Francofonia

"Francofonia" (2015 release from France; 90 min.) is a non-fiction movie loosely about the Louvre museum in Paris. As the movie opens, we hear a certain Alexander (that would be the movie's Russian director Alexander Sokurov) in conversation with a certain Dirk, who is on an ocean liner with art in one of its containers. It's not long before Sokurov directs his attention to June 14, 1940, when German troops overtook Paris, including archive footage of Hitler inspecting the Eiffel Tower and muttering "Where is the Louvre?" Eventually, we are introduced to Jacques Jaujard, the Louvre's museum director at that time, and Count Metternich, entrusted by Hitler to supervise the Louvre's art collection for the Nazis. At this point we're not quite 15 min. into the movie, but to tell you more would spoil your viewing experience. You'll just have to see for yourself how it all plays out.

Couple of comments: this is the latest oeuvre from writer-director Aleander Sokurov, best know for "Russian Ark" (about the Hermitage in St. Petersburg). In fact it can be said that "Francofonia" is a spiritual sequel to that movie. Going in, I knew that "Francofonia" was about the Louvre, but didn't know more than that. And while it is true that the movie's primary subject matter is the Louvre, it is in equal measure about the WWII occupation of Paris by the Germans, and a bunch of other things as well ("why are portraits so important in European culture, whereas they are non-existent in the Muslim culture?", asks Sokurov). Even while it's not always clear what the ultimate aim or direction of the movie is, that's not a problem for me. The only jarring thing for me was the occasional and unnecessary appearance of actors impersonating Napoleon (whom we see staring at the Mona Lisa, while repeating "C'est moi!") and France. And oh yea, we do get to see a bunch of paintings and other works of art from the Louvre. In the end, I was surprised how quickly the 90 min. had flown by, so while this movie is rather strange, it certainly is intriguing and held my attention.

This movie made quite a splash at the 2015 Venice Film Festival. "Francofonia" opened without any pre-release fanfare or advertising at my local art-house theater here in Cincinnati a week ago, and the Thursday early evening screening where I saw this at was one of its last, as the movie was gone the next day. I was frankly surprised how many people there were (about 10), but maybe they had the same thought as I did (better see this before it's gone!). If you are in the mood for a deeply subjective non-fiction film (but don't call it a documentary) about the Louvre, I'd readily suggest you check this out.

After "Russian Ark" (2002) this is Sokoroev's second film about a museum. After the Hermitage in "Russian Ark", this time he meditates about the Louvre.

The film has not a real plot but is build around various contrasts, none of which was very convincing to me.

In the first place the film seems to suggest that while the Hermitage is real Russian (in "Russian ark" Sokoerov used the Hermitage to explain Russian history) the Louvre is not real French, containing too much art from abroad. To accentuate this point there are scenes in which Sokoerov himself has contact with the captain of a ship transporting art. I don't think Sokoerov's point is very convincing. I don't know how much of the collection of the Louvre is foreign in origin but I do know that the Hermitage is very proud to have more Rembrands than the National Museum in Amsterdam.

The second (and in my opinion best) contrast the film makes is the relation between the German Metternich and the Frenchman Jaujard. The order of Metternich is to rob as much art for the Third Reich as possible. The job of Jaujard is to protect the collection of the Louvre. Both men are civil servants in the depths of their soul, so Metternich goes at great length to obey the orders of his (culturally barbarian) superiors as minimalist as possible. In this regard the job of Jaujard is more easy than that of Mademoiselle Villard in "The train" (1964, John Frankenheimer). Mademoiselle Villard also has to protect the collection of a French museum but has in Franz von Waldheim an opponent that was far less understanding. As a result "The train" has far more action than "Francofonia".

The last (and in my opinion most puzzling) contrast is that between Marianne and Napoleon. Both of these prominent figures of Fench history are wandering through the Louvre, but what do they symbolize? It becomes clear that Marianne symbolizes the values of the French revolution. Values that have become worn out over time. Where Napoleon stands for remains a mystery (to me).

Aleksandr Sokurov's Francofonia is an audacious exploration of art, power, and historical memory, defying traditional cinematic categorizations. It hovers somewhere between experimental non-fiction and a dreamlike essay film, offering a fragmented, yet visually poetic reflection on the Louvre Museum and its entwinement with French and European identity. While the film's conceptual ambition is undeniable, its execution oscillates between enthralling and disorienting, leaving the viewer in a state of contemplation-though not without moments of frustration.

