Plot Details: This opinion reveals major details about the movie's plot.
Question: What film has been called both “the greatest work of art produced in post-war Europe” (by Colin McCabe of Sound Magazine) and “an archetype of arrant egotism and bankrupt imagination in a director” (by Stanley Kauffmann in the New Republic)? Well, as they say on Jeopardy, “What is Jean-Luc Godard’s Contempt?” Point being that few films have evoked a wider range of critical responses than this one. Moreover, the preponderance of opinion back in 1963 when the film was released was . . . well, contemptuous, while critics today are mostly bent over backwards from the weight of praise being heaped on this film. Count me among the hunchbacks.
Contempt (Le Mépris), based on Alberto Moravia’s novel Il Disprezzo (“The Ghost at Noon”), has been called Godard’s greatest masterpiece. Even those who prefer his more artsy low-budget oeuvre are stuck with one superlative in describing Contempt. It is surely Godard’s most atypical film. This was Godard’s one foray into “commercial” filmmaking and for Godard, that was no small compromise. As much as any director and more than most, Godard believed strongly in art for art’s sake and not compromising his artistic conceptions for prosaic monetary considerations. The very making of this film tore at the fabric of Godard’s artistic vestments. But then something extraordinary happened! Deprived of the “freedom” to pursue his cherished cinematic experimentations, he was forced by default to give life to characters more fully developed than in any of his other films. The result was his most sublime study of human relationships. The film also boasted a polish and depth that was far removed from the on-the-fly feel of his earlier work, such as the highly regarded A Bout de Souffle (“Breathless”).
The Story: The storyline is rather straightforward. The depth of the film lies instead in the psychological underpinnings. The film can be viewed as transpiring in essentially three chapters. The first chapter occurs in a deserted back lot of the Cinecittà film studios in Rome. Even the opening credits are unusual. They are provided by voice, as a tracking shot follows a woman, Francesca Vanini (Giorgia Moll), walking down the otherwise vacant back lot of the studio. Francesca acts as the interpreter throughout the story, since some of the characters speak only French and one only English. At the end of the credits, the same voice states, “’The cinema,’ Andre Bazin said, ‘substitutes for our gaze a world that corresponds to our desires.’ Contempt is a story of this world.” Godard was informing newcomers to his audience (his regular fans required no reminder) that he was not interested in making films that mimic reality. His is the world of imagination and desires.
We soon meet screenwriter Paul Javel (Michel Piccoli) and his wife, Camille (Brigitte Bardot). In fact, we meet them up-close and personal, especially Camille. They are lying quietly in bed in the morning, Paul already dressed but Camille stretched out naked on her stomach. Most readers will already recognize the name “Brigitte Bardot,” but for those few young readers who may not, Bardot in her heyday (and this was it) was a “sex-goddess” kind of celebrity without equal. She was the most photographed woman in the world, appearing on countless magazine covers and followed wherever she went by hoards of paparazzi. She was absolutely gorgeous by any standard, from top to bottom. For viewers watching the film with English subtitles, this opening scene poses special difficulties since the eyes seem to be irresistibly drawn to parts of the screen other than the subtitles. Paul and Camille are sharing sweet-nothings as any loving couple might. Camille asks Paul if he likes her feet, then her ankles, and so forth up the ladder. Viewers have no difficulty believing Paul’s sincerity when he breathlessly answers, “Yes”, with each successive question. Meanwhile, the lighting shifts from natural, to blue filter, and to red. So far, so good! The scene ends with Paul stating, prophetically, “I love you totally, tenderly, tragically.”
