You Catholic girls start much too late.
Sooner or later it comes down to fate,
I might as well be the one,
You know that only the good die young.”
---Billy Joel, “Only the Good Die Young”
One glance at the title of this particular survey of 60s films should give you one big spoiler alert. Sorry about that, but I think in this case it is warranted. Though Billy Joel's lyrics are more of a plea of seduction, in this case, I am using them as words of sacrifice. As you will see, these are movies all about sacrifice. In regard to the "spoilers," these are not movies with surprise endings. Plot is not an isolated element here. Rather, these three films encapsulate everything films should aspire to be. They do tell a story, but they take advantage of visual imagery, symbolism, narrative tricks, and reflections on humanity. It’s true, very young characters die in each of these films, and each of them could be defined as “good,” but the films and characters represent the 60s in France and Russia as a time of post-war bleakness, a time, though not isolated, of man’s inhumanity to man, and the dichotomy of this darkness and a religious background.
Ivan’s Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky)
Ivan is a twelve-year-old Russian boy caught in the conflagration of World War II, specifically his countrymen’s fight with the German Wehrmacht along the Eastern front. As the film moves along, we are exposed to more of his story, both in the present day, and in a series of four “dreams” that serve as psychological flashbacks. We find out that Ivan is tragically orphaned by the war. We also learn that, in an effort to avenge his family’s deaths, he wants to fight on the front lines. The Russian army uses him as a reconnaissance spy, due to his innocuous nature as a child. Through these back-and-forth splits in the linear narrative, we see the comparisons of a life of innocence with those of the harsh realities of war.
Ivan isn’t the only character we follow through the film. We also follow a few of the Russian soldiers, some of whom very much want to protect Ivan. In effect, they make a compromise by allowing him to spy, but not to fight on the front lines. Another solider, Kholin, spends most of his time trying to aggressively woo a young nurse, Masha. Through all these characters, we are exposed to nearly every primitive instinct of man, from revenge to caring, and from violence to lust. War, by its very nature, tends to reduce man to his basest instincts, but yet even this message is not the central one in Ivan’s Childhood. Being a great film with many narrative and visual layers, there are perhaps many messages that can be taken from it. As we can say of all great art, there are many interpretations, depending on the viewer.
It is amazing to think that this is Andrei Tarkovsky’s first feature film. The imagery within seems to come from the eye of a seasoned director. Nearly every shot means something within the narrative. Take, for instance, an early shot of Ivan in a burned out house. As he enters it, several of the fallen, hanging beams frame Ivan, pointing to him as some kind of aura of a religious figure. Another lasting and powerful image involves the Russian soldier, Kholin. In a forest of starkly white bark trees in the winter, he straddles a foxhole trench and hugs Masha, her feet dangling over emptiness. It perfectly captures how we have to hold each other up through difficult times, and that often our lives are completely in the hands of others. These are just two of the stunning images among many in the film. They all serve to underscore the sacrifice eventually made by Ivan, a heartbreaking reminder of the fragility of life and the utter ridiculousness of war as the eventual result of the petty differences between men and nations.
Au Hasard Balthazar (1966, Robert Bresson)
Au Hasard Balthazar has been called one of the most powerful allegories of the life of Jesus Christ ever put on film. Even though it can certainly be interpreted in this way, there are various other interpretations that are just as certain. Balthazar is a donkey. We are introduced to him and his human counterpart, Marie, and then subsequently follow them through their horrifically tragic lives. Marie is among a group of children who are the first “owners” of Balthazar, there at the presence of his birth. As if that wasn’t symbolic enough, the kids then playfully “baptize” the newborn donkey. As the two grow older, they are eventually separated, though their lives mirror each other’s.
Balthazar goes through seven owners, again a hugely symbolic element, reflecting the seven sacraments, the seven words from the cross, or the seven deadly sins. His life, moving owner-to-owner, and suffering abuses and indignities, are representative of the Stations of the Cross, eventually ending in Balthazar’s death on a hillside, much like Golgotha. Balthazar is given a wreath of flowers to wear upon his head, like the crown of thorns. It is absolutely intended symbolism, one can easily see. But, the question becomes whether this is supposed to simply be an allegory, or could there perhaps be other interpretations?
