Contempt (1963)

I'm a bit wary of entries from the British Film Institute's "Top 50 Greatest Films of All Time." More than half the time, I find them OK at best. But Jean-Luc Godard hadn't let me down with Breathless and Alphaville, so this seemed a sufficiently safe bet. Besides, I had never seen the legendary Brigitte Bardot on film before.

It's one of the most international films I've seen, set in Italy but having more lines in French, English, and maybe German. Philandering Jeremy Prokosch (Jack Palance) wants to produce The Odyssey on the big screen, with the one and only Fritz Lang directing. The main focus is on reluctant screenwriter Paul (Michel Piccoli) and his wife, Camille (Bardot), who find something coming between them -- and it may make the difference in whether Paul stays with the project. The other major character is Giorgia Moll as talented translator Francesca.

This is what can happen when an arthouse auteur finally gets a significant budget. At the box office, it did great for Godard but not so hot for Bardot. Truly, she must have been the biggest draw at the time: Producer Joseph E. Levine had, well, contempt for Contempt and demanded a steamy opener featuring her naked backside before he would allow the finished product. That would hardly be the last we see of her naked backside either. It's unusual for a woman of her generation to turn me on so. If that's not enough to get you to watch, keep reading.

Lang exaggerates himself as artsy-fartsy, but I find Netflix misleading in calling him arrogant, next to Prokosch. Prokosch tends to strike strong poses and speak axiomatically, as if he were the star instead of the producer. To be fair, he does have to pause for translation, which may add to the impression that he wants us hanging on his every word. I perked up whenever someone brought up a familiar movie title.

Paul and Camille have a frustrating relationship, because neither can easily tell where they went wrong. Each denies changing but accuses the other of changing. Camille contradicts herself so many times that I lose respect for her and would sooner court Francesca, but Paul is at least as hard to like. He develops a cynical interpretation of Odysseus and Penelope as a result, thereby tying into the other plot.

I have gained some appreciation of emotional pushing and pulling, if you will. Unfortunately, I do not appreciate the ending. It has become a cliche that makes sense only with a premise of divine intervention or fate, and it works better early in stories. You might rationalize that the Odyssey theme would make it more appropriate, but I would accept that only with further signs.

Contempt has its moments, but the reasonable runtime of 1 hour and 42 minutes still feels pretty bloated. I have decided not to bother with Pierrot le Fou, Band of Outsiders, or My Life to Live; I've had my fill of Godard.