the director's own struggle with the commercialism of the declining film industry or an incisive look at the breakdown of a family against the backdrop of the variously misinterpreted "Odyssey".

The first subject matter is best exemplified by the struggle of the brilliant Fritz Lang (played by the man himself) to make an art film closely adapting Homer's vigorously affirming epic against the wishes of the contemptuous and pompously vacuous American producer Jeremy Prokosch (played by the rather miscast Jack Palance) who really wants a crowd-pleasing Hercules rip-off with as much nekkid bimbage as possible. Lang, having interpreted the script in the usual heroic fashion portrays Ulysses' grim determination to return to Ithaca and Penelope set against the wrath of the gods, especially Posseidon. What Prokosch wants, on the other hand, is a story about a cheating wife whose husband first tried to get away by running off to the Trojan War and who then takes a decade to return because he really does not want to.

Godard has the vulgar producer misinterpreting just about anything in the story (everyone will probably recall the way Ulysses was "drafted" against his will to go to the war) while simultaneously quoting from a little book of putrid "wisdom" lines designed to enhance his own ego-maniacal and self-important status. In the end, his control of the money gives him full control over the creativity of the film-makers who are forced to churn out idiotic products to satisfy his pretensions. At one point Prokosch says "I like the gods. I know exactly how they feel."

The parallel story is introduced when Prokosch decides to hire the unremarkable writer Paul (Michel Piccoli) whose only distinction is being married to the stunningly beautiful, if somewhat insecure, Camille (Brigitte Bardot). The ostensible purpose of the hire is to rewrite the script and turn it into the commercial fare that the producer desires. As a bonus, Prokosch almost immediately makes a pass at Camille in his usual boorish and overbearing manner right in front of her husband. When Paul fails to react properly (i.e. either slap the guy senseless or at least not agree to his wife being wisked away in the producer's car while he's left behind to take a taxi), Camille suddenly loses all her warmth toward her husband.

What follows is perhaps the most memorable scene from the film as the couple bickers illogically in their apartment, with the squabble going from periods of menacing pianissimo to seemingly cathertic crescendo only to descend back into a silent and inexplicable confusion again. Beautifully staged and marvelously performed, the sequence captures the disconnected reality of marital arguments where the man tries desperately to find out what is causing his wife to react like she's seen a snake in the den. Camilla wreathes and seathes without ever telling Paul the reason for her sudden and dramatic change of behavior. He goes through the laundry list of usual suspects: he's done something which she has misinterpreted, she's had an affair with the producer, she's not in love with him anymore. Camille finally hurls her confession to him almost in passing. She does not love him anymore and, what's more, she has contempt for him now.

This abrupt reversal of feeling (we had just been shown a scene from the same morning where she implored him to tell how much he loved her and then told him how much she loved him, a scene we have no reason to doubt) came as a bit of a surprise to me. After all, although Camille clearly thought that Paul's agreeing to Prokosch taking off with her was catering to the base lust of the producer at her expense, thus making her husband a money hungry weakling, it was most emphatically not the case. First, Prokosch had already given him the check and so there was no reason for Paul to offer his wife even if he wanted to. Second, he did not want to. At one point he tells Lang (talking about Ulysses but really explaining his own behavior) that maybe he thought the suitor was beneath him, that he had nothing to worry about. Perhaps he even relished the idea of the rude producer being snubbed by the beautiful Camille? This is the third case of contempt in the film, and it also leads to destruction.

(After wondering out loud about Camille's inexplicable behavior that gave no chance to Paul to redeem himself for his slight miscalculation, I was shown the error of my ways by my wife, who pointed out that Camille's choice was something she completely understood and that many women would embrace. Once again, this just proves my point: after 12 years together, I still know next to zilch about my own wife and women generally. Although, being the territorial badass that I am, I would never have allowed a pass at my own wife, I (idiotically) thought that letting a woman handle her own defense would be construed as modern sensitivity. However, it seems that the days of chivalry are still upon us... at least when it suits our better halves.)

The rift slowly becomes an unbridgeable abyss and nothing Paul does (he goes so far to even refuse the job) can bring back his wife. He finally takes a revolver, perhaps thinking of doing what Ulysses did to his wife's suitors. Even this is denied to him. Camille finds the weapon and unloads it, then leaves with Prokosch to go to Rome. The two have an accident in which both are killed, leaving Paul unable ever to right the wrong he inadvertently committed.

Although not a very strong film, Contempt is quite good at what it does, especially at portraying the demise of creativity in cinema. I could not believe Camille, which weakened the second plot significantly for me. However, I may be a minority here.

Although it was sumptuously filmed in widescreen, the version I saw was pan-scan, losing everything from what must have been careful compositions. The cretin who invented the technique should be formatted to fit my screen. The primary colors are very saturated, especially the Mediterranean blue that dominates the second part of the film, signifying the cooling of the relationship. (The first part is dominated by reds.) The music is superb and unsettling: the menacing theme begins from the very start, as the two lovers share intimate confessions.

An enjoyable film that permits Bardot more than her usual pretty but somewhat empty presence. I hear that the initial scene where she lies nude with her husband and questions him about the various attributes of her body was done to satisfy Godard's own producers who, similar to Prokosch, threw a fit when they found out that he had "cheated them" by making a film with Bardot in which she did not get naked. In what one can construe only as revenge, Godard filmed the scene obliterating all possible eroticism in it. As it stands, it is a strange and foreboding sequence.

May 10, 2002