All'ultimo respiro

Okay, so the idea is to achieve emptiness so that we may be actually informed by what it is we see. To train an eye for details that doesn't react or classify or evaluate but instead grasps effortlessly the totality of what a film means to us. In this process, naturally we have to discard our preconceptions and routine streams of thought; who made the film, is it art-house, does it belong in a list of masterpieces.

A bunch of those here; a remake of a well known French film, the presence of Richard Gere (usually signifying fluff), the very idea of a film that never made much sense to begin with. Who needs a Breathless remake, much less the Hollywood version? But we got it, so what about it? The Godard film was about young people coming to discover for the first time the struggle with important things, about love and meaning dealt with in the pretentious, silly, superficial ways of youth. What tied the struggle together was a boyhood fantasy about movies. We had a protagonist acting out an imaginary gangster part and the reality of the film arranged around him as a movie plot in which to act the part. It was about the safe distance provided by the fictional as conflated into the emotional distance between two people.

Now watch how the remake transcribes this. Richard Gere is the Michel Poiccard character but instead of Bogart he is a Clark Gable. A movie hunk 'exhuding studly scent' as another reviewer aptly puts it. Recklessly oblivious to anything but the present moment and what it has to offer, he is the very dream of movies. A doofus at first sight but who instinctively seems to have grasped the essence of life by the balls. As much a target of ridicule as admiration. We see him empathize with utmost seriousness with Silver Surfer comics! Something akin to a destiny for him.

But we're not inside him, we're siding with the French girl who's come to LA to study architecture. The girl who plans, thinks, wants the buildings she will create to last. The perfectly logical human being who (along with us) is swept away by the irresistible allure of an existence without bounds, centered in the 'now' and radiating outwards. Valerie Kapriskie is a perfect match here, an Ali McGraw to Steve McQueen; she's great because she can't act to hide what seems a genuine infatuation with Gere's adolescent antics (mixed with genuine frustration).

We travel with them through a fetish dream of LA. Cars are fire-engine red Thunderbirds, summer dresses and even telephones pink. I've been going this month through a phase of cinematic vacation in Los Angeles, and this one has the best sense of place of anything I've seen yet. The dark joint with the jukebox, the empty streets blowing with hot summer wind.

But it's more than a ride of pure, exhilarating movie pleasure, there's something to talk about here.

It's peppered throughout, but centered in a scene by a pool. The girl wants to know what is behind the man's face, what kind of nothingness. He blurts something about love, no doubt cribbed from some magazine. A little later an aging architect, who no doubt has been where she is and has come to understand the world, tells her that nothing that is built lasts.

And the best part, taken from the pages of a Silver Surfer comic. I won't go into details, but it says something about us, the sentient beings narrating our story, removed from our heart yet discovering it in every reflection. It makes for perfect Zen.

So we have this hip-swivelling, rock'n'roll Zorba the Greek, who is empty inside in the best sense possible, so that he is filled with everything. Like only a blank sheet of paper can be clearly written on.

And he's on the run for a fateful mistake of shooting a cop. How the scene is edited is important; we see a windshield shatter, then Gere looking with astonishment at the pistol in his hand. Elements crucially missing from the edit (the action itself) reveal the emotional state; how many mistakes can we look back on and be perplexed how we let them happen?

There's more to it. There's a marvellous love scene in a movie theater playing Gun Crazy (which the film is reversed from). The two lovers roll around as behind them loom huge footage of the fictional couple in Gun Crazy discussing what pertains to the two lovers.

And before the climax, we ride all the way up to a property overlooking the LA nightscape. Errol Flynn's as we find out, again movieland.

It is better than the Godard film, miles better. It's as much about the old tropes of sex and violence as that film, except it's filled with actual heart. It is about kitsch elevated into noble gesture, about reality dismantled into fiction and the opposite. Novice film buffs discovering a sense of importance with Tarkovsky and Malick will find little in this simple film to appreciate; but those who've done their rounds and are looking for specific things may be strangely fulfilled by this.

I remember when this film was first released. There was much hype since it was an American remake of a fairly renown French film from the 60s. At that point in Richard Gere's career he had portrayed several youthful virile characters (I guess you can say "studs" -- in "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" and "American Gigolo" and "An Officer and a Gentleman"). I think the critics and much of the public at the time saw this film as just another stud role of his. Maybe this is why the film was panned. I myself don't fondly remember it from the first time I saw it -- somehow it seemed empty and vacuous.

