Jeanne Dielman: a Film Review

You may have recently heard about the 1975 movie Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Bruxelles, as it was declared the greatest film of all-time by the esteemed British film magazine Sight and Sound, a slot formerly held by Hitchcock’s 1958 film Vertigo and the 1941 Orson Welles film Citizen Kane. Jeanne Dielman may be unfamiliar to many movie lovers, as it was for me, and despite it running over 200 minutes, I felt compelled to give it a viewing last week (it’s currently streaming on HBO Max and Prime). It was directed by the Belgian filmmaker Chantal Akerman who died by her own hand in 2015 at age 65, but not before dedicating her life to portraying women’s lives through dozens of feature films, short films and documentaries. And indeed, Jeanne Dielman, which Akerman directed at age 25, is astounding if for no other reason that it’s almost exclusively about a woman (played by Delphine Seyrig) doing household chores, not the stuff of most cinema, especially in 1975. The movie is almost universally praised by critics and has even garnered an audience approval rating of 82% on Rotten Tomatoes. Not too shabby for a long film with little plot.

But if I’m being honest, I found the film to be a slog. I know, it’s supposed to be a slog, as it depicts a widowed housewife whose days are spent doing menial tasks such as peeling potatoes, running errands, dusting chotchkies and preparing meals for her teenage son, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the slog is worth it.

According to some of the contemporaneous and modern reviews I’ve read, the film is meant to portray the oppressive nature of women’s existence, which boils down to serving men, whether they’re husbands, sons, bosses and – in Jeanne Dielman’s case – clients who pay to have sex with her, a different man visiting her apartment each afternoon. And look, if the film is meant to capture three days in the life of one particular woman who’s clearly suffering from depression, then okay. I can buy the premise and its conclusion, but that doesn’t mean I particularly like it, that I wasn’t bored when the main character peeled potatoes for not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not six, not seven, but for eight minutes, or that I’ll ever watch it again, but okay. The film is completely unique. The subject matter is completely unique. And the artistry of the framing and motionless camera cannot be denied.  

But the problem for me is that others claim that the movie has a more general insight about women’s plight everywhere, and for me that’s where the film falls short, as if Akerman supposed that because she was depressed and alone that women everywhere must also be. Akerman is said to have based the film on the post-World War II generation of women that she observed in her younger life. If that’s truly the case, then I not only stand corrected, but I’m truly sorry, because Akerman must have been surrounded by a bunch of sad sacks. But I honestly don’t buy it.  Yes, many women over the decades have been completely justified in their dissatisfaction with living life as homemakers, but that doesn’t mean they lived like robots, absent of all feelings, sleepwalking through life.

The character Jeanne Dielman is a joyless, expressionless, friendless dud. A complete and utter pill. She shows no joy toward her son. No joy toward an acquaintance she runs into while running errands. No joy in music. No joy in receiving a letter from her sister in Canada (indeed, she reads it aloud with the same intonation one would use to read a cookbook recipe). No joy toward a neighbor’s baby, whom she watches for five minutes each day (this, to me, was the most revealing. How can you look at a baby and not smile and engage?). She admits to not having loved her husband who died six years ago, marrying him mainly to leave her parent’s home. And she apparently has made no friends over the years, which is odd. She is alone, lonely and depressed. Oh, and instead of getting a job where she could earn some money and be part of society, she chooses to prostitute herself (I have a hard time imagining how she found her clients, given how socially inept she appears to be. How exactly did the word get out? And how do men find satisfaction in what is — in essence — screwing a mannequin?).  

And this is meant to portray women’s experience everywhere? I don’t think so. The only things that ring universally true are the necessity to get married in order to leave home and to be in charge of housework by default. I get that. In the 1960s, my mother had aspirations of being a doctor, but coming from a modest family at a time when women “didn’t become doctors,” that dream was denied her. She married my father after a very brief courtship. At that time that was what women did. Either that, or they were stuck living in their parents’ homes, life suspended without the aid of a man. And I know she wasn’t entirely satisfied with being a mom and with running a household. But neither was she joyless. She still had some agency in her life, some control of her aspirations and how she viewed the world. She still played. She got together with friends. She dated after my parents split. She worked at a place of legitimate employment. Despite the similarities of their plights, my mother bears almost no resemblance to Jeanne Dielman.

