Kung-fu master!

There's a good reason why the English language title for Agnes Varda's new film was borrowed from a video arcade game. Beyond the obvious metaphor of the game itself it spells out very clearly the lack of pretension in Varda's story of a forty-year old housewife who falls in love with a fourteen-year old schoolboy. On its surface the film is about an older woman recapturing the passions of youth, and a young boy's awkward reaching out toward maturity. But underneath is a thoughtful look at the erosion of old-fashioned romantic ideals in an age of safe sex and AIDS awareness, a fact Varda gracefully acknowledges in the final, chilling scene, which (in a subtle way) shows the darkest side of adolescent peer pressure. It's a quiet, undemonstrative drama; Varda has a poet's sense of how much to say and how much to leave unsaid, and the few remaining words she leaves in the capable hands of a first-rate cast. In a daring casting decision the director's own son handles the role of the teen lover, and with surprising skill for a kid his age.

The plot is understandable for the initial 50 minutes or so. The emotions and feelings that are not meant to be shared or are considered taboo are brought out innocently and "understandably". But it all changes once the plots takes you to London. It remains no lonher 'understandable" and begs the viewr to as the question: "why?'. Birkin's mother's suggestions of handling her emotions still baffles me, and I just can't imagine that conversation happening in any way. That scene and then the subsequent 20 minutes before the end just doesn't do it for me and what could have been a genuine story of desire, feelings, boundaries, temptations, ethics etc., turns into something unrealistic and unbelievable.

I wonder whether I can add more substantively than what Roger Ebert wrote in his review (comparisons to Murmur of the Heart as well, and I assume she and/or Birkin saw that at some point), since that contained many aspects regarding what Agnes Varda is doing here that I pondered when watching this ambitious and challenging film; not, or not merely, for the questions raised in the emotional (and maybe but left ambigious physical) relationship between a 40 year old mother and her 15 year old daughter's friend, but because the depiction of this bond between a middle aged woman and teenage boy both wants us to empathize and to understand it should not be so automatic to judge such a thing (and to be sure many would snap to judge, immediately, without another thought), especially when these are decent and kind people at the center.

What I focused on and admired was the intrinsically personal nature of what was in the frame, and what is on the margins ("deviant" sex as a moral issue) as the socio-political waking nightmare of the time visa-vi the height of AIDS (and that uncanny and almost funny-in-naivete moment where the kids are talking about uh fascist imagery kind of and Julien draws a cartoon Hitler, yikes, thanks mom for keeping that in the movie). This is a film where the director very consciously after all has one of her closest friends at the time starring in (and Co writing) an unsentimental melodrama about a relationship her character forms with a boy played by the director's son, and Birkins own kids and parents are in the film playing the character's children and parents, and there's equal time given to the inner emotional lives of both the woman and the teens.

It's the kind of film I wish I had read more up on (or watched one of Varda's charming introductions and interviews) since taking it on its own terms the lines between a kind of story that Varda had explored before, in a way, ie Le Bonheur and the difficulty of how ones heart can lead one into disarray and tragedy, and almost a kind of not documentary but a (forgive the Sly & Family Stone reference) "family affair" of a kind. One could also argue Varda casting her son shields from criticism, like "hey, you can't attack what's happening here, not only do they consent they're my BFF and kid, after all." Not that I can see that many critics doing that given how sensitively Varda shows us the events as the unfold and unravel, but they could is the thing.

I do think once this relationship does come undone, Varda and Birkin, perhaps to save some time in narrative economy in a tight 80 minutes, use narration from Mary Jane to explain whats happened, and it feels a little anti-climactic, not to mention what we see as Julien's accomplishment with the video game. On the other hand, Kung-Fu Master isn't a film about the salacious details of such a pairing, and to Varda's credit there is never anything explicit or sexual or anything that goes beyond kissing and hugging, so it is focused very squarely on character and what it means to have emotional immaturity (ie the "coolness" Julien sees of smoking *cigarettes) and a nostalgia for young love for Mary Jane, and that makes the film work for me.

It's not a major work, but it is a good one and successfully navigates a tricky subject and makes it profound by making it about joy and heartache and the simple fun of being together on a beach or making funny sounds and watching someone play a video game. And I'll lastly add (the now late) Birkin and Demy give affecting, totally natural performances here.

(*Maybe Varda approved of that. Did Mathieu's dad, Jacques Demy? Lord knows).

The story here is about a woman falling for the 14 year old classmate of her daughter's, but forget about the story now, it's not a prurient film of course and seeing just a 'social issue' movie would miss the whole point. This is a small exercise on context by Varda but as astute as ever.

Varda seems to be parodying the notion that her film would have just a social relevance by having the AIDS scare of the time so prevalent throughout - the film is from the late 80s, it evokes a distinct air of the time when youths crowded arcade parlors and TV segments on HIV sounded doom for mankind - or preempts it, perhaps unsure herself if it's not unavoidably going to be that in the end.

