The British Film Institute poll a group of 1,639 cineastes every decade to build a list of the 100 best films of all time. Ten years ago, it was a big deal when Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo knocked perennial favorite Citizen Kane off the top spot on the list. But that's nothing compared to what happened to the top spot on this year's poll. Oh boy, is there a big change: shooting up from #35 last decade, the number one film now is the Belgium film Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. This marks the first time that the number one film was one that was directed by a woman.
As a person who curates a blog like this and who passionately loves to watch films from all eras, I felt a little humbled to realize that I had never even heard of writer director Chantal Akerman's film. And then I found it available on HBO Max. I set aside three and a half hours of time and watched it alone with intense interest. And my reaction? Well, let me first say that I like to think that I'm open to experimental films, and movies that play with conventional filmmaking styles. I generally like directors like Jean Luc Goddard and Luis Bunuel. In other words, I expected something unusual and tried to open myself to the experience.
But this movie to me was almost completely unwatchable. First, let's talk about the style, or really, its almost complete lack of any. All of the shots in this film are at medium length without camera movement. The takes are mostly very long with simple editing. There's no soundtrack, and not much dialogue to speak of, and the sets are just normal, uninteresting looking locations. Even the color of the film looks drab and lifeless, and there are some technical flaws, like a when a boom mike momentarily dips into a shot. All of this might be alright if the story and acting were redeemable, but they aren't. In fact, there hardly is a story.
Oh sure, one does slowly emerge, in dribs and drabs. Delphine Seyrig plays the titular character, a middle aged widow who lives with her son in a small apartment. She sometimes turns tricks to get by. Honestly, that description probably sounds a lot more interesting than what's on screen. Most of this film consists of Jeanne working around her house in real time. So we have an entire scene of a woman doing the dishes in a single take with her back to the camera. Realize, there is no other sound on the soundtrack, no dialogue, no music, just the sound of her doing the dishes. This goes on for five minutes. In another scene we see her shine a pair of shoes in much the same way. Again, this goes on for some very long minutes. And what could be even more boring than that? Later in the film she does both things again in the exact same way! We also see her prepare two different meals, also in real time.
Things get even crazier in a later scene in the film in which Jeanne just sits completely still and silent in a chair. Save for some traffic noises in the background, there is nothing in this scene to let us know that we're actually watching a film instead of staring at a photo. Director Ackerman really seems to be daring the audience to keep watching, giving them nothing to hang on to. It's the cinematic equivalent of wallpaper. It beats Andy Warhol's Empire for movement, but only slightly. The next scene seems to push Ackerman's dare to the audience even further when Jeanne picks up a neighbor's baby, which cries incessantly for a long period of time, again challenging the audience to remain seated and keep watching.
So what was Ackerman up to here? Was she trying to make a point about the mundane nature of the average woman's life at that time? By showcasing the small housekeeping tasks that Jeanne must engage in, is it glorifying her work, or shoving its difficulties in our faces so that we appreciate women like her more? This has been called a feminist film, and I suppose it is (it even had an all female crew), but points about the hardships of "women's work" can be made without boring the audience. (I suppose the film's defenders would say that the boredom is the point, allowing the audience to experience the same challenges that Jeanne does). And even if the point of the film is the difficult and repetitive nature of Jeanne's life, how does that explain the scene I mentioned before in which she sits motionless in a chair for a long period of time. That she's finally resting, and the audience is supposed to rest with her? I suppose, but that point could be made in far less time.
I should mention that there is some dialogue, and that the relationship between Jeanne and her son Sylvain (Jan Decorte) has some interesting moments, although even that is hurt by the fact that Sylvain talks and acts like a teenage boy but is played by the then 25 year old Decorte. I haven't even mentioned much about Jeanne's life as a prostitute, but that's because, through out most of the film, it's incidental. Most of the time we see her greet her client (with just a few words) walk him to her bedroom, and then cut to her later showing him out. We never know how she feels about her clients, or how she wound up as a a prostitute in the first place. (Does her son know?). The film's ending (spoiler) finally shows her engaging in lifeless sex with one of her clients. Afterwards she silently picks up a pair of scissors and stabs him in the throat. The shock of the violence is jolting in a film that has been so lifeless up to this moment. But there's no build up to her action, we see no real anger or rage in what she does. Why does she stab this client? Because she's so sick of her life that she wants to take it out on someone? Or did he do something particularly horrible that we didn't see? Afterwards she sits in a chair, her hand covered in blood, unmoving for what seems like an eternity. Her face is a blank mask, although she eventually drops her head, but even that gesture seems mild given what she's done. Is she remorseful? Excited? Happy that she has forced a change into her life in the most dramatic way possible? We never really know.
Now that I have spent several paragraphs breaking down this film, I suppose that means that it is worthy of discussion, and I would encourage people to see it for themselves (although I imagine very few people will actually finish it!). But I must strongly say that I think that the emperor has no clothes and that the BFI's choice of this as the best film ever seems like an absurd joke on the viewing public. Oh sure, I understand that there is a big difference between critical tastes and popular ones, but I can't see how anyone could find this static film superior to Citizen Kane or Vertigo. Or nearly every other film on the list for that matter.
