Thoughts on
a film: Betty Blue (37.2°C in the Morning) (1986)
FOREWORD:
I'd been
struggling to find the words for this film, which seems impossible to define or
to explicate in any rational or meaningful way beyond the meagre confession that
I saw myself in its moving reflection; a past-life remembrance glimpsed in the fragments
of a wayward courtship between a young bum who dreams of being a writer, but who
hides from life and its various difficulties and concerns, and the beautiful
brunette with the bee stung lips and the wide eyes that seem to burn with the passion
and intensity of a protective lioness.
In this couple
who find paradise in the arms one another - in the skin against skin embrace
that becomes a suit of armour that protects them from the slings and arrows of a
difficult world - I saw the ghost of something stirring. A long lost relationship that was as
haunting, magnificent and unpredictable as the film itself. It's possible that without these bare emotions
to draw upon, the film might have remained inaccessible, too eccentric, or
forever beyond my reach.
LA BELLE NOISEUSE:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
So often
with film criticism - or even film appreciation at any basic, mainstream level
- we're taught to approach a work using the parameters dictated by genre and
tone. A comedy is a great comedy if it makes us laugh and smile. A tragedy becomes a powerful tragedy if it "moves" us; if it forces us to
think about the plight of characters, the suffering of people; if it compels
the audience to break down and cry. A
romance should be romantic (naturally) and whimsical (maybe), but also contain
enough passion and pathos to remind us of our own greatest loves, either lost
or won.
We cling to
these hand-me-down expectations or classifications of intent because it makes
it easier for us to put the work into the correct box; to say, "This is a
drama, so it should work like this."
But how then do we approach a film that
makes us laugh and smile, but also rips the heart out; that is evocative of fond
and warming memories, but still brings us to the brink of tears? How do we move between scenes that are light
and breezy, eccentric and full of love, to scenes of bitter remorse, anger,
brutality and violent self-harm? How do
we identify with a relationship where the characters are impulsive, selfish, impetuous,
but are led by emotions both honest and true?
To do so,
the viewer must throw out those limitations that we've been taught to
embrace. We have to accept the madness
of the work - its contempt for tradition, the emotional highs and lows - just as
the central character of the film, the luckless Zorg, must accept the
irrationalities of Betty; the free-spirited, impulsive, volatile but deeply
beautiful nuisance whose presence and spirit dominates the entire film. Zorg loves Betty and finds in her a reason to
live. He accepts her often belligerent
conduct - tolerates it, makes excuses for her - because deep down he recognises
that her presence and love is enough to light the darkness of a bleak and soulless existence.
From the
earliest scenes the behaviour of Betty is erratic, impulsive, tinged with
violence. It's obvious that this is a
relationship doomed to failure (if not worse), but the power of Betty, and her
limitless passion, is overwhelming. She
transforms Zorg as she transforms the viewing audience, captivating us
both. Her presence, smile, the sound of
her voice, the touch of her body, is enough to bring colour into the
world. She encourages the protagonist, and
while her actions get him into trouble, or propel him on this journey into
heartache and devastation, she undoubtedly enriches his course of life.
IN LIVING, COLOUR:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
When the
film begins, Zorg is in retreat. He's
given up on life; no longer living, just making do. Betty energies him, first through her passion
- their lovemaking, the intensity of the physical act - but soon through her
compassion, her belief in his talents, her commitment to his beliefs. By burning down the beachfront shack where Zorg
lives and works as an off-season caretaker, she's forcing the character out of
his sense of complacency; pushing him out into the wider world, to engage with
it and to realise his full potential as both an artist and a human being. This causes problems for the protagonist, but
in the long term it pushes him towards greatness. From this point on the character will live for
Betty and this commitment will give him direction, a purpose; after all, to
live for someone is the same as having something to live for. The tragedy of the film comes from the reversal
of positive and negative energies. While
Zorg flourishes - his life without hope and direction transformed by the love of
this woman - Betty begins to wilt.
Denied the things she most desires (a baby; to see Zorg become published)
their relationship falls into despair.
While the
first half of the film is effortless, fun, vibrant and sexy, the third act is
tinged with frustration, sadness and a heart-wrenching grief. And yet throughout, the emotions of the work are
completely true. The film is suffused
with a very real and very palpable feeling of life, with all of its ups and
downs, joys and regrets. This is the
power of Beineix's work. While its
flights of fancy, its indulgences and eccentricities, its scenes of heightened
emotional intensity, might suggest something beyond the realms of reality (more
like a fairy tale, or romantic fantasy) there is an inherent truth to this
relationship; to their moments of intimacy, their arguments, their fears and
concerns. This truth gives credibility
to even the most wild or exaggerated moments; it brings us back to those core
emotions, which are authentic, believable and entirely recognisable.
A COMET FROM THE SKIES:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
In
discussing the film and its intentions, Beineix himself states the following:
"[The] movie came like a fairy tale, like a comet from the skies. I was sent this novel by Philippe Djian, still
in gallies. It hadn't yet been
published. I read the book and loved it.
