Reprint: 2 or 3 Things I Know About Robert Bresson

Since I'm a media nerd and a neat freak, I chose to spend one of my few remaining days off sorting through and cleaning out my hard drives. I guess that's just how I roll. Anyway, I discovered a file of articles I wrote for a previous weblog, and damned if this one isn't interesting. I have not seen a Bresson film since I wrote this, so I can't say whether I still agree with my argument; besides, you know how polemical youthful arguments can be. Regardless, however, it is a window into the development of my current aesthetic perspective, as well as being a nifty, if derivative, piece of writing (the tone and structure is loosely based on Robert Christgau's famous critique of the Eagles). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did revisiting it!

2 or 3 Things I Know About Robert Bresson
February 14, 2004

Today I caught Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard, Balthazar at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Spring. This is a “supreme masterpiece,” according to J. Hoberman, and “one of the 50 Great Films” according to the latest prestigious BFI Sight and Sound Poll. Jonathan Rosenbaum lists it in his Placing Movies collection as one of his dozen or so favorites, alongside Playtime, City Lights and The Tiger of Eschnapur, which are all favorites of mine that I discovered through Mr. Rosenbaum’s criticism. Besides being the brunt of a Christgau joke, I challenge you to find a critic or cinephile that doesn’t praise his work.

Like Diary of a Country Priest, which I saw last week by way of the gorgeous Criterion DVD, Au Hasard, Balthazar is presented simply—every scene is clear and narratively focused, and his themes are only just below the surface. I deeply respect how attractive his composition is without bringing attention to itself (though I found Diary of a Country Priest more attractive). And the editing is brisk, so that even when the themes are heavy, the filmmaking is not. And the acting (by non-actors supposedly) is beautiful.

I loved a scene near the end where the donkey, Balthazar, is employed by a circus, and Mr. Bresson cuts between one-shots of animals in cages and Balthazar being led to his trainer. We obviously never know exactly what Balthazar is thinking, but this scene is very moving—the proud and ferocious tiger and the energetic monkey are both kept from being themselves by these cages, and we sympathize through the eyes of this donkey who understands the pain of being held down. To top it off, the scene illuminates just how much we personify animals and objects around us, and how this is a very human and, given the creative liberties we allow our sympathy, a somewhat humorous thing for us to do.

That said, I now add that, like with the Eagles, what I find most interesting about these films is how much I dislike them. In a nutshell, and obviously over-simplified, Au Hasard Balthazar and Diary of a Country Priest are about the cruelty of the world and how that affects people. Mr. Bresson has very rich observations on the subject, and apparently they resonate with an audience. I admit that the endings of both films are movingly gentle, like Diary of a Country Priest’s “all is grace” finale. And I agree with Mr. Rosenbaum that they are accessible—except for the fact that I think they’re boring.

I’m paraphrasing from my notoriously faulty memory, but Godard supposedly proclaimed this film “reality in an hour and a half.” I don’t know about your life, but in mine, when life’s got you by the balls, you crack a joke. You smile to the cashier even when you’ve had a rough day, and miraculously, they smile back. You make terrible decisions then laugh about them over a beer with your friends or over the telephone. Unless I’m missing something in the translation, these films are humorless.

I didn’t like Diary of a Country Priest, but gave Au Hasard, Balthazar a chance (and an hour’s drive) because it has a donkey, and even if this donkey isn’t cute, at least he’ll be sweet—or maybe, I thought, since his role as a metaphor is blatant, Mr. Bresson will be blessedly obvious and maybe even playful. As a Charlie Chaplin and Alfred Hitchcock fan, as a Joss Whedon fan, as a Sonny Rollins and Ornette Coleman fan, I prefer the obvious and playful, and usually sneer at taste—not because subtlety is bad, but because it’s less interesting. Mr. Bresson is oozing with taste—to the point where it feels antithetical to reality and actual human experience. And he’s a real bummer.

Who knows, maybe I’ll like A Man Escaped. Regardless, at least one good thing about not being a film critic is that I don’t have to like Robert Bresson. I’m not crazy about Ingmar Bergman either.