The first New Wave I watched, when I was very young, I still don't know how to read it, I just remember that the track laid at the end is still there, I just remember that Agnes Varda is still there
There have been a lot of losses recently, some of them are the future that I haven't had, some are the past that I have no time to savor. Agnes Varda is no longer there. When I was just beginning to understand what the movie was about, when I just made up my mind to be good Practice how to make a movie, when I just confirmed that this is still my favorite new wave
The beginning of the film is like an ancient Greek tragedy. Every symbol in the prophecy determines every upcoming event but makes us doubt it. Is reality so easy to understand, and can you not be sad if you understand it? It is the symbol itself, or our thoughts, that make a symbol point to something. The performances of street performers, do they really happen when you see them, do they exist when they appear, or the only real thing is the feeling itself that the performance leaves us, nausea, fear, panic, curiosity, and fascination.
The arrangement of time is also in line with the three-uniformity of classical dramas. The passage of time in the movie is also the passage of time when we watch the movie. It is precisely because of the matching of time that the time of the movie can invade our time. All plot changes, The shift in understanding was also more dramatic because it all happened within two hours. But like any good drama, it realizes that it is a condensed reality, and the switching of many pictures deliberately emphasizes the action of switching itself, rather than giving the illusion of a seamless connection between the pictures.
Corneille says that music from scene to scene allows the audience to fill in the gaps between the pictures and the pictures on the stage in their minds. In Varda's films, music plays a role in many narrative levels. If the lyrics themselves are just formalized words written for the sake of rhyme, will the meaning become part of us when the words are sung? It invades our Does time, too, invade our soul, or do we just use it as a background, like external time, co-existing with us without disturbing each other. How long does a song last, how long does a thought last, and how long does it take for a future to come?
The connection between mirrors and death has been shown in Jean Cocteau's films. For Cocteau, mirrors are areas where the boundaries between spaces are blurred. Broadcasting is similar to connecting different spaces at the same time without physical existence. In Varda's films, the world in the mirror is not a distant place, but the reality itself, what you see yourself, not for others to see. Broadcasting connects not reality and unreachable spaces beyond reality, but the aimless present and the imminent but hard-to-reach future. The sound is like the other side of the picture, when the picture becomes the background of the sound.
The insertion of silent films is also found in Vivre sa vie. Compared with the connection between the in-screen and the off-screen through the similarity of the pictures, Cleo's feelings about the film process we only see the smile at the end. The relationship between the film and the film itself is also like all others. symbols are full of possibilities. There are details about taking off the sunglasses in and out of the play. Outside the play, like a mirror, you can see a more real world when you put on sunglasses. In the play, you can't see the real world with sunglasses on, but it can create a comedy, when you wear sunglasses. It disappears from the screen when it is no longer needed, but the reality seen through the sunglasses outside the play has always seemed to be in front of me, lingering.
Others: feathers, quietness in sculpture, water, female driver, cold knowledge of trees, the war in Algeria, does he love me / is he a good lover, can life be perceived only through external appearances, owning the moment isn't it enough
Finally, to all the lost that I don't know how to recover, all the late thoughts
Toutes portes ouvertes En plein courant d'air Je suis une maison vide Sans toi, sans toi
Comme une île déserte Que recouvre la mer Mes plages se devident Sans toi, sans toi
Belle, en pure perte Nue au coeur de l'hiver Je suis un corps avide Sans toi, sans toi
Rongée par le cafard Morte, au cercueil de verre Je me couvre de rides Sans toi, sans toi
Et si tu viens trop tard On m' aura mise en terre Seule, laide et livide Sans toi, sans toi Sans toi
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