Straight to Hell by The Clash
Bad movies are sometimes good in the sense that they don’t exit your subconscious, you can’t get rid of their stench no matter how hard you try. They’ve left a legacy. A film’s stubbornly lasting effect can make it hard to distinguish what’s good or bad anymore. If it stuck with me, it must be worth something, right? Or better put: Is something’s worth equivalent to whether or not it’s any good?
There haven’t been many ‘bad films’ I couldn’t forget right away. Eric Rohmer’s Boyfriends and Girlfriends, which I watched a few days ago, struck me as boring, overly simplistic, and pretentious. This is a film widely believed to be good that I was somewhat indifferent about while watching, the worst thing one can say about a movie. But why, then, have I not been able to stop thinking about several of the images, scenes, and performances?
The story is more or less a straightforward tale of two female friends who end up becoming interested in each other’s man. In the end, both women end up with the man who was initially forbidden, and for the two protagonists, a distinction is drawn between what they think they should want and what they actually want.
Boyfriends and Girlfriends is told with effortless flair, taking place during the summer in Cergy-Pontoise, a newly built town to the northwest of Paris. Aesthetically, with all the light against the lake, the wind against the trees, the beautiful actors in front of it all, it’s a pleasure to watch. It also lacks a certain dramatic tension. Given that each woman secretly wants, and gets, the other’s boyfriend, there aren’t many hurdles involved in reaching their desired objective; everyone ends up happy if they get what they want and no one is harmed. The men are portrayed as slack-jawed dogs, kind of just down for whatever woman is present, decently attractive, and open to be romanced. Rohmer was trying to achieve a kind of realism (something Adorno was always keen to label a style in and of itself) but I get the sense that love triangles and squares, etc., are much more complicated and messy in real life, there are usually more walls to break down, more walls that won’t break down, more hearts that end up irreparably broken. In Boyfriends and Girlfriends, it’s all a bit too easy, even though Rohmer’s masterful execution makes for an impressive and enjoyable viewing experience.
Perhaps an artist’s mastery of form and craft can make any subject, no matter how banal or nonsensical, worth consuming. With writing, this is an idea I’ve always been against. I think the content of the matter far outweighs the style and form. I’ve read hypnotic, compulsively readable books that didn’t do much for me. It’s different with cinema. The imagery is, obviously, more blatant than in literature. Some images, and the way those images are structured, cut together, and juxtaposed against sound, are inescapable, unforgettable. With music, it’s similar but more extreme. One’s conscious judgment doesn’t really decide what’s good or bad.