From a technical standpoint, Francofonia is a masterclass in Sokurov's signature visual style. The cinematography evokes the textures of classical paintings, with muted tones and painterly compositions that envelop the viewer in a tangible sense of history. Sokurov's camera glides through the Louvre's corridors, transforming the museum into a living entity. His use of archival footage interwoven with contemporary sequences and re-enactments creates a layered narrative tapestry, though one that occasionally feels too fragmented to fully resonate.

The film's sound design and musical choices add another layer of complexity. Sokurov's narration-delivered in a contemplative, almost melancholic tone-acts as a philosophical guide, though it can veer into opaque soliloquies that risk alienating the audience. The integration of historical soundscapes with modern audio elements underscores the timelessness of art while subtly reminding us of its fragility.

Performances by the actors portraying historical figures, such as Jacques Jaujard and Count Metternich, are understated yet effective, capturing the quiet tension and mutual respect between these two unlikely collaborators. However, the symbolic appearances of Napoleon and Marianne, while visually striking, feel overwrought and detract from the film's thematic coherence. These moments attempt to inject a mythic quality into the narrative but come across as heavy-handed and repetitive.

One of the film's most compelling elements is its philosophical inquiry into the relationship between art and imperialism. Sokurov doesn't shy away from pointing out the Louvre's history as a repository of plundered treasures, raising provocative questions about cultural ownership and the ethics of preservation. Yet, his meditations often lack clarity, leaving viewers to wade through abstract musings that don't always coalesce into a clear argument.

As a companion piece to Sokurov's earlier Russian Ark, Francofonia is both a continuation and a departure. While Russian Ark dazzled with its audacious single-take structure and cohesive narrative flow, Francofonia opts for a more fragmented and introspective approach. This shift in style is both its strength and its weakness: it offers moments of profound beauty and insight but also tests the viewer's patience with its meandering structure.

In the end, Francofonia is less a film about the Louvre than a meditation on the intersections of art, war, and human ambition. It demands a viewer willing to engage with its complexities and forgive its indulgences. For those seeking a traditional documentary or a straightforward narrative, this may feel like an exercise in pretension. But for those open to Sokurov's idiosyncratic vision, Francofonia offers a singular-if uneven-cinematic experience.

A spectacular and unique essay film. At once a philosophical rumination on the connection between art and power, a history of the Louvre- particularly during the Vichy regime, and a surprisingly powerful and human narrative of the French civil servant and German aristocrat and Nazi officer who collaborated to save the collection from plunder.

Unflinchingly, the film equates art with plunder. As any serious study of the Louvre must, by definition, be this is a tale of Napoleon, invasion and imperialism. The Emperor is himself a character in the film, haunting the halls of his museum and reminding the director/narrator that all of the paintings are of him, for none of it would be there without his power.

The point is also made that Paris was sparred the devastation of the war in no small part because the leading Nazis loved classical art and wanted the Louvre's collections for Germany and themselves. In a real sense, then, the film must uneasily acknowledge, the German regime was responsible for the preservation of much European cultural treasure. The Louvre, though to a degree the very phenomenon of the art museum, is made to seem like a place where humanism, the preservation of the human image, and sheer political force, come together.

Sukarov's imagery is characteristically spectacular. The amazing, painterly light that he most often brings to the human face he here brings to the urban face of Paris. This film includes some of the best uses of crane shots that I think I've ever seen.

Sometimes what we've seen before is enough. Director/ Writer Aleksandr Sokurov, who did so well with 'The Russian Ark,' a seamless, one-long- take tour of the Hermitage, does fails heavily with the Louvre. The computerized opening is mere gadgetry; a sour Napoleon brags about the art he stole for the Louvre; Marianne, the personification of France, appears serially, glumly droning Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité rather too often. Earlier Mariannes (e.g. Bardot, Deneuve, Casta) were at least lookers. Too much time is spent on stuff long-since covered by 'Monuments Men' and at least one TV documentary on the Nazi occupation and art looting. As nothing new is added, 'bored stiff' will have a literal meaning unless your theater has really good seats.