In the film, the main character’s son says almost nothing throughout and offers not a finger of assistance to help his mother. In an episode of the wonderful podcast Filmspotting the hosts — both of whom love the movie— admonish the son and how unhelpful and ungrateful he is. What they fail to highlight is how uninterested Jeanne is in her son. In a revealing scene at the end of the film’s second day, Dielman’s son finally opens up to her, practically begging her to sit down and have an actual conversation. Instead, she’s impatient and dismissive, offering a quip and telling her son to go to sleep. You can chastise the son all you want, but if Dielman’s current disposition is any indication, her fatherless son has never actually been loved, merely tolerated. No wonder he shows no love for his mother and no propensity to help her with tasks.

The parent-child relationship in Jeanne Dielman reminds me of the parents in the film Revolutionary Road played by Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, who view their kids at best as a nuisance and at worst as obstacles to their true ambitions. I liked that film quite a lot, but I reject the notion that somehow it represents American suburbia in the 1960s. Yes, it beautifully portrays the isolation and dissatisfaction associated with being a suburban mother lacking in agency. But the mother also failed to see the beauty right in front of her.

So no, I didn’t particularly like Jeanne Dielman, and like many highly-praised films, I fear that many people claim to love it mostly because they’ve been told to. For me, give me Rear Window or Goodfellas or Beginners or Eternal Sunshine or loads of other films any day of the week. I will not be watching Dielman again.

The film TÁR

The best sermons are ones that leave you with something to chew on, something to apply to your life or someone else’s life, to ponder, to wrestle with.  Something more than just a trifle to forget as soon as it ends.  The same applies to film.  And while I may not rush out to watch Todd Field’s TÁR a second time, I can’t stop thinking about it.  And really, what more could you ask of a work of art?

Cate Blanchett inhabits roles like few others, and her portrayal of conductor, composer and author Lydia Tár is no exception, a mesmerizing tour de force, as she employs not only her prodigious acting talents, but also skills she acquired for the role: conducting, piano playing, and speaking German.  Honestly, it’s ridiculous.  As Vogue writer Taylor Antrim concluded in his review of the film, “Just give her the Oscar.”  I couldn’t agree more. 

The film dives deeply into the world of music, and it helps to have some knowledge of the language of music when watching Tár.  My non-musical wife may have enjoyed the journey, but not as much as I did, and I probably didn’t enjoy it as much as my classical musician friends will, all of whom I immediately texted when I finished watching the movie.  It’s not often that the world of classical music is portrayed on film so thoughtfully and thoroughly, and I think they’ll get to experience Tár on an even deeper level than I did.

But at its core, the world of classical performing is like any other business: there is politics, jockeying for position, mind games, personality conflicts, concerns about marketing and money, and wrestling with loyalty, legacy, family, power and control – and it’s these universal qualities that allow the film to be appreciated no matter what expertise you may or may not bring to the table.  That is, as long as you can handle a running time of 158 minute.

But time in film can stretch and contract just like tempo in music can ritard or accelerate (much like Tár describes in the opening scene of the film when she’s interviewed at a public gathering). What’s amazing is how much time Field spends on the slow build of Tár’s journey, as we learn about her musical expertise, her celebrity, her home life with wife Sharon and adopted daughter Petra, her struggles to tune out extraneous sounds that hamper with the more important tasks at hand… and how little time is spent on the earth-shattering changes that occur within the last half an hour of the film.

This is where Field’s expertise really shines, as he tells us just enough to draw our own conclusions, but not so much that he hits us over the head with an unambivalent outcome (the way, say, Everything Everywhere All at Once did last spring, somewhat marring an otherwise excellent movie).  Other deftly-written scenes lack ambiguity but are amazingly efficient at telling us what we need to know with very little.  I won’t spoil anything, but there are two brief scenes – one in a PR firm’s office, and one in Lydia’s childhood home – that both last no more than 30 seconds and illuminate so much about her life without getting bogged down in the details.  Honestly, Field could have made another film – Tár 2, if you will – expanding the last twenty minutes into a 2-hour feature film.  There certainly would have been enough intrigue to coax me back into the theater (and this film must be seen in a theater if you have the opportunity).  Instead, he speeds up the last half an hour of the film, just as composer might for a symphony’s climax. 