Jean-Luc Godard, who eventually married the young girl who played Marie, Anne Wiazemsky, famously said that Au Hasard Balthazar was “the world in an hour and a half.” While those with faith may take this to mean that life is suffering, but through saintliness, like that which can be attributed to either Marie or Balthazar, there is redemption, I think Bresson could have presented an alternative alongside this. Bresson’s films are typically bleak. They show the world for what it is, a harsh, violent, depressing, and inhumane landscape filled with selfish people. Marie and Balthazar are not selfish. Rather, they are subservient and meek. While Christian religion tells us that the meek shall inherit the earth, Bresson presents a tableau that shows the meek are simply tragic figures, swallowed up by the harsh world, eventually sacrificed, though we may not know the value of that sacrifice. After all, Marie’s father lies dying at the end of the film, her mother desperately praying for God’s compassion, her prayers unanswered. Remember, this is a specific choice Bresson makes as a storyteller. My point is that this is ok. Two viewpoints can coexist, even in discussing the same piece of art, and I think Bresson would adamantly agree. Is there another life for those who have faith, or is this is all that we get, a cold, harsh reality where we make choices for the benefit of our fellow man? It’s impossible to know, but both of us can disagree and coexist.
Mouchette (1967, Robert Bresson)
Mouchette, like Ivan, Balthazar, and Marie, is a young, tragic figure. In French, the name means “little fly,” and this is perhaps the most fitting description of this female adolescent. Her mother is bedridden, her father is an abusive alcoholic, and she is a social outcast at school. In other words, Mouchette doesn’t have much going for her. Her life is as bleak as it can possibly be. Painfully, Bresson gives Mouchette a few moments when her life may begin to improve, small glimpses of hope that are then just as quickly dashed. For instance, she meets a young boy at a fair and after the two playfully flirt with each other on the bumper cars, her father viciously slaps her in front of her crush, interrupting and in effect, destroying their courtship.
But, this is just the beginning of Mouchette’s tragic tale. During a rainstorm, she becomes lost and disoriented in the woods, usually the only place she feels comfortable. The woods are generally Mouchette’s only refuge. Lost, she eventually comes upon a poacher who has just killed the village’s game warden. Because she is a witness, the poacher deviously connives her to become his alibi. In her state of shock, fatigue, fear, and sadness, she agrees, and further becomes his rape victim. Humiliated, she leaves for home the next morning and must not only relate the poacher’s concocted story, but also claim that the two are lovers due to her being out all night. Upon her arrival home, she finds her mother eventually succumbing to her illness and dying. At this point, Mouchette has been deprived of the last tenuous sanctuaries she has in life. An elderly villager offers her a dress and shroud, intended for her mother. In an eerie calm, she takes the garments, walks to a nearby lake, wraps herself in the shroud and rolls herself into the lake, committing suicide.
While there is an easy allegory to see in Balthazar, and an underlying hope, all hope seems absent from Mouchette, or at least one has to really want to see any positive message within its narrative. It is less about saintliness or transcendence and more about the utter ugliness and tragedy of human existence. It is, at most times, difficult to watch because of this, but Bresson’s images are still riveting and captivating in their simplicity. The film is, if nothing else, a stark reminder that all existences are not equal and that, while there is indeed beauty in life, there is also injustice, inequality, and evil. While some are given little boosts here and there due to social stature, wealth, privilege, and even luck, others are not so fortunate. It is also a reminder of the fragile nature of youth and the crippling nature of depression and hopelessness. Though we can argue over other possible outcomes for Mouchette, the narrative effectively seals her fate and serves as a stark depiction of inhumanity. I am also reminded of the saying, which is not in the Bible, that God doesn’t give us more problems than we can handle. Mouchette is a symbol of the flaws inherent in this belief.
