jules et jim - françoise truffaut

françois truffaut, far too smart and handsome to have died when he did, remains one of the most insightful critics of film. his body critical is not that of the mealymouthed twit whoring out exclamation points for the newest submarine blockbuster, nor can we find in it the mark of the effete, supercilious cineast with a whole bachelor’s degree and an inflated sense of self-importance. every review was like a valentine, born of a genuine love of cinema and a keen understanding of the medium’s potential. a cross-section of his reviews, the films in my life, is readily available and thoroughly indispensable. hitchcock / truffaut, the result of some fifty hours of intense discussion with the elusive master, remains one of the most honest and intelligent discussions of film i’ve had the pleasure to read.

all this would be mere exposition save that truffaut, the critic, was an architect of the ‘auteur film’ sensibility and would become one of its most notable examples. of the french new wave, which he ushered in with the excellent 400 blows, truffaut was arguably the traditionalist, the throwback, a scion of the warm jean renoir and the whimsical alfred hitchcock. while instantly recognizable, truffaut’s style is understated and non-intrusive, unlike that of nouvelle vague peer jean-luc godard. godard's hand is visible in every effort; it’s patently obvious who controls the narrative and calls the shots. in contempt, brigitte bardot makes a neat quantum leap as she walks in the living room, winking out and winking back in three paces away, as if the camera eye lost interest and blinked. as his trio shares a dinner table, truffaut lets our attention linger on jeanne moreau's catherine in jules and jim, a two-second snapshot of her laughter is the frozen, silent document betraying our presence. godard decides what you see and what you miss and flaunts this authority; truffaut pauses, begging the fair moments to hold fast awhile longer before moving on. like van der rohe said, 'god is in the details'.

truffaut’s bodies of critical and cinematic work betray a pervading interest in the way we reach and lose one another, a preoccupation with characterization rather than plot. like renoir’s patient, reserved rules of the game, jules and jim is a compassionate (but not sordidly sentimental) display of love, friendship and folly that never turns bleak or desperate, like john cassavetes’ faces, which turns love, friendship and folly on their heads. austrian jules and french jim are two writers whose close relationship weathers their respective conscriptions in first world war (each fears his stray bullets, praying that he doesn't kill the other). when they return to their lives, sober and older, their friendship is redefined by a mutual love for jules’ wife, catherine.

the rest of the story isn’t a predictable, kissing a fool-styled entailment of the set-up, so i’ll say no more and close with the thought that truffaut’s auteur cinema is clearly one of respect, for both the characters and the audience. jules and jim offers no pat answers. indeed, we, like the unfortunate members of this onscreen menage, never really know precisely what question to ask. some days, weeks and years after we've rewound the tape, catherine’s photograph still laughs mutely, echoing in the chambers of our hearts, sidestepping our queries. very touching.