As it is, the film leaves me with questions, something I appreciate in a good movie. Why does Tár throw out a book she receives as a gift, a book adorned by an artistic pattern similar to one on a metronome in her home and to one her daughter makes with clay?  I don’t know.  I suspect there’s something I missed.  Is the scream Tár heard in a park really happening or is it in her head?  What exactly is she guilty of, and were the consequences of her actions just or unjust?

I don’t know.  But I can’t wait to ask my friends about it after they see the movie.

Just like a good sermon.

The Movie, Chef

When Jon Favreau made his big splash in the movie Swingers back in 1993, who could have predicted that he’d be playing a supporting role on TV’s Friends just a few years later?  The guy was clearly destined for bigger things.  Fortunately, since then he’s managed to carve out a nice resume of screenwriting, acting and directorial credits (Elf, Iron Man) and in his latest movie, Chef, he does all three in an absolute gem of a film.  I haven’t had this much fun at a movie all year. 

Favreau plays Carl Casper, a professional chef in LA who finds himself compromising his art due to restaurateur Dustin Hoffman’s insistence that he stick to the tried and true.  A novice at social media, Casper learns just enough from son Percy (Emjay Anthony) to become dangerous, and a series of self-induced mishaps – culminating in a videotaped tantrum in front of food critique Ramsey Michel (Oliver Platt) – puts him back on the job market, lost and uncertain of what to do next. 

At the prodding of Casper’s ex-wife, played by Sofia Vergara, Favreau and son begin a new business in Miami on a food truck, assisted by former line chef, Martin (played by the incomparable John Leguizamo).  They city-hop across the country, learning a few things along the way about fatherhood, work-ethics, and how to use social media as one’s advantage.  More importantly, the plot allows Favreau to show us his love affair with Miami, New Orleans and Austin, and the music and food that makes these cities come alive.

Favreau could have taken many predictable turns that would have made Chef yet another contrived Hollywood mess, and true, things are sewn up a little neatly at the film’s end, but the journey along the way is such a terrific romp, both sweet enough and irreverent enough to rope in my 12 year-old son (which ain’t easy), that a little contrivance toward the end is acceptable.  It’s not often a movie balances things so well (Favreau’s excellent Elf is one example), and Chef lends credence to the notion that a well-done character-driven film is often more interesting than a plot-driven film (though having both is even better).

Big name stars Robert Downey, Jr., Scarlett Johansson and Dustin Hoffman (not to mention Oliver Platt) all land terrific performances in small roles, but Leguizamo, sous chef Tony (Bobby Cannavale) and Favreau steal the show, along with Favreau’s father-son relationship with Anthony.   The dialogue seems natural and unforced, and Favreau’s obvious love of cooking shines, as he affectionately devotes numerous scenes that reveal just how much effort people are willing to expend – all for the pleasure of a fine meal. 

Roger Ebert

An eerie coincidence: two nights ago, I spent a half an hour watching an old Siskel and Ebert movie review at http://siskelandebert.org/ of one hell of a week for movie lovers.  During that week in 1982, they reviewed Tootsie, The Verdict and Sophie’s Choice.  Not too shabby. 

The next day I found out that Roger Ebert had died. 

This news jolted me, as I’d just been watching the forty year-old Ebert offer his witticisms the night prior, and though the news saddened me, I’d already felt the loss of no longer being able to watch new versions of the great show both he and Gene Siskel left behind.  Fortunately for us, two other film lovers have helped catalogue these old reviews at http://siskelandebert.org/ (though I notice the website was down earlier today.  We can only hope this was because of too many hits and not because the powers that be at Disney/ABC – the owners of all the “At the Movie” episodes from 1986 through 2010 - have thrown their weight around and filed a lawsuit.  For more on the stupidity of Disney/ABC, click on a blog of mine from a year ago).

Siskel and Ebert’s show was part of my life due to my mother’s influence, when in the 1970s we tuned into the show “Sneak Previews” on PBS.  We even watched for a while after Siskel and Ebert’s departure, but before long we turned back to the critics we’d grown to love at their new show, “At the Movies.”  Always interesting, sometimes enlightening, and almost always entertaining, the weekly show helped to solidify in me what was already becoming a fascination with the movies.

