My Favorite Movies

Violence is not explicit in Bresson’s L`Argent but precisely its implicitness makes the effect on the viewer stronger. Two scenes are a good example of this: the mother who is slapped by her husband for wanting to take a glass of milk to Yvon and the murder scene. What we see from the first scene is only her hand shaking and spilling the milk because of the hit and her determination to continue as captured by the posture of her back. Neither her face, nor the hand that is hitting her are shown, yet the scene is fascinatingly powerful. As for the murder episode, its monstrosity is beautifully captured by the instinctive fear of the panting dog running from one room to another.

One of the most beautiful and powerful Bresson's movies. His style is unmistakable, his pessimism-perpetual. Or realism, rather. A true masterpiece.

Andrey Gorchakov, drunk, talking to an Italian child in a flooded church
“What are you doing here? Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of me. It's I who should be afraid of you. You could shoot me. Everyone shoots in Italy. And there are too many
Italian shoes! Dreadful! Why does everyone buy them? These are 10 years old (pointing at his own shoes) It's not important. All right!
You (Italians) know of great romances, no kisses, nothing at all. Very pure! Hence great. Feelings, unspoken feelings are unforgettable. Here (inside the church) it's like in Russia. I don't know why. You know I don't speak Italian well. Here's a story (starts speaking in Russian): A man saves another who was sinking into a slimy pond thereby risking his own life. Now they are both lying on the edge of the pond out of breath, exhausted. The rescued man says: ‘Idiot! Why did you do that? I live in there!’ He (the rescued) was offended.�
Eugenia, in love with Gorchakov, frustrated that he does not seem to be aware of her advances:
“You're a funk! Full of complexes. You're not free. You all seem to want freedom but when you get it you don't know what to do with it or what it is. That's enough! It must be this country, the air one breathes here. Because in Moscow I met some wonderful men.
What are you all after? This? (exposes her breast) Not you! You're a kind of saint. You're interested in Madonnas. You're different! One "intellectual" tried to keep me locked up! Can't I ever meet the right man? I don't mean you, you're the worst. But I swear I'll find my kind of man! And I have, he's waiting for me in Rome. You dress badly too. And you're boring. You're the kind I'd sleep with rather than explain why I don't feel like it. Don't you see? I found myself in a most embarrassing position! I've had enough! I can't take any more! I'd like to sleep for 10 days and wipe you out. Maybe there's nothing to wipe out because you don't exist. It's my problem. Why do I like idiots? Men with no charm. I might look young but I know all about charm! You know the night I met you I dreamt that a soft worm with lots of legs fell on my head. It stung me. It was poisonous. I kept shaking my head until it fell off. I tried to squash it before it reached the wardrobe but it was no good. I kept just missing it. I just couldn't squash it. Since that night I keep touching my hair. Thank God there's been nothing between us! Just the thought makes me sick!�

Gorchakov (in Russian): “She's insane.�

The Stalker`s wife talking to him after he came back from the Zone:
You know, my mother was against it. You have probably noticed that he is not of this world. All our neighborhood laughed at him. He was such a bungler, he looked so pitiful. My mother used to say: “He is a stalker, he is doomed, he is an eternal prisoner! Don’t you know what kind of children stalkers have?� And I…I didn’t even argue with her. I knew it all myself, that he was doomed, that he was an eternal prisoner, and about the children. Only what could I do? I was sure I would be happy with him. Of course, I knew I would have a lot of sorrow, too. But it is better to have a bitter happiness than…a gray, dull life. Perhaps, I thought it all up later. But then he approached me and said: “Come with me.� And I did and never regretted it. Never. We had a lot of sorrow, a lot of fear, and a lot of shame. But I never regretted it, and I never envied anyone. It’s just our fate, our life, that’s how we are. And if we haven’t had our misfortunes, we wouldn’t have been better off. It would have been worse. Because in that case, there wouldn’t have been any happiness. And there wouldn’t have been any hope.

Alexander talking with Maria
“Years ago, before I was married, I often went to visit my mother in the country. She was still alive in those days. Her house, a little cottage, was surrounded by a garden, a little garden, dreadfully neglected and overgrown. No one had tended it for many years and I don't think anyone had ever been in it. Even then, my mother was very ill. She hardly ever left the house. Still, amidst the ruined garden there was something that was, in its way, beautiful. Yes, now I know what it was. When the weather was fine she often sat at the window looking out at the garden. She even had a special chair by the window. Once, though, I decided that I would tidy things up in the garden, that is. I