Paul and Camille have a new apartment and Paul, like many men and some women, worries about paying for it. Paul has perhaps the extra worry of wanting to be a provider worthy of his exceptionally gorgeous wife. He has been offered a relatively lucrative opportunity to rewrite the script for a film, but taking the job will require compromising his artistic ambitions a bit – selling his talents for a commercial endeavor. Paul meets with the American film producer, Jeremiah (“Jerry”) Prokosch (Jack Palance), who is a vulgar, crass, obnoxious sort of ugly American. Worse still, the film (an adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey) is already in production under the direction of the great Fritz Lang (playing himself; he was director of many acclaimed films, most notably M (1931)). Prokosch is dissatisfied with what has been produced so far to the point of being irate. As the man in control of the purse strings, he intends to force changes on Lang that will enhance the commercial potential of the film. Near the end of the negotiations between Paul and Prokosch, Camille arrives, by prearrangement, to meet Paul. Prokosch invites the Javels to come to his villa for drinks. He offers to drive Camille in his flashy red Alfa-Romeo sports car, which has room for only two, and suggests that Paul follow in a taxi. Although Camille seems uncomfortable with this plan, Paul agrees. When Paul arrives at the villa, he discovers that Camille is not merely in a snit, but has basically irrevocably fallen out-of-love with him! She feels that he has left her vulnerable to the predatory Prokosch (even though nothing significant came of it) and this seemingly minor insensitivity on his part has exposed for her fundamental inadequacies in their relationship.
The second chapter, which is the centerpiece of the film, takes place in the Javel’s apartment. By the appearance of things in the apartment, Paul and Camille have yet to be fully settled in. The drapes have not yet arrived and boxes of belongings remain strewn about. During the films next half-hour, Paul and Camille engage in a classic marital dispute, neither really able to effectively express their issues or deal with those of their partner. The quarreling is presented with extraordinary psychological realism. As the conversation ebbs and flows through a troubled relationship, the two go about ordinary daily activities with physical casualness: bathing, sitting on the commode, sometimes stopping mid-sentence, exiting and entering rooms, standing across the room from one another, and opening a soda. Their conversation has all too much the quality of picking at a scab. They can’t ignore their problems but picking at them is just further irritating the wound. She successively grows cold and contemptuous, denies that her feelings for him have changed, tries haltingly to make up, and finally admits that she no longer loves him. Paul’s primary (but counterproductive) motivation seems to be a need to confirm his suspicion of her newly contemptuous feelings and to demand an explanation. His insistence on an explanation has a bit of the feel of his wanting to bully her out of her feelings, when he should be assuaging them.
The third chapter takes place mostly at a magnificent chateau in Capri, on the Mediterranean, where Paul and Camille have gone to observe the next stage of the shoot of the film within the film. Paul must try to cope simultaneously with the unraveling of his marriage while also deciding whether to take the script-rewrite job. The natural beauty of this setting is exceptional and contrasts dramatically with the shattering of the marriage. In one scene, Camille is swimming naked in the deep blue Mediterranean, displaying in full glory the perfection that Paul is in the process of losing.
Themes:Contempt provides a richness of thematic elements that is almost without parallel in film. There is no limit to how far one can take the analysis of this remarkable movie. One set of thematic elements might be called multilevel parallels. For example, the film within the film concerns the story of the Odyssey, in which Odysseus’s (Ulysses in Latin) journey home to Ithaca is rendered as difficult as possible by the god Poseidon, but culminates in his successful return and his reclaiming of his wife, Penelope, by the slaying of her suitors. The Odyssey can be seen as paralleling the main story of Contempt: with Paul representing Odysseus, Camille as Penelope, and Prokosch as Poseidon. Moreover, both stories also paralleled Godard’s personal life at the time to a significant extent. Paul can be seen as Godard himself, Camille as Godard’s wife Anna Karina (their marriage was in difficulty), and Prokosch as the producers (Joseph E. Levine and Carlo Ponti) of Contempt, who were relentlessly pressuring Godard to make artistic compromises for commercial advantage. Contempt can be seen as a love letter begging forgiveness from Godard to his wife (albeit a rather expensive and public one) to the extent that Paul’s behavior in the story can be seen as contributing to the Javel’s marital difficulties.
Other interesting multilevel parallels include the fact that Palance was unhappy working on the film and wanted out because Godard refused to work with him constructively. Palance, the actor, thus became the angry, out-of-sorts American that his character was in the film. The production of Contempt was a tortuous process because the scale of the production was well beyond anything that Godard had previously experienced. Godard’s difficulties with Bardot’s celebrity status, Palance’s unhappiness, and his producers paralleled the production difficulties of the Odyssey film within the film. The marriage of Paul and Camille could be equated with the difficult marriage of Godard’s artsy directing style with the commercial requirements imposed by his producers. Other parallels were intentionally built in by Godard. For example, at one point in the film, Prokosch hurls a reel of film like a Greek discus and at another point expresses his understanding of Greek gods. Paul puts on a toga-like towel after his bath in the middle chapter. Thus, the Greek element permeates not only the Odyssey film within the film but the film itself.