For any of you who missed how insightful and entertaining movie criticism can be, look no further than their 1990 discussion (at minute 14:40) of the anti-Semitism accusations people made of Spike Lee for his film, Mo’ Better Blues. As both a film lover and a Jewish man, Siskel handles the subject deftly, while Roger Ebert displays his innocence by admitting he didn’t even know the characters were supposed to be Jewish (I didn’t either back in 1990).  It was a grown-up discussion before the days of the Internet when name-calling and browbeating weren't the norm.

Both Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert will be missed, with or without a video record of their contributions to film criticism, but what’s mindboggling to me is how a similar show can’t succeed today.  Aren’t their two skillful writers out there who’ve got some personality and who can provide movie lovers with a show in the same vein as “At the Movies”?  Even an Internet-only broadcast would be acceptable to me.  If one exists that I'm simply not aware of, please leave a comment at the end of this blog.

An aside: I should also note that in 2011 I happened to be listening to an Amy Winehouse song at the same time I later found out she was dying, and now Roger dies hours after I watch a review of his.  For those of you whose blogs I read, watch out.

The film Argo: Go See It!

I should first note that any movie that highlights Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” and The Rolling Stones’ “Little T&A” is bound to please me to a certain degree, no matter the acting or subject matter (Van Halen’s “Dance the Night Way” wasn’t too shabby either).  That “Argo” hits all the marks in a deftly executed historical thriller is more than just icing on the cake; it’s as close to perfection for the genre as any I’ve seen, and for me it’s the best film since 2007's “Michael Clayton.”

“Argo” tells the true story of six would-be American hostages who instead flee to the Canadian embassy.  How to get them out is the question, and CIA agent Ben Affleck has a plan: to pose with the six as Canadian film-makers scouting out locations in Iran for a science fiction movie called “Argo.”  Sound crazy?  It did to me, and still does. 

I was old enough to be very aware of the hostage crisis back in 1979, and I remember the blindfolded Americans being paraded through the streets of Tehran.  Affleck, both an understated lead and a capable director in this feature, manages to shift between real footage and fictionalized scenes seamlessly, taking viewers back to that time period in a flash.  I even had a touch of nostalgia watching younger versions of Tom Brokaw, Ted Koppel and Walter Cronkite grace the newscasts of yesteryear.

The opening scenes, in which the mobs of protestors storm the embassy, are chilling, especially in light of the Americans who lost their lives in Libya last month.  Sometimes history repeats itself.  Affleck does a good job of offering a quick tutorial for the uninformed at the film’s opening, summarizing the hostage crisis and what led to it (what led to it?  The actions of the U.S. Government twenty-five years prior.   History doesn’t just happen, folks.  History results from unintended consequences.).

Affleck pulls every suspense string he can clutch near the film’s conclusion, and although I knew exactly what he was doing and that I was being manipulated, I didn’t particularly care.  I just know I would never have been able to pull off the ruse of pretending to be a filmmaker while gunmen questioned me.  I was nervous enough as a viewer.  I would also like to read about actual events to see how much the screenplay was doctored up for the benefit of the film.  If things indeed happened as Argo depicts, then I think I can sum up my reaction in two words: Holy Crap!

Ben Affleck has followed the lead of co-producer George Clooney in smartly handling his Hollywood career, wisely taking on smaller projects that are perhaps a bit under the radar, but are sharp films that please critics and cult-audiences alike.  Take Clooney’s “Good Night and Good Luck,” a masterfully done historical thriller, multiply the intensity ten-fold, subtract the black and white, and you get “Argo,” including the cigarette smoke, this time inhaled by guys with cheesy mustaches instead of the suave look of the 50s.

John Goodman is also doing a nice job of managing his career, and after his mostly silent performance in “The Artist,” it’s great to see him and hear him in action, along with Alan Arkin, as Hollywood filmmakers.  There are a dozen other faces you’ll recognize, and all were wise to take bit roles in what is bound to be an Oscar contender.

Yes, you heard me right. 

Then again, “Michael Clayton” didn’t win best picture, and last year Roman Polanski’s “Ghost Writer” didn’t even get nominated.  So what the hell do I know?