"Where the actors believe talking is thinking ..."

Detective
1985

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

Written by Alain Sarde, Philippe Setbon, Jean-Luc Godard, Anne-Marie Mieville, and Richard Debuisne

Original Music by Emmanuel Chabrier

Cinematography by Louis Bihi, Pierre Novion, Bruno Nuytten
Editing by Marilyne Dubreuil

Perhaps the most fully-realized and well-rounded of all of Godard’s films, Detective, is at once, accessible and strangely elusive. Godard revisits a familiar theme (previously visited by Pierrot le Fou, Made in USA, Breathless, and Vivre sa Vie) and that is the crime subgenre of “noir” (Ok, maybe not all of those films were actually “noir,” but you get my meaning, new wave crime). Of course, the word “noir” was originally introduced by a French critic as a way of describing the American reinterpretation of the French style … or something like that. Anyway, suffice it to say that Godard’s Detective balances that, often unbalanced, mixture of Godard’s experimental side and his commercial side; but one would be mistaken to expect any Godard film to be commercial (Vivre sa Vie comes close), and so I urge you to dispel such notions completely.

The story behind Detective is a multi-faceted expose into the lives of various tenants of a hotel. One branch of the story detailing a blackmailer and his victim, another of father Prospero and his daughter Ariel (who read The Tempest together, ha!), another of a husband and wife who continually drone on about how they’ve wasted their lives together, and so on. It quickly becomes apparent that the emphasis of this film is not the narrative (as is typically the case with Godard), but the presentation.

This is, above all, a Godard film, and it follows every “convention” he is commonly known for. His ability to present a scene as a narrative and then reverse the self-awareness of the characters into commenting on the scene itself … is unparalleled. Why, the very idea of doing something like that nowadays could only be accepted in pure Hollywood-esque comedic form – not in the dry, surrealistic way Godard pulls it off (only David Lynch comes to mind as a fairly recent filmmaker who has developed this technique and has been able to market it to a wide audience). Deconstructionalist and dauntingly challenging, Detective is Godard in his purest form.

What is perhaps, most significant, almost immediately, is the beauty of the Hotel Concorde Saint-Lazare itself. Like Kubrick’s The Shining a few years before, few films have entrusted an inanimate structure, such as a hotel, with carrying the responsibility of a “character,” but Detective certainly is one of them. The gold and white, red and green, and all juxtapositions thereof, are displayed in all their glory with Godard’s peculiar panache for colour and composition.

Also typical of Godard is the, often, static camera (used to a lesser extreme than some of his more experimental, earlier works). Actors/actresses are framed perfectly and symmetrically (no odd Raimi-esque angles here, but precise composition), and it should be said, “Sparingly.” Just like any “good thing,” Godard is best served in moderation.

The music is also characteristic of Godard’s style. Over-blown and intentionally inappropriate musical cues grate and impress throughout the film (not quite as drastic as Made in USA, but ‘unique’ to say the least – I mean that as both a compliment and a criticism). There is a mountain of dialogue which spews from the characters’ mouths in rapid succession, discussing every topic possible from romantic affairs to morality to long kept secrets. It is, at times, both self-aware and oblivious to the point of theatricality and one can imagine the snickering brain of Godard silently and inscrutably rejoicing with satisfaction (squish squish). And this is what surprised me – this aspect of Godard, his defiantly rambling dialogue which normally grates the nerves to the point of nausea, was very fulfilling in this film and expertly delivered. I felt that Godard regained his confidence somehow (perhaps I’m overstating it a bit, it’s just a feeling), lost in the ‘70s with his shtick, and managed to churn out a wonderfully narcissistic rendition of the male psyche with charm and mastery over the cinematic form.

Overall Rating: * * * * * * (6 stars out of 6)