I've just now seen this again after many years and Gere's off and on channeling of Jerry Lee Lewis is not something I saw the first time. I agree with another commenter here that Gere actually plays this role of a small time devil-may-care hood to the hilt. He captures the James Dean & Marlon Brando rebel swagger, however minus their brooding or introspection. One endearing aspect of his character here is he's also something of a romantic and I think this is why the young French college student becomes enamored him.

I rated this film a "7" and I think it's worth watching. It is also fairly provocative sexually (hot) and this aspect is tastefully depicted.

After watching this I thought of the song from the late 1970s "Point of No Return," and Gere's character is heading down a very risky path. I don't think anyone affiliated with the making of this film was necessarily searching for a moral to the story -- I guess from the perspective of being older and seeing this now this is what was brought to mind.

A Bout De Soufflé is closely related to the portrait of a generation shaped by Beatnik and Existencialist philosophies. Kerouak and Salinger in USA, Sartres and Camus in France, were among the intellectuals who inspired this generation.

A generation whose "malaise" is embedded in Paris atmosphere. Paris which was the very center of occidental culture by that time.

The American version of this story, Breathless, directed by Jim McBride, missed the point because the portrait of a generation of the sixties in Paris, cannot be transplanted to a context of the eighties in California.

"Breathless" is an unheralded '80s remake of Godard's revolutionary 1960 flick.

In this one, Richard Gere plays the Belmondo role as a dimwitted yet charismatic car-thief who accidentally (or not?) kills a policeman during a traffic stop and goes on the run.

He hooks up with a girl - Valerie Kaprisky playing a French girl in America, just as Jean Seberg played an American girl in France - and they go on the run together.

Nowadays, "Breathless" is remembered mostly, if it is remembered at all, for Kaprisky's nude scenes. Gere is hard to swallow in the lead role; he just seems like an obnoxious idiot. We don't get into his head at all.

Nor do we really understand Kaprisky's motivations. She seems too smart to do what she does, whereas Gere seems too stupid.

I got tired of watching my censored taped-from-TV version of this film, so I finally bought the DVD. I am one happy hombre. In addition to the superior video and audio quality, one gets several unobstructed views of the object of Gere's love/lust -- and that's no insignificant treat.

One reviewer aptly referred to this film as Gere doing his "early-80s cheeseball riff on the sexiest man alive." I concur. "Breathless" could be seen as an expansion of his minor role as Diane Keaton's dangerous pretty-boy in "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" -- transposed from wintery Chicago to sultry L.A.

I won't analyze this film. It doesn't hold up under criticism, and certainly there is plenty to dislike, starting with the relentlessly sociopathic behavior of its protagonist. Rather, in the spirit of the film's love-almost-conquers-all theme, here's just a partial list of what I love about "Breathless":

1. Kaprisky in her see-through swimsuit. Rowrrrr! The rest of her wardrobe is pretty damn sexy, too. (The jury's still out on Gere's blue 'soot.')

2. The kiss at the diving board. It has to be one of the best in cinema history. Kaprisky is a goner after that.

3. Gere's line: "I think maybe I was rolling dice when I should have been rolling you." Cheesy, sure, but look at her face when he says it.

4. The shower scene, together. Kaprisky running hot and cold. "Jesse, you're crazy." ... "So what?" ... "It's OK. I like it."

5. Gere turning female heads wherever he goes, as he exudes his studly scent.

6. Los Angeles as The Place to Be. I lived and loved in L.A. during the early/mid-80s, and can vouch for the intoxication of being young and on the go in the City of Dreams. It's one big-ass place. McBride and veteran lensman Richard Kline do a superb job of capturing its heat, light (L.A. sunsets put a glow over the whole city), and diversity -- from the downtown hotels and office towers, to the industrial sections, to the Hollywood hills, to upscale West L.A., to the beach communities (where we see what must be every mural in L.A.).

7. The amazing ending. Gere taking his "all-or-nothing" motto to the wire. In what other movie will you see a dude dancing and singing to his woman while the cops have their guns drawn on him?

"Breathless" is Gere at his best. Maybe Kaprisky, too, for whatever that's worth. Don't think too hard about it. Just enjoy the ride.