A second major theme of Contempt is the whole issue of selling out . Paul is struggling with whether he should sell out his artistic aspirations by taking the script rewrite job mainly for the compensation. Fritz Lang, who plays the director, in his real life as a director, refused to sell out to either Hollywood or Hitler at various stages of his career, thereby limiting his own opportunities. Throughout his career, Godard maintained a stubborn belief in the importance of not selling out, but Contempt certainly represents his closest brush with doing so (some might argue that he did sell out this once). The inclusion of the nude sequence at the beginning of the film was expressly demanded by the producers after the film was completed from Godard’s perspective. After all, Bardot’s flesh was a hot commodity at the time and was sure to boost interest in the film. Godard gave in to an extent but also took a modicum of revenge by making the scene as artsy, romantic, and intellectual as possible, minimizing eroticism and actually mocking, in a way, the preoccupation of the producers and audiences with Bardot’s body parts.
A third theme is the issue of the inescapable limitations of communication. One expression of this is in the necessity of a translator throughout the film to allow communication between the Javels and Prokosch. Those who speak both French and English will recognize, however, that the translations provided by Francesca are not verbatim, but only the sense of what is being said. Something is always lost in translation. Moreover, communication problems are at the heart of the marital difficulties between Paul and Camille. At the same time, Godard is also making two point about communication in relation to cinema: that movies are not depictions of reality but communication between an artist and an audience and that film adaptations of novels are at best rough translations.
A fourth arena for analysis in relation to this movie is the psychodynamics of the marital relationship between Paul and Camille. This is, of course, the core of the film and the theme that most interests me personally. Godard has provided us with a complex psychological phenomenon. The most immediate issues appear to be two: (1) Camille’s awareness that Paul is considering selling out his artistic aspirations for commercial reasons; and (2) Camille’s feeling (rightly or wrongly) that Paul willingly exposed her to Prokosch’s crude advances, which in her eyes amounted to his pimping her out to advance his career. Contrast Paul’s behavior to that of the manly Odysseus who killed Penelope’s would-be suitors. In Paul’s defense, it might be noted that a refusal on his part to let his wife ride on ahead with Prokosch in the sports car could also have appeared like rather extreme jealousy and possessiveness and lack of trust in her faithfulness. As one who has been married once for seven years and a second time for twenty-six years, I know that communication problems and slights far more significant than the one at work here (Paul agreeing to the transportation arrangement) occur on a regular basis and don’t typically destroy marriages. That it did in this instance indicates that their marriage was already highly fragile. There were deeper issues already cutting into the foundation of their relationship.
The underlying issues include the evident likelihood that Paul’s love for Camille was based exclusively on her physical beauty. He married her for her body but demonstrates little respect for her mind – either feelings or intellect. He asks, for example, “Why are you looking so pensive?” She responds, “Believe it or not I’m thinking. Does that surprise you?” She believes that he thinks her incapable of intelligent thought. Paul later says, “You’re a complete idiot.” And “Why did I marry a stupid twenty-eight year-old typist?” Paul sees himself as the brains of the family and Camille as his trophy for being so smart. As an intellectual, Paul wants their marital disputes settled by rational discussion. His choice of weapons, so to speak. As a less intellectual but more sensual person (dare I say “as a woman”?), Camille needs issues addressed on the level of feelings. Paul repeatedly demands a rational explanation for the change in Camille’s feelings, which she can’t or won’t provide. Feelings simply exist and require no rational justification. In Capri, he asks a final time, “Why do you have contempt for me?” to which she replies, “That I’ll never tell you, even if I were dying.” She doesn’t want to be analyzed and reduced to a set of rational equations. She will retain her mystery at all cost. Paul’s main failing as a husband is insensitivity to his wife’s feelings. The most disappointing thing about Camille, on the other hand, is her lack of confidence in herself as a stand-alone person. When she ultimately leaves Paul, it is to attach herself to another, even more powerful man.
Like other Godard films, this one is packed with innumerable film references. Godard never could abandon his previous life as a film critic. There is Lang’s presence in the film, several quotes from Lang and a recapping of elements of his personal history, film posters in the background, references to what was playing in various theaters, Paul wearing a hat and smoking a cigar in the bath in order to mimic Dean Martin, and Bardot’s black wig which invokes images of such stars as Anna Karina (Godard’s wife) and Elizabeth Taylor. This is one side of Godard that I personally find excessively self-indulgent, but one can ignore these references without losing any of the rest of the value of the film.
Production Values: In some ways, it is amazing that Contempt succeeds as well as it does as a work of art. It fails in so many small ways but succeeds overall. Godard, for example, routinely breaks the proverbial fourth wall and draws attention to the filmmaking process itself: the opening quote, momentary flashbacks that bear no relation to the story, the insertion of color filters with no evident basis, unlikely casting (Bardot as a “typist”??), suspension of the soundtrack for dialogue, and so forth. Godard provides viewers with little in the way of a narrative. Instead, the film is jagged in its rhythm and sidetracked by unnecessary references and quotes from a variety of Godard’s personal sources of inspiration. Typically, when a director forgoes linear narrative, it is to focus on a central theme or thesis, but Godard provides no one overarching theme. Instead, what viewers get is a deeply profound study of the workings of a relationship, revealed artfully using a full range of disjointed tactics.
Godard originally wanted Frank Sinatra and Kim Novak as the stars for this film. He only reluctantly agreed to Bardot as part of a package deal. He then made the key decision – the one most responsible for the success of this film. He had the wisdom of turning Camille into Bardot rather than trying to make Bardot into Camille. Dealing effectively with female stars was one of Godard’s foremost strengths, since most Godard films have as a focal point a complex, mysterious, and beautiful woman. Godard provided Bardot with the one most perfect role of her career. Godard made this film the perfect realization of the Bardot persona. For her part, Bardot was very natural in her performance – a performance both tender and touching. Bardot is said to have hated her film career but this is one role in which she can take great pride, along with her performance in And God Created Woman.
Michel Piccoli, who played Paul, went on to have a distinguished career including appearances in Belle de Jour (1967), Topaz (1969), The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972), and La Nuit de Varennes (1982). Most of his future parts cast him as a suave, confident type, in contrast to the rather insecure Paul.
Jack Palance played the ugly, egomaniacal American quite effectively. His other credits include Shane (1953), Batman (1989), and City Slickers (1991). How much of his performance in Contempt was performance and how much his genuine hostility toward the film and Godard really doesn’t matter. His best line in the film was, “When I hear the word culture, I get out my checkbook.”
One of the appeals of this film is its enthralling beauty. There’s the deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea, the majesty of the sea cliffs in Capri, and the cypress trees that reach to the heavens at Prokosch’s estate. There’s the rich color and wide framing of Cinemascope. And, of course, there’s the undraped charms of the spectacular Bardot (though the explicitness of her nude scenes was modest by today’s standards). Most male viewers could echo Paul’s approval of her body, part by part.
The musical score by George Delerue also deserves some comment. It consists mainly of two lush and melancholy themes, repeated, reworked, and interwoven over and over again. The sensuous beauty of both the images and music contrast with and highlight the turbulence of the marital relationship.
Bottom-Line: We understand, in the end, that the title of this film, Contempt has multiple meanings – contempt for a marital partner, contempt for those that sell out their values or aspirations, and contempt for the excessive commercialization of filmmaking that always threatens to destroy it as an art. We see in Contempt the rare instance where the turmoil that enveloped the making of a film actually strengthened the product because the film itself was about turmoil. I highly recommend this film, especially for viewers with an interest in psychodrama.
The 2-disk DVD release from Criterion provides the first wide-screen release of this film, which is a great advantage. It also provides a wealth of extras, including an audio commentary by Robert Stam, optional English subtitles, a hour-long conversation between Godard and Lang, two documentaries filmed in 1963, an interesting Godard interview about film critics (he was one himself before becoming a director), an new interview with Raoul Coutard (the cinematographer), the theatrical trailer, and a demonstration of the difference between widescreen vs. full-frame presentation formats. This film is in multiple languages, but mostly in French with English subtitles. The running time is 104 minutes. The film is unrated but I don’t see why it would pose a problem for age 13 and above. There is no violence and the nudity is what I would call discrete and tasteful.
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