Postby Neane » Wed Sep 12, 2012 2:02 am
Just watched Au hasard Baltasar , I give it a 10 out of 10.
Jean-Luc Godard called Au hasard Balthazar “the entire world in 90 minutes”. The reduction is appropriate for a film in which its director, Robert Bresson, has managed to reduce everything - image, sound, plot, character, narrative, etc. - to its bare, poetic essentials. But like most attempts at reduction it seems to exclude all of the wondrous details that goes in to making Au hasard Balthazar one of the most profound, transcendent, spiritual, and moving works of art ever made.
“The entire world in 90 minutes” might not be the first criticism that would pop into someone’s head if you attempted to similarly reduce the plot. In fact, it’s possible to reduce Balthazar’s plot to “the life and death of a donkey”. There’s certainly more to it than that, but I bet Bresson would appreciate the minimalistic brevity. More elaborately, the plot seems to parallel the lives of a donkey named Balthazar and a girl named Marie (Anne Wiazemsky). At an early age, Marie is best friends with a boy named Jacques, and the two christen and raise Balthazar as a pet. Balthazar is destined to become the property of many owners, most of which are hard and cruel on him. But it seems that Balthazar’s and Marie’s lives keep intertwining at important moments, and for the majority of the film we get to see her life (and the lives of others) through his benign gaze.
While Balthazar may be the film’s anchor, there are times in which the plot will move away from him, but these instances always seem fractured and elliptical. We are constantly thrusted in media res into stories and conflicts that we’re destined to only catch glimpses of. The film never attempts to conclusively resolve them, and instead we always end up back with Balthazar. The result is a kaleidoscopic film, told with an exquisitely crafted minimalism that seems as small an intimate as it does majestic and expansive.
The mastermind behind all of this is one of France’s greatest masters, Robert Bresson. Bresson was always a director out of time. He wasn’t apart of France’s old school, but he certainly wasn’t a part of its new wave, either. Throughout his career he forged one of the most idiosyncratic and impressive styles of any director, and as a result he was appreciated, and even revered, by members of the old guard and the new guard. For my money, Balthazar is his best film, perhaps because it distills all of the strengths of his cinema into its purest expression, one that, at its best, manages to be overwhelmingly moving.
Bresson always called his films models, and in no other film has he managed to abstract the human element more than here. When Balthazar is on screen he almost always forms the axis on which the camera revolves, and when humans do take up the focus, Bresson seems much more interested in their hands and feet than their faces and expressions. Of course, Bresson’s fascination with feet and hands is something to be found in all his cinema, but here perhaps more than anywhere else he seems to be able to reduce mankind down to its movement, actions, and choices by way of their hands and feet. Bresson manages to use this focus for every purpose imaginable; sometimes it serves to telescope the drama by narrowing it down to the most crucial detail, other times its used to present a delicate gentility.
Balthazar also displays Bresson’s mastery of music and sound. For music Bresson primarily uses Schubert’s Piano Sonata no. 20; a deceptively simple and melancholy piece of music that, like Bresson’s film, uses a single anchored phrase motif in which all of the later developments work from. It’s hard to imagine a more fitting piece of music to accompany the film emotionally, tonally, or thematically. Bresson has always been a master at manipulating natural sound. The brilliance of Balthazar’s sound design is that, much like the rest of the film, it’s entirely culled from nature, but then simply orchestrated, composed, and edited to its utmost efficacy within any given scene.
Bresson was often described as a painter of films, but watching Balthazar it seems more accurate to say that he was a painter of nature on film. Balthazar is one of the most organically rich films I can think of. It has a rustic simplicity that feels authentic from the first frame to the last. Just like the music and sound, it seems less like Bresson is manipulating and more like he’s orchestrating what’s already there. With the eye of a painter he merely focuses our own gaze on the details of the natural world that we so easily past by without looking twice at.
It almost seems crude, though, to focus so much on the technical achievements of a film whose greatest value perhaps lies in its emotional and thematic substance. Balthazar has often been called an allegory or a religious fable, but the truth is that it feels more like a fable stripped of dictated meaning and intent. While Bresson was indeed a Catholic, and it’s easy to see the film from a Christian angle (the donkey himself is named after one of the Magi, afterall), the film’s greatest impact comes from its universal observance of suffering and tolerance. In fact, it’s easy to read in Balthazar a kind of natural embodiment of the Seven Virtues: Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, and Humility - as one of his owners says (paraphrased), “You are destined to see the endless follies of man”.
The ultimate genius of the film is that Bresson has managed to capture man at its most humane and inhumane through the eyes of an animal who is completely benevolent, and our eternal sympathies lay with Balthazar rather than the circus line of foolish and cruel humans who surround him. Only an artistic genius like Bresson would’ve been able to see the best and most abstract qualities of man embodied in a donkey. But if the entire film is an exercise in an understated humility and poise, it’s truly the ending where Balthazar achieves one of cinema’s deepest expressions of pathos, in all its genuine sadness and paradoxically uplifting grace. It’s truly a scene in which all but the most hardened hearts are guaranteed to shed a tear.
Au hasard Balthazar is one of those films that you watch and it makes you realize how pedestrian the vast majority of cinema is as a whole. It's a film in which emotion accumulates by subtle strings of suggestion, in all its smallest and grandest mysteries, in all its silence and sound, in every corner of every frame, in every ellipsis that connects and relates by the most minute of inferences… Au hasard Balthazar, in many ways, eludes reductionism as much as it invites it. It’s a miraculous, paradoxical film where so much is contained in so little, and where the smallest gestures provoke the grandest of thoughts and feelings. Above all, it’s perhaps the greatest work from one of cinema’s foremost artists.