JLG/JLG: Self-Portrait in December (1995)

To me, this movie is perfection.

The Worst Film Ever

Fantastic!

The story, direction, characters, and writing/dialogue is akin to taking a tranquilizer shot to the neck, but everything else was so well done.

Director Jean-Luc Godard reflects in this movie about his place in film history, the interaction of film industry and film as art, as well as the act of creating art.Stephen Holden describes the film as "fascinating but often impenetrable collages of densely packed images and poetic musings woven with wrenchingly beautiful fragments of classical music." Indeed, that is very much what this amounts to, a mixture of sounds and images, not necessarily in any real narrative form.What is striking is how the film has a title suggesting it is Godard looking back on his career at the end of his life. And yet, he was only 64, which generally is not considered too terrible old. Those in the movie business often work much later. In fact, as now (2016), Godard is 85 and still very much alive, not to mention still actively making films. His role in the business is not quite finished.

Will you take seriously what is before you in the present moment or will you see it merely as fitting into the scheme of things? The colors you see are just in your mind. You feel like you are looking through glass at the exterior world, but all the colors are just a result of a message from you optic nerve. Goddard is a dualist; he believes that there is an outward reality that corresponds to the inner representations. He vows to love that reality, to take it seriously. You do not invade Iraq when you take your present situation seriously. When you invade Iraq you are relating to your scheme of things; you would like to make some alterations in the scheme. That children will be frightened by your bombs seems insignificant in comparison to the grander scheme of thing, if it even crosses your mind. The end of the movie corresponds to the reference to Being and Time near the beginning. We need to move beyond thinking about how we are judged by others (either as being up there or down there). The Dick Cheneys of the world would be trapped in this concern for THEM as they rearrange the scheme of things. This could be seen quite clearly in the first President Bush. Our minds present us with 24 or so different still pictures every second. Our lives (apart from satori or nirvana) are like a flip book.If I am all there in the present moment won't I end up on welfare? Don't I have to look out for number one? Godard will take his chances. This is not because there is something great about being natural, and it is not because there is something awful about being artificial. It is because he loves. And then when we care about something we build up a predisposition to care about the same sort of thing. At Republic 485d Plato illustrates this phenomenon by talking of channels in our souls. The more water goes down one channel and makes it deeper, the less water will flow down the other channels. Sainthood would come at the end of this process, but the key moments are at the beginning and in the subsequent reaffirmations. If you try to be pure in the present often enough (and with real passion, Kierkegaard would add) you'll end up with an inclination to be that way in the future. It will be easier once you've got the inclination. Then what other people think of you will not be such a deep channel. The real struggle is now.

A poet is a man who is a master of words. He uses them to express life in an artistic way, basically. A filmmaker is a man who seeks to express life artistically in a visual manner through certain techniques specific to film. There is a man, "A man, nothing but a man, no better than any other, but no other better than he" who is a double poet, a master of the words and a master of the moving images. His poetry is both literary and visual. His cinema is a double poetry. JLG/JLG Self-portrait of December made in 1995 is a work of double poetry. Jean Luc Godard is raising several questions about art, culture and life. He seeks his place in this world. It is not an autobiography but a self-portrait as he states. A new type of self-portrait which is like mixing a self-portrait by Van Gogh and a poem by Walt Whitman. I have the image of Van Gogh's blue tones peasant-like self -portraits with yellow straw-hat and Song of Myself by Walt Whitman. What is art after all? "Art is like fire: it lives from what it burns answers" Godard."Now, I have to sacrifice myself so that trough me the word "love" means something, so that love exists on earth."

To see this work is to realize what becomes of a man whose monumental contributions to his craft/art came many decades prior. It's a shame that Jean-Luc Godard, grandmaster of the French New Wave, who once brought unprecedented spunk and verve to his films of the early 60's, all the while shattering and redefining most accepted cinematic notions for a new generation of filmgoers and filmmakers, now is forced to deal with his downfall. Yet he refuses to acknowledge the glaringly obvious fact that his magic touch has just about totally dissipated, for he has become so forlorn in his contempt of accepted societal expectations of film and in his need to further push his musings that the cinema is dead, that he is stuck within himself.In JLG/JLG, we get many, MANY quotes from philosophers and other high-thinkers, put to what use? Beats me. Juxtaposed with shots of rolling hills, ocean waves crashing onto rocky shores, Godard toying around with rolls of film, writing on large pads of paper, and then playing tennis, it all ads up to a nice variety of static images. Pedantic in tone and crusty in narration, the film nevertheless abruptly dispenses one though provoking moment when Godard explains his take on metaphysics via two interlocking triangles that form a 6-pointed star.Ultimately, I left the film with just one clear idea, albeit likely not one that Godard had intended - it is evident that for Godard, life does not imitate art; as, unlike his best films, he is going out with a whimper instead of a bang. Final Grade: D