Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975) Directed by Chantal Akerman
9C
This film is the Mount Everest of slow cinema. I, who love slow cinema when it is done well, gave up on my first attempt about half way through the movie. Tonight thinking I would give another of Chantal Akerman's films a try, on a whim I decided to watch this one again instead of something new. And, of course, this time around, I thought the movie was absolutely brilliant.
Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles is a three hour and 13 minute film that focuses on a single woman, Jeanne Dielman (Delphine Seyrig, in a prodigious performance, practically a one-woman show) as she goes through the mundane tasks that make up her dull, dull life. She lives with a teenage son, who is mostly absent, for whom she dutifully makes meals, does his laundry and polishes his shoes. She does this with no discernible affection, but merely because it is what she is expected to do. We follow her around as she completes the housework, goes shopping, and, incidentally, turns the odd trick in her bedroom when the kid is at school. You might think that this little wrinkle makes her more interesting, but, no, it is just another passionless transaction in a life full of passionless transactions. The movie is half over before we notice little cracks in her facade, so tiny it's as if they are imagined. These little crevices become slightly more pronounced, until the realization dawns that she is an atom bomb just sitting there waiting to go off. Director Chantal Akerman has created a feminist masterpiece, one that can be sliced many different ways. Jeanne is tightly wound, and though she has seemingly accepted her lot, it is with resignation not joy. Her stoicism and deep repression, however, mask an anger that lies deep within her. Ever wonder what it took for your grandmother to keep those wooden floors
that polished? This movie might give you some idea.
Sidenote: In this movie, Akerman steals a signature move from Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu. She always shoots from a stationary camera position. Like Ozu , she finds ways of narrowing the frame so that we are looking where she wants us to look, but she does this, very likely intentionally, with less brilliance than does the great director. Not wanting to call attention to herself, she seems to be going after a kind of anti-style style. It is interesting, though, that when we revisit the same place on Jeanne's journeys around town or in her apartment, Akerman reuses the exact same stationary camera placement almost every time. In that way the audience is allowed to build up associations with these particular places; they seem to be filled with vibrations that speak to Jeanne's life and indeed take on a life of their own.
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