The French New Wave

The rash of young filmmakers that mushroomed across the French film scene in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s is often held responsible for the excesses that followed, culminating in pop music videos in the ‘90s, the increase in abstract films with no narratives or little sense, the overindulgence of directors and perhaps worse of all, nourishing youths with the false hope that anyone with a video camera could become a filmmaker – to the mental anguish and physical distress of audiences everywhere.

While the names “Tarantino”, “Guy Ritchie” and “XYZ” are hollered from rooftops, fought over by fans like hagglers at a fishmonger’s, the names “Godard”, “Truffaut” and “Melville” are whispered furtively at film festivals and unemployment offices, and wherever else film critics convene.

“I know what I have given you,” begins a famous saying, “but I do not know what you have received.” And while French New Wave films have gifted (or at least popularized) the jump cut and rapid editing, shooting on location, handheld cameras, the use of pop music on sound tracks, a refusal to judge its protagonists, an emphasis on youth and movement and an embracement of the present (in the past lay the Holocaust; the future promised Soviet-American nuclear Armageddon), its heirs appear to have received something vastly different.

For one thing, they are convinced that any film without a loud explosion every few minutes is too cerebral and not worth the price of admission. But the power and glory of the cinema does not reside in loud explosions and stunts solely. Naturally, there are those who remain unconvinced: those who see the act of going to the cinema as a leisure activity, somewhere to feast the eyes and chill the brain. To them is promised a lifetime of contentment and a short lasting ecstasy. But for those who would like to prolong the stimulation and climax that the cinema can afford, would be well advised to steer clear of films that end with a hollow bang.

The works of Tarantino and Ritchie are certainly amusing. The expletive ridden dialogue is humorous and provides excellent conversation starters with adolescents. The stories, if somewhat ludicrous, at least do not ask to be taken seriously. That Ritchie began his career making music videos is amply demonstrated by the editing of his movies. That Tarantino enjoys pastiching older films is common knowledge. Yet music videos do not a movie make, nor does a passion for homage wring much but a few wry smiles unless done for a greater purpose. Grey haired film critics would argue that when Godard pastiched Howard Hawks’ Scarface (1932) (among other films) in Breathless (1959), he did so because he was not only making a gangster film but a film about gangster films. It displayed a degree of self-reflexivity (not seen in the cinema before) that allowed not only a critique of films made by past greats but also a critique of the cinema itself.

Without wanting to labour the point, it is clear that in one hundred years time Godard’s reputation will be secure as the James Joyce of cinema, whereas Tarantino’s place in history is more difficult to divine. Tarantino, of course, would not care a whit but therein lies the problem. Godard once famously admitted: “Yes, I am trying to change the world.” How many of today’s directors can claim a similar ambition?

Tarantino is one of the most popular of the “younger” Hollywood directors. But to limit ourselves to his works is to miss out from whence he drew his inspiration.

But perhaps the greatest contribution of the French New Wave has been the Auteur theory, which encourages thinking of the director as the most important person in any given film. Far too many people, shamelessly, boast their ignorance of the roles of directors and producers. It is true that people often undertake both roles. But to mistake one for the other is akin to confusing the role of the architect with the property developer’s.

The most enduring legacy of the French New Wave will be of its success in elevating the cinema to its rightful place alongside the other six arts, namely architecture, sculpture, painting, dance, music and poetry. And establishing the film director on a par with the painter, the composer, and the poet. In other words, a film by Godard is commensurate with a novel by Joyce; a Bresson is comparable to a Mozart; and a Renoir fils is no less than a Renoir père.

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