This review does not romanticise misogyny or murder or toxic masculinity
I take from A Bout de Souffle two things: I want to live in France, and I cannot wait three years. I know that my educational crisis (please tell me if I should do a gap year) was not top of Jean-Luc Godard’s agenda as he directed Breathless. This film portrays a few days in the life of Jean Seberg’s Patricia Franchini and Jean-Paul Belmondo’s Michel Pioccard as their somewhat toxic relationship unfolds in a melange of street scenes and fourth wall ruptures. Though not correlating precisely to my university conundrum, the Nouvelle Vague execution in Godard’s subtlety and experimentation somehow makes their lives irresistibly attractive, despite the glamorised crime and relentless casual misogyny. It’s safe to say in light of Godard’s romanticised showcase of foreign student life, what was spoken of so academically in my personal statement, ultimately now remains code for “I want to live like Patricia Franchini PLEASE.”
I have always found myself latching on somewhat obsessively to fictional, female characters, moving on only when I find the next. She began as Zizi Jeanmaire as the prima ballerina in Hans Christian Anderson at age 3 (my love of pears came from mimicking her graceful picnic side of stage). She then progressed to Liesl von Trapp (at 5, I was too young to realise she fell in love with a Nazi) and later on, Katniss Everdeen (age of obsession will not be disclosed). However, unlike my idolisation of Saoirse Ronan’s Ladybird from age 15, my current desire to escape to France, sell my journal on the streets, run into an old, troubled summer-fling and listen to vinyl with them in my studio apartment overlooking the Champs Elysée, feels unparalleled to all. My mother did not hesitate to remind me of Franchini’s romantic affiliations with Paris’ most-wanted murderer, however it was at this point the character fleetingly mentioned her novel currently in the works, and the messier aspects of her life dissolved, once again. In other words, my impression of her artsy life and elegant fifties silhouettes is looking dangerously like a DIY pixie cut and one way flight to Paris.
Being the first Nouvelle Vague film I have watched, the sweeping yet fast-paced shots and beautifully candid mise en scène seemed too contemporary encased in its black and white film, yet this antithetical union is what makes it so endearing. Even the French subtitles during a moment of English discourse (Patricia is a foreign student from the US) looked quaintly as if taken from a familial patisserie’s menu. Unfortunately, one would struggle to realise its beauty from the disgustingly 2000s poster that Prime Video decided to use. I have recently rediscovered Caro Emerald’s 2013 album and, depressingly, the line “Make the letters write in luminous and blue” highly resonates with this poster. In combination with the awfully photoshopped ‘ripped paper’ margins, the atrocity succeeds in rejecting every ounce of class and nonchalance offered by the Nouvelle Vague.
The English translation to “Breathless” seems somewhat inferior to its literal translation “at the edge of breath”. Both are fittingly melodramatic, but rather than a “breathless” damsel wooed by her lover, the original French encapsulates the spontaneity of the impulsive characters. The title becomes particularly poignant in the final scene as Pioccard’s dying words are “C'est vraiment dégueulasse” which Prime translates as “You real creep” but literally means “It’s really revolting”. This could be merely an egotistical distaste for his own accountability or directed at Patricia, as a final showcase of the insulting flirt he is.
The mocking of Michel’s casual sexism and self-aggrandisement felt particularly ahead of its time and was very funny in parts. Not ageing quite so well, however, was the unfortunate “game” in which Michel attempts to make Patricia smile by slowly threatening to strangle her and is a brutal reminder of the abusive criminal he really is. While it would have been an unnerving scene even during the 60s, domestic abuse is something that would arguably not be as glamorised today. Particularly evocative of this dated direction is her submissive reaction, as in all other aspects of the film she is characterised as an assertive woman who seeks to wittily defy Pioccard in every way. Ignoring her extremely problematic relationship, Patricia’s way of life is now at the heart of my every motivation to endure college. Maybe if I watch it enough times, manifestation will pull through and I’ll end up a penniless writer breaking the heart of a French misogynist with a good hat.