But see something else, about the narrative horizon in which things acquire their significance.

The woman who simply has these feelings one day that threaten to bring down everything, in context of what she experiences, it's a real affection for the boy, it shakes her in earnest. The boy who acts all grownup around her, bringing her flowers like a man would, later in a hotel plans to seduce her, but Varda has specifically taken care to show that he becomes just a kid with his peers or always off to a video game.

The film's title comes from a video game that he plays in the arcade parlor, in the game's nested story-within a hero fights monsters to make it all the way to the top level so he can set free a princess kept prisoner. This is of course a deliberate confluence by Varda. We'd like to think of love in this way, as something that frees us, but what if it's sometimes fiction? Meaning, the woman is simply not mindful that the boy inhabits a wholly different context than hers, simply playing a game of love.

And this is what Varda marvelously depicts later in a scene where the kids are goofing with Nazi paraphernalia in a room. A parent who walked in and thought the kids have strayed into budding Nazism would have only been misled by appearances, inhabiting a horizon in which objects (Nazi stuff) are charged with their narrative significance. But as the scene plays out Varda shows that it's evidently just another game for them.

This is the exercise, on how phenomena give rise to illusory narrative, on how illusory narrative traps us in illusory significance, chimeras of our desires. It isn't about nostalgia or passionate love. Love doesn't equal truth, unless it's shared in truth. This was a point made in Le Bonheur. In my ongoing project I'm after filmmakers who abet mindfulness, the wisdom that comes from it, and Varda has this.

The story of how this got made is plainly delightful; it's fun to know how Jane Birkin and Agnès Varda conceived of the project and went about making it, with their own families heavily involved. Beyond that I had no foreknowledge or expectations for the film, and by golly, I was taken by surprise. It's a great credit to Birkin, daughters Charlotte Gainsbourg and Lou Doillon, and Varda's son Mathieu Demy, that they all slide so easily into their parts; the acting couldn't feel more natural, and everyone is very charming. Of course, that does also make 'Le petit amour,' or 'Kung fu master,' decidedly awkward for the places it goes with the central relationship, and with frank discussion of sex that will seem perfectly normal for European viewers and possibly far less so for Americans with our woefully conservative society. Yet while there are absolutely uncomfortable aspects of the feature - emphatically, ideas that are and should be taboo in real life - I'd be plainly lying if I said this weren't an interesting, compelling movie, and enjoyable. I feel like the entirety of these 80 minutes are one big content warning for inappropriate relationships between adults and minors, but be that as it may, it's very well done and worth checking out.

Everything about 'Le petit amour' reinforces the personal, intimate, and fluid and organic feel of the picture. While the cast are foremost in contributing to those airs, Varda's smart direction, Pierre-Laurent Chénieux's gentle and warm cinematography, and the very real filming locations and earnest production design all lend to it as well. There's no shortage of drama to unfold here, but the overall effect is a low-key tone of homely, familial affection, like it's a story that could believably play out for real. That definitely goes for Varda and Birkin's screenplay, too, giving us complicated characters who are just a shade removed from the close-knit dynamics of the actual people involved. The dialogue and scene writing range from convivial and inviting, to cringe-worthy and mildly distressing, but always retain the sense of sincerity and realism that makes the movie feel pure and whole, as though it were both very authentic and exactly what it should and could have been. In that regard I'm pointedly reminded of Louis Malle's 'Pretty baby' of ten years prior, which very much shared in broaching the forbidden. The verisimilitude is bolstered by contemporary references (the AIDS crisis in full swing; the burgeoning popularity of videogames, and Dungeons & Dragons), and at large the result is a story that certainly puts one ill at ease, but is deeply absorbing and satisfying as a viewing experience.

I was taken aback, for sure. But let's not mince words: this is excellent. Given the topics broached on the side, one should be aware of serophobic and homophobic language from ignorant schoolboys - instances of dialogue that still pale in comparison, in terms of content warnings, to the 100-foot tall, flashing neon sign that is the core narrative thrust. Provided one isn't so disturbed by such storytelling as to immediately steer away from the title, however, I can't overstate just how good 'Le petit amour' is. Every last element is superb, with outstanding writing, direction, and acting; all the work served up by those behind the scenes is fantastic in helping to realize the sordid yet congenial tableau. It's a tale that any thinking, feeling person should find troubling, but with cinema being the perfect medium to explore even the unseemly side of life, the representation here - the tremendous care, intelligence, and skill that everyone poured into it - is exceptional. It won't sit well with all viewers, nor appeal to all, and there's no singular stroke of brilliance at any point. Ultimately, however, the marvelous, unique effort pays off handsomely, and if one has a chance to watch, then I think this earns a high, hearty recommendation.