From the very beginning, I was in love
with the characters and the story. A lot
of people asked me, "How can you make a picture out of that?" And I
said, "How can I not?" I
thought it was funny. There were great
lines, which were literature, because Philippe Djian is an author. But this literature I knew I could put into
dialogue, and from time to time I allowed myself to add some dialogue and some
other original ideas. It was the easiest
movie I've ever made."
"What
appealed to the audience worldwide was the fact that a love story has to be big
and this was a big love story. At the
same time, it was very casual. These
were two people who aren't rich or ride fancy cars or live in fancy apartments.
Their lives and the experience of their
love brought them to a state of happiness and excitement that everyone would
like to experience. I think it was also
the fact that the film was situated nowhere. It was France but it could have been many
places - it didn't look so French."
"I
think another reason as to why it was so successful was because of the
extraordinary performances of Jean-Hugues Anglade and Beatrice Dalle. Betty is an image of youth. She is what young people are. They need movement. They needed changes. They need the world to change. She is expecting something big. When she sees the world doesn't match her
expectations, I think she turns against herself. She is an allegory of what young people are. You have to give them something - not only to
sell them clothes and junk food - but ideas that help them to move the
world."
HYSTERICAL
AND USELESS:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
While Beineix
envisioned the character of Betty as a symbol of youth, she remains, more than
anything, a representation of the emotions that define the vast majority of romantic
courtships. In the first half of the
film she reflects an unbound passion and sexuality. She's liberated, uninhibited, like couples in
the first stages of love. As the two
characters settle into their new life in the city, she becomes agitated, concerned
about the future. After the move to the
countryside she finds a greater contentment, and settles into a role of
domestic servitude and the yearning for family life. However, when faced with the perils and
pitfalls that seek to shake us from the romantic ideal, she becomes bitter and
withdrawn. When she transformers herself
into a painted grotesque, she's creating an external projection of the black
and hopeless thoughts that eat away at that spark of life that so enraptured both
Zorg and the viewing audience. The
self-destruction of this beauty remains one of the saddest and most upsetting
images in all of cinema.
By the end
of the film Zorg too is swallowed up by sadness and disappointment. His dalliance with Betty has set him on a
course for greatness; rescued him from the shitty job, the crumbling old
shack. She gave him love, purpose and fulfillment, but as the tide breaks against the sandy blue dusk, we sense the
yearnings of a character who would give it all to reclaim those chaste and
innocent moments of physical expression that made the first half of the film
such an unparalleled joy. As ever in
times of deep reflection, old photographs imprison memories; warmly but also
cruelly reminding us of those happier times.
A REFLECTION:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
As a
character, Zorg could just as easily be me.
His attitude, his retreat, is all too familiar. His failure and the shame of failure are
similar to my own. With his big nose and
shaggy brown locks, we could even pass for brothers; while in the image of
Betty - the joyful Betty; beautiful and resplendent; luminescent in high
heels and lips stained cherry red - I found only "her." This personal connection brought the movie to
life in a way that was sometimes painful, but in a strange way as bittersweet as
the film's final shot.
Betty may
have gone, but the memories still linger.
The mind, as powerful as it is in its ability to conjure up the sound of
a voice, the presence of a person no longer there in the physical sense, plays
tricks on us. But these tricks - like
our relationships with these lovers that seem to carve out from us a part of
our own identity when they leave - give us hope.
EPILOGUE:
Betty Blue
(37.2°C in the Morning) [Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1986]:
As the wistful
soundtrack of Gabriel Yared plays us out, Zorg sits on the precipice of an
uncertain future. In his notebook he
writes the story of his relationship with Betty; the story we've just seen
depicted on screen. Out of nowhere a white
cat appears with eyes that once again burn with a furious attentiveness. Suddenly, as if compelled by a supernatural
force, we hear the voice of Betty, still tender and sweet. "Are you writing?" she asks. "No" Zorg replies. "I was just thinking." It's a scene that in the wrong hands could
have easily seemed phony, comical or elicited uncomfortable jeers. However, as a moment of punctuation to this
film of extraordinary vision, insight, emotion and depth, it is at once
heartbreaking and life affirming in its unguarded sincerity.
This is a
film that perhaps moved and excited me more than any other film I've seen this
year, and as such, I feel compelled to throw superlatives at it; to argue its
stature as Beineix's greatest achievement, as one of the landmarks of 80s cinema,
as one of the most beautiful films ever made.
I could go even further and talk about some of the colour choices and
how they seem to relate to the reversal of gender identities, or express
emotions through bold uses of saturated hues (for instance, deep reds, greens, yellow
and blue). I could talk about the use of
landscapes (and changing landscapes) to map the progression of the
relationship, or to express the idea of freedom, or liberation from the self, but
for now I'm content enough to let the memory of the film - its story and its characters,
and the emotions that they evoke - rest awhile in the heart and mind, until I
can experience the film again.
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