The Devil, Probably (1977, Robert Bresson) (Patreon)

44/100

Briefly got excited when I thought this might have been the inspiration for Nocturama's first half, then gradually slumped as its actual trajectory (which of course is revealed right at the top—I somehow forgot about that for a while) became increasingly clear. "The world is a shithole and nothing can be done about it so I'm outta here, see ya never" is a worldview so utterly alien to my own that perhaps no filmmaker could make it "palatable" (in an artistic sense; obviously those who do identify aren't rejoicing or anything). The Seventh Continent is among my least favorite Haneke films, and I'm considerably less enthused about First Reformed than are most of my peers (and would have liked it even less had it been about the environmentalist, with Hawke's pastor serving the minor role embodied here by a shrink). Cool on Melancholia, too—embracing obliteration isn't quite the same thing as committing suicide, but we still get "The Earth is evil," a sentiment with which this film's despondenter-than-thou protagonist would surely concur. There's a huge difference between giving up in despair at the conclusion of a tragedy (drama) and perceiving one's very existence as tragic (stasis, at least until the final seconds when sweet release arrives). Entering an unfamiliar and discomfiting headspace can be transformative, but a character study of someone with no will to continue feels at once sadistic and pointless. "Let's invent a person whose sole purpose is to wish for that act of creation to never have happened." Seems like there are a million better things you could be doing with your time and energy?

So that's my fundamental philosophical beef, which, again, would be difficult for any director to overcome. As for The Movie, Specifically: ehh. Wound up taking unusually few notes, mostly because I found precious little to grab hold of apart from Bresson's grand design. His antipathy for the demonstrative has never worked its ostensible magic on me; while I quite like Pickpocket and A Man Escaped, neither comes within hoarse-shouting distance of my personal canon, whereas Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne—arguably the least "Bressonian" of his features—makes me swoon (or at least it did the last time I saw it, over 20 years ago). Here, oddly enough, his deployment of barely-emotive "models" makes the suicidal disaffection both more and less tolerable. On the one hand, these kids, while superficially ardent (as any activist must be, by definition), are all so bland as to be virtually interchangeable. (Also true of Nocturama's ensemble, to be fair, but they genuinely function as a single organism, even throughout the first half when they're carrying out separate missions.) In particular, I came to resent the whole recurring Alberte vs. Edwige dynamic, which plays like Philippe Garrel on Xanax (and I don't much care for Garrel to begin with). No wonder Charles wants out if these attractive ciphers are his sole alternative to fretting about corporate despoilment. On the other hand...well, exactly what I just wrote. If ever there were an appropriate context for Bresson's project, this is it; the film's impassive sensibility reflects Charles' desire to withdraw, thereby imposing it upon the viewer to some extent. I resisted, and still wish that early scenes—during which the group just walks around Paris, or observes in a church as other young people ask pointed questions that get ironically punctuated by blasts from a pipe organ that's being repaired—had been representative of the film as a whole, rather than a prelude to Charles' bed-hopping journey of self-negation. But I can see how the result might be powerful for those who succumb.