Les amis

I was myself surprised to watch and love this movie, although the way of filming and camera shots, angles and story telling, are maybe too much "new wave" for me. Today, the same story, the very same story, would have been shown differently. In short, it is purely late sixties, early seventies, but so delicate, so touching. The scene where Philippe watches his god son sleep, with the camera insisting of Philippe's eyes, is so brilliant, so intense, it thrilled me to the bone. Only for this reason I will keep this feature. I can understand that some audiences see this film as a sort of homosexual, gay oriented movie, but you can also interpret it in a different way. Simple a friendship tale, different from the other ones, and not necessarily gay...Anyway Gérard Blain himself was at least bisexual...I guess his other films as a director must be worth watching.

I can't emotionally connect with most old French movies.

When I was young, I admired Robert Bresson, I thought his detached and expressionless style was something revolutionary. But now I find it just boring and trite.

Paul loves Phillippe, but he doesn't show it. People speak of deep emotions as if they were ordering coffee at the bakery.

The film has an excessive decency for a 1971 work. Although it is obvious that Phillipe and Paul have a loving and sexual relationship, there is no show of affection between them.

Even the relationship between Paul and Marie-Laure, shown more graphically on screen, is cold and passionless.

The movie didn't add much to me.

Each time you think "I know where this is going" this film toys with your forecast for a little while, then does an u-turn and tells you "nope, that would be way too easy". It willfully ignores narrative convention and instead goes for a surprisingly delicate take on a potentially prurient story, as it involves a love affair between a sixteen years old boy and a middle aged man.

My only unease is that almost all of the male characters are so undividedly noble; the middle aged guy in particular is so unselfish and almost self-effacing that one wonders what he gets from the relationship. The female characters are all negative and they represent the drabness of a bourgeoisie more interested in material advantages and social perks than the pure joy of a sincere relationship. It reminds me somewhat of the worst utterances of the late Jacques Brel -- an artist that I do love and admire but who, sometimes, sort of missed the mark by a mile -- depicting male relationships as classically pure and generous, and feminine ones materialistic and tainted by self-interest.

It's entirely possible that the social contract of that era lent itself to this kind of speculation, but to a modern eye this is hard to swallow. Nonetheless, I appreciated this film for what it is, in all its gossamer elegance; there are several moments in the second half that are so touching and will remain with me for a long time. Overall, in spite of all its shortcomings, I found it remarkably uplifting.

It takes a while to figure out what's going on here: Though of humble background and no obvious prospects, young aspiring actor Paul is taken to a first-class seaside resort that's obviously a playground for the rich-everyone there rides horses and plays tennis, two things well outside his experience. Paul lets others accept that he belongs there, even fibbing about his circumstances a bit, particularly to win beautiful child of privilege Marie-Laure. (Though when he confesses his love to her, she is thoroughly bored by it; later she sleeps with him, yet remains exasperatingly fickle.)

But the only reason Paul is here is because he's being kept by his "godfather" Philippe, a middle-aged industrialist trapped in a loveless marriage just a Paul has been trapped by his loveless, broken family background. Cooly dispassionate, and so discreet that we almost never see any signs of physical involvement between Paul and Philippe, this is an interesting drama of unspoken yearnings and aching voids, particularly once Philippe-who's hardly the possessive type-realizes he's little more than an obstacle to the associations with peers that Paul is really attracted to. Nonetheless, the white lies Paul is building his new relationships are doomed to end them eventually; the boundaries of class may be invisible, but they are strong.

It's a low-key film that makes no judgment of its characters, and somewhat refreshingly, they aren't particularly judgmental of each other, either. The pathos in it comes ultimately from Paul's seduction into a world populated by people who can afford to take nothing seriously, and building up expectations that they're bound to disappoint without realizing what it means to him-because they have almost infinite options, and he has very few. (Yet even this is qualified by the fact that Paul does acquire one true friend here, in the art student Nicolas.)

Though we never see them so much as kiss, his relationship with Philippe is very poignant in the end, because whatever else there is of a transactional sexual nature between them, the older man is also the only person here who manifests any genuine, parental concern for Paul's feelings. The film doesn't glamorize their dynamic unnecessarily-it's clearly dependent on Philippe's wealth-but it's still touching that no matter what originally brought them together, the characters are finally bond more by real mutual caring than exploitation. That makes the film's abrupt denouement quite devastating.

It's kind of amazing that "Les amis" doesn't have a higher profile in the history of gay cinema. Even though the two main characters probably wouldn't define themselves as gay, and their lives are more complex than that label anyway, it's still a remarkably strong and positive portrait at a point when any gay content in movies was still typically caricatured, negative, comedic and/or sensationalized.

(P.S. Disregard the bizarre IMBD plot description of the protagonist as "flayed alive." Maybe that's a turn of phrase in another language that has some flippant meaning and doesn't work in translation--in any case, it suggests something lurid that has absolutely no basis in the character's psychology or physical being. An apt alternative would be something infinitely milder like "insecure.")

This movie about a pederastic love is a real masterwork of rigor and pudor, like the best pictures of Bresson's cinema. Much dignity without the the facility and the glamour of the gay cinema that we know since two decades. Excuse my english, it's not my mother tongue, nor my spoken language.