by Mike Norton
Opening with a shot of a man and a woman at a bar with their backs turned to us establishes the realism of Vivre sa vie right off the bat. That woman is Nana (Anna Karina), an aspiring actress who is about to experience a downward spiral through society that happens in so many character study films. It’s apparent to the viewer here that Nana’s dreams of making it as an actress are just that. By refusing to shoot her in the way a conventional screen actress might be shot in an opening scene, and robbing her of her close up, Godard basically condemns Nana, setting forth her tragic character arch that is portrayed in 12 tableaux throughout the film. Indeed, this is a very self-reflexive film, subtly so, brimming with references to past movies, philosophy, and politics. It’s not as apocalyptic in its reinventing of cinema language as later Godard films would be since here Godard does take a good deal of interest in his main character, making Vivre sa vie one of his most humane films. Yet it’s also meta-reflexive, fascinatingly bringing reality to cinema and creating a new reality out of past cinema, while also showcasing the young auteur’s developing visual style and command over the sound design. If there’s any Godard film that makes for a good entry point in the director’s admittedly distancing filmography, it might be this.
I simply can’t go on with this review without bringing up the obvious- that Godard and Karina were married at the time, and this is their third film together. This is the way a lot of people read the film as personal to Godard, and that opening shot establishing anonymity might be Godard’s way of showing some respect to his wife before sending her character through the social meat grinder, in which her face and frame is explored thoroughly. The film might also be Godard professing his love for Karina in the movies more than Karina in real life. This is the most compelling way to look at the film, but it’s a bit of a hard sell. Still, the Passion of Joan of Arc scene is a major clue, a microism for finding a kindred spirit in cinema and making an emotional connection to what we see on screen. Nana is shown watching Dreyer’s immortal silent film, and her crying face in the movie theater is juxtaposed with Maria Falconetti’s, whose Joan of Arc is going through a similar drama as Nana. Both are essentially powerless and controlled by unseen forces. Is the unseen force controlling Nana the social world of the film’s Paris, or is it Godard? The following scene, in which Nana is interrogated by a police officer, is shot in the same way the scenes in The Passion of Joan of Arc were shot- bright lighting, Karina’s face not quite in the center of the frame, the interrogator off screen. Godard is now demonstrating self-awareness as he orchestrates his Nana through his plot. Another reference in the film that brings attention to Godard’s projecting of his love for Karina through his art is seen when a young man reads Poe’s The Oval Portrait to Nana. While it’s an actor reading the story to Nana in the film, it’s actually Godard’s voice that is dubbed over. In this story, an artist becomes so obsessed with creating a perfect painting of his wife that when he is finished with the painting, he discovers his bride is dead. The metaphor is obvious.
Throughout Vivre sa vie Godard toys with visual style and narrative focus, with several scenes feeling like they were taken from other films entirely. One scene finds Nana in the middle of a seemingly random shootout that spilled out from the street into the café Nana was in. Here Godard uses a series of quick jump cuts, moving across the café emulating machine gun fire. Another scene that feels somewhat out of place is Nana’s playful dancing around the jukebox in a moment of spontaneous joie du vivre, the French term for pure happiness to be alive. In this scene Karina’s dancing comes off as awkward, and it’s important that she is the only person in the room dancing. In a happier film there might be more people joining in with Karina, but instead she only gets cold stares from the men she dances around. Finally, one of the film’s most important scenes, the lengthy conversation Nana has with a philosopher (Brice Parain) in a café, further delves into Nana’s difficulty in finding herself, telling the truth, and yes, living her life. As in the scene with The Oval Portrait, Godard’s presence is felt here behind the camera as he, off camera and unheard, prompts Parain with questions that keep the conversation between Parain and Karina going. Now is also a good time to mention the film’s audacious sound design- everything here was recorded on a single track, with no editing in of sound effects or dubbing later (minus Godard dubbing his own voice in the Oval Portrait Scene). This gives the film a natural feel, with the buzz of life in a café at times drowning out dialogue between two main characters. It also brings up questions on the relationship of the image and sound of cinema. By stripping the image of its artificial soundtrack, Godard brings even more attention to the image, and there is no doubt that Vivre sa vie is a strongly visual film.
The movie begins with a quote that reads “Lend yourself to others but give yourself to yourself”. There are two ways to view this quote- the obvious one is Nana’s prostitution in relation to her moral decomposition. But maybe it’s as about Godard and Karina’s relationship as much as it’s about the main character. Perhaps this is Godard’s way of wishing he could love Karina without placing her in his art, since he is unable to love her while not lending her to others through film. But perhaps I am looking too deeply into their relationship, since Vivre sa vie is can be viewed through a number of different prisms. A tragic character study, a meta reflexive mediation on image through cinema, and yes, a love letter to its creator’s wife are all compelling ways to view this masterpiece.
