Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles
I just wrote a standard-length review for a movie that came out in 1975. It's 48 years old. I've never done this before. Should I post it as a review on my movie reviews feed? Honestly, I'm disinclined to. That's not what that blog exists for; I write reviews exclusively for new releases—or, on incredibly rare occasions, theatrical re-releases. There's nothing making this film particularly relevant enough to bring the same kind of attention to my particular take. It was revealed to be the top film on the 2022 Sight and Sound poll nearly a year ago. Who cares what I think?
Well, one or two people do, I'm sure! I didn't even intend to write 600+ words on it, which I wrote for my recent burst of activity on Letterboxd. I don't want my efforts to exist only there, though. So! I am also reproducing it here:
I had never even heard of Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels, let alone seen it, until it surprised many by topping the 2022 Sight & Sound list of the greatest films of all time—incidentally, after ranking 36th on the 2012 list. I then perused the predictably many takes on the film in a 2022 context, learned that it is very long and mundane by design, and thought, well, I guess I'll have to watch that one, one of these days. And so that day came to pass today, when I both discovered it was streaming on Max and had nothing better to do with my late morning and afternoon. My immediate reactions have been thus: might I be the first person to consider how one could turn viewing this film into an at-home "4DX" interactive experience? Just get up and make yourself a cup of tea, or wash a dish or two—I did both—while the movie is playing, and you'll feel like you've stepped right inside it. Now you're a part of the action. To call this film an endurance test is an understatement. Films like Citizen Kane or The Godfather are every bit as entertaining as they are artistic statements; Jeanne Dielman is exclusively the latter. Prospective viewers should really have an understanding of that before watching it. This film is three hours and 22 minutes long, and every single shot is stationery—the camera never moves. For what feels like an eternity, we watch what the title character does in her tiny apartment as part of her daily routine, in real time. Well, not exactly: it's not a live feed of every minute of every day (thank God), and thus even 202 minutes is significantly edited down from a woman's daily life, to a degree prompting contemplation of what actually does wind up onscreen. That doesn't make the pacing any less measured. It still feels very much the same as it would if you just sat in a lonely widow's apartment and watched her tidy up the place, cook meals, and go on occasional errands. Over the course of three days, we see Jeanne do many of the same things. I started to feel like this was a dramatic precursor to the Groundhog Day premise, just within a much bleaker context of traditionally marginalized women. This lady spends all her time basically serving her teenage son, who is never given any reason to acknowledge all she does for him. Does it ever occur to him to wonder how or where she makes her money? This is a big part of the point of the film, as each day she takes a paying man into her bedroom while the boy is at school. This happens just as matter-of-factly as all the rest of her tasks. And the first genuinely surprising—shocking, even—thing happens less than ten minutes before the end of the film. I hesitate to call it a payoff that's worth the wait. It feels very much like this film exists as a challenge. Chantal Akerman—the first woman director ever to top the Sight and Sound list—dares you to sit through it, and to pay attention. Because, ever so slowly, a profound statement indeed starts to come into focus. But: the best movie of all time? I'd be very interested in the average age of the critics who voted for this movie. Could that be a factor? I have a conditional appreciation for this film now that I certainly would not have had ten or twenty years ago. Would it be different another ten years from now? Honestly, anyone declaring this film mystifyingly overrated is apt to have valid points. They might just also be missing the point. If nothing else, this film begs for discussion and debate, one of my favorite effects of quality film watching.
I had never even heard of Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels, let alone seen it, until it surprised many by topping the 2022 Sight & Sound list of the greatest films of all time—incidentally, after ranking 36th on the 2012 list. I then perused the predictably many takes on the film in a 2022 context, learned that it is very long and mundane by design, and thought, well, I guess I'll have to watch that one, one of these days. And so that day came to pass today, when I both discovered it was streaming on Max and had nothing better to do with my late morning and afternoon. My immediate reactions have been thus: might I be the first person to consider how one could turn viewing this film into an at-home "4DX" interactive experience? Just get up and make yourself a cup of tea, or wash a dish or two—I did both—while the movie is playing, and you'll feel like you've stepped right inside it. Now you're a part of the action. To call this film an endurance test is an understatement. Films like Citizen Kane or The Godfather are every bit as entertaining as they are artistic statements; Jeanne Dielman is exclusively the latter. Prospective viewers should really have an understanding of that before watching it. This film is three hours and 22 minutes long, and every single shot is stationery—the camera never moves. For what feels like an eternity, we watch what the title character does in her tiny apartment as part of her daily routine, in real time. Well, not exactly: it's not a live feed of every minute of every day (thank God), and thus even 202 minutes is significantly edited down from a woman's daily life, to a degree prompting contemplation of what actually does wind up onscreen. That doesn't make the pacing any less measured. It still feels very much the same as it would if you just sat in a lonely widow's apartment and watched her tidy up the place, cook meals, and go on occasional errands. Over the course of three days, we see Jeanne do many of the same things. I started to feel like this was a dramatic precursor to the Groundhog Day premise, just within a much bleaker context of traditionally marginalized women. This lady spends all her time basically serving her teenage son, who is never given any reason to acknowledge all she does for him. Does it ever occur to him to wonder how or where she makes her money? This is a big part of the point of the film, as each day she takes a paying man into her bedroom while the boy is at school. This happens just as matter-of-factly as all the rest of her tasks. And the first genuinely surprising—shocking, even—thing happens less than ten minutes before the end of the film. I hesitate to call it a payoff that's worth the wait. It feels very much like this film exists as a challenge. Chantal Akerman—the first woman director ever to top the Sight and Sound list—dares you to sit through it, and to pay attention. Because, ever so slowly, a profound statement indeed starts to come into focus. But: the best movie of all time? I'd be very interested in the average age of the critics who voted for this movie. Could that be a factor? I have a conditional appreciation for this film now that I certainly would not have had ten or twenty years ago. Would it be different another ten years from now? Honestly, anyone declaring this film mystifyingly overrated is apt to have valid points. They might just also be missing the point. If nothing else, this film begs for discussion and debate, one of my favorite effects of quality film watching.
[posted 3:36 pm]