Few are the films I've watched that could possibly claim to be minimalist as this is. This is more or less the story of a disaffected woman struggling with and working through her depression and existential stagnation, but it's also very pointedly an art film, and so casual and disaffected in that very approach that those unaccustomed to such fare will surely be turned away. The camera moves very little within a space, and sometimes not at all; the setting for the entire first third of the picture is only a scantily furnished room; movement or "action" on-screen may often be only very slight, or otherwise mundane; "dialogue" consists at first only of the protagonist's description of what we're already watching transpire (and thereafter, still mostly just conversation or media broadcasts heard as part of a scene). The extra low-key tenor of the production is even reflected in the credits as director, co-writer, and producer Chantal Akerman also stars. Yet just as plainly as the title presents to us, there is no also obfuscation in its intent or storytelling - 'Je tu il elle' is artistic, but not abstruse. It's also oddly beautiful, and unexpectedly deep and entrancing.
All the silence and ambient noise that are broken by dialogue only at particular times and in particular ways, all the plainspoken narration and imagery, and all the effort to inculcate a sense of discomfort or outright nothingness results in a fascinating, somewhat ruminative portrait of malaise and aimlessness. The dialogue (such as it is) and scene writing, Akerman's orchestration of shots and scenes, and Bénédicte Delesalle's cinematography all help that portraiture to feel both very personal and specific, and very detached and universal. So it is with how the bare few characters are written, and how they're depicted: protagonist Julie, quiet, passive, and introspective, reflected in Akerman's serene yet pensive comportment; the truck driver - more outwardly ebullient and talkative but revealing another side of daily doldrums in the words he speaks to fill the quiet - and the natural, masking composure in Niels Arestrup's portrayal of him; the unmistakable agitation of the unnamed woman, split between anger and desire, and the bristling energy in Claire Wauthion's acting. There's relatively little that actually happens in this movie, and a completely synopsis might well require only a handful of sentences. Yet the ideas and moods that it explores are boundless, and the superficial appearance of meager content belies a full richness of detail to soak in for those who can get on board with the emphatic minimalism.
As if to accentuate the point, 'Je tu il elle' famously, cheekily, positions a sex scene as its narrative "climax." It's strikingly long and comparatively graphic for mainstream (international) cinema in the mid-70s (and arguably even for today's cinema), and frankly kind of daring for the fact of it. Nearly fifty years later it's still inherently noteworthy and spellbinding, not for its explicitness or eroticism, but rather its simple beauty. There is no embellishment here, no lascivious close-ups or shots tracing a person's form. I think it's a total of only three mid-distance shots that bring this scene to us - and in that straightforward, observational tack, the love scene is allowed to speak for itself, and be all the more fulfilled and fulfilling as a result. Akerman and Wauthion share sparking chemistry for the time they have on-screen together, but still the union is kept at a deliberate low boil in line with the preceding length - as is the unspoken question hanging in the air, at the end of this scene and our narrative, of where this leaves our protagonist. "Lacking resolution" is the order of the day in the overarching themes, echoing how in real life the seeming conclusion of a matter may or may not bring meaningful closure. The uncertainty the protagonist carried as our tale began is twisted into another shape for we viewers as it ends; what have her cumulative experiences over this time meant for the individual we're following?
Clocking in at a hair under ninety minutes, boasting three discrete acts, and having very limited storytelling relative to most any point of comparison, I can surely understand how this may have equally limited appeal for many viewers. At the same time, I feel like my assessment remains incomplete and insufficient. By all means this is a title suggested only for those viewers who are receptive to the most lofty, far-flung, and high-minded of fare, where conventions fall by the wayside and artistic airs dominate. For such an audience, however, 'Je tu il elle' bears gratifying intelligence in its conjuration and craftsmanship, a wealth of thoughts to tease our mind in examination. Even at that I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that it's altogether a must-see in that capacity, yet if such films are appealing and one has the opportunity to watch, Akerman's picture earns my high, hearty recommendation.
All the silence and ambient noise that are broken by dialogue only at particular times and in particular ways, all the plainspoken narration and imagery, and all the effort to inculcate a sense of discomfort or outright nothingness results in a fascinating, somewhat ruminative portrait of malaise and aimlessness. The dialogue (such as it is) and scene writing, Akerman's orchestration of shots and scenes, and Bénédicte Delesalle's cinematography all help that portraiture to feel both very personal and specific, and very detached and universal. So it is with how the bare few characters are written, and how they're depicted: protagonist Julie, quiet, passive, and introspective, reflected in Akerman's serene yet pensive comportment; the truck driver - more outwardly ebullient and talkative but revealing another side of daily doldrums in the words he speaks to fill the quiet - and the natural, masking composure in Niels Arestrup's portrayal of him; the unmistakable agitation of the unnamed woman, split between anger and desire, and the bristling energy in Claire Wauthion's acting. There's relatively little that actually happens in this movie, and a completely synopsis might well require only a handful of sentences. Yet the ideas and moods that it explores are boundless, and the superficial appearance of meager content belies a full richness of detail to soak in for those who can get on board with the emphatic minimalism.
As if to accentuate the point, 'Je tu il elle' famously, cheekily, positions a sex scene as its narrative "climax." It's strikingly long and comparatively graphic for mainstream (international) cinema in the mid-70s (and arguably even for today's cinema), and frankly kind of daring for the fact of it. Nearly fifty years later it's still inherently noteworthy and spellbinding, not for its explicitness or eroticism, but rather its simple beauty. There is no embellishment here, no lascivious close-ups or shots tracing a person's form. I think it's a total of only three mid-distance shots that bring this scene to us - and in that straightforward, observational tack, the love scene is allowed to speak for itself, and be all the more fulfilled and fulfilling as a result. Akerman and Wauthion share sparking chemistry for the time they have on-screen together, but still the union is kept at a deliberate low boil in line with the preceding length - as is the unspoken question hanging in the air, at the end of this scene and our narrative, of where this leaves our protagonist. "Lacking resolution" is the order of the day in the overarching themes, echoing how in real life the seeming conclusion of a matter may or may not bring meaningful closure. The uncertainty the protagonist carried as our tale began is twisted into another shape for we viewers as it ends; what have her cumulative experiences over this time meant for the individual we're following?
Clocking in at a hair under ninety minutes, boasting three discrete acts, and having very limited storytelling relative to most any point of comparison, I can surely understand how this may have equally limited appeal for many viewers. At the same time, I feel like my assessment remains incomplete and insufficient. By all means this is a title suggested only for those viewers who are receptive to the most lofty, far-flung, and high-minded of fare, where conventions fall by the wayside and artistic airs dominate. For such an audience, however, 'Je tu il elle' bears gratifying intelligence in its conjuration and craftsmanship, a wealth of thoughts to tease our mind in examination. Even at that I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that it's altogether a must-see in that capacity, yet if such films are appealing and one has the opportunity to watch, Akerman's picture earns my high, hearty recommendation.