Beau travail

The film's message about the goodness and innocence of Setain, and the malice of Sargeant Galoup, is too subtle for the film's own good, and comes across as being undeveloped.

Why doesn't Galoup more deeply question his hatred for Setain? I was a bit dismayed that this wasn't questioned much, even if there weren't any answers. Also, the film's marketing makes the film sound lurid and sexual, whereas it is not. Perhaps to draw in more viewers for an otherwise dry and sparse depiction of man's senselessness.

The film initially shows a lot of promise. The interaction among the men is more comradeship than anything else. I was interested in the depiction of Legionnaire military life, especially from the various other countries.

As a 10 year veteran of the Marines during peace time, I loved how this movie captured the often times dull, daily routine of military life. The scenes of the legionaires meticulously ironing their uniforms, training, exercising, were very accurate and brought back a lot of memories. To some, these scenes may seem boring and belabored but I found them mesmerizing and wishing they would last longer. I also feel she somewhat captured the sometimes complicated feelings of love, hate, respect, jealousy, etc. of men living together in a military environment. Robert Ryan did a better job at being hateful in the movie "Billy Budd" than Lavant does here as Galoup. I saw him as more a tragic figure and ended up feeling sorry for him. Sorry because he ruined a life that he loved. The movie was visually beautiful. I was somewhat confused, if not fascinated, by the dance scene at the end. What does that signify?

Going against the trend of reviews here, as is usual for me, I loved this film. Perhaps only another outsider can see how brilliantly Lavant acts the outsider. He is a jealous outsider, jealous of Sentain. He is jealous of him, not in love with him and there is a difference. Galoup (Lavant) truly loves Forestier, but as Galoup points out, Forestier doesn't care. Instead, when Sentain appears, Forestier is attracted to him in a way he was not to Galoup. Well, Sentain is charming, calm, open, attractive, all the things Galoup is not. Sentain is one of the gang, Galoup is an outsider and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot get in. Much of the film is dialogue free, but Lavant admirably shows what he is feeling with his facial and body gestures. And after all that falls out from this jealous rage, Galoup is returned to France but still remains an outsider. No friends in the Legion, nor out of it. And the finale, Galoup dancing by himself in a very contorted way, is one of the most agonizing I have seen. It represents well what Galoup's life is like. You should not see this film if you are looking for a homoerotic experience. It is not about sexuality, but the rage of an outsider. As such, it is brilliant.

Djibouti sets the scene for this engagement, a foreign legion overseas, on an assignment, lost souls follow traditions, rocky roads fulfil their missions, as the sun beats down and ferments discontent. Galoup has taken aim at Gilles Sentain, the reasons personal, full of disdain, it leads to tension and dissension, abhorrence propagates expulsion, a futile battle, a ridiculous campaign.

In all walks of life people don't get on, or someone despises another for reasons only fathomable to them, but it's only in certain professions, with the mind-sets they promote, that the outcomes can be so devastating and despicable. Often a tough watch, you may ask yourself what lengths you might go to if the opportunity presented in a similar scenario.

Abstract film, told by contrasts, stylized swathes of life, Claires Denis stumbles upon little that is new here, but something here intrigues me a lot, most of it in the first half.

The rites, rituals and ceremonial pomp by which army units in the line of fire choose to mythologize and invoke a story of heroic braggadoccio, which Claires Denis approaches with a curious air of the solemn and the mocking, I only briefly experienced in my short time with an infantry regime. I served most of my army time in the Technician Corps, the inglorious greasemonkeys, repairing tanks or slacking. But the tedium of army life is our shared legacy with the Foreign Legion or the Special Ops.

Denis subverts this, in mocking feminism reducing that tedium to the meticulous ironing and creasing of uniforms and laundry. The savage beast is thus shown to be domesticated, fussing over a crease. It's been a man's cinema this first century, so perhaps we should get accustomed to the scorn and irony of female directors getting back at us. Nevertheless she makes a cutting remark, that fastidiousness (a matter of order and appearances) is accomplished with these creases.

Inside the discotheque, where the strobe lights and Arab pop beats are equally kitsch and otherworldly, the woman is mysterious and alluring, exudes promises of sexual danger. In this game of seduction, the Legionnaires are rapacious, overly eager boys, crossing and recrossing before the seductive female gaze and smile. This first part for me is two images. The flickering shot of an Arab girl's face, gleaming with strobing colorful lights, and the shot of Legionnaires etched in silhouette in an empty street by night.

Here lies the brilliance of Denis though. We know the emerging story of a cruel superior taking an unfathomable dislike to the innocent footsoldier from Billy Bud, Herman Melville's short story, and how that innocence of face invites a hatred that seethes deeper, but Denis reworks this entirely in terms of cinema. Looking at the sergeant's face we can read the portents of evil to come, but she further paints it with pictures.

Ideals don't matter here, so Denis aptly carries her tragedy out to a sunbaked rocky desert. Perhaps she understood what she was doing as an opera, but in those scenes where we see men flexing their muscles or performing curious rituals out in the open air, the bombast of music and image verges on camp. I don't know much about camp though, so this doesn't concern me overmuch. She also gives us a tracking shot and a wistful tune in the soundtrack, which I find both to be beneath the filmmaking she exhibits in the rest of the film.

Elsewhere she gives us images of colonial guilt, a popular subject of the European intellectual, where for example a process of Legionnaires carry a black man, then they switch and he carries a white man on his shoulders. The Djibouti natives of that desert mostly observe this ritual of male aggression with indifference though, curiosity or compassion.

A lot of what the film does is only fair, and although thematically it leaves me unfulfilled, the apogee for me is the lasting impression. Of which Beau Travail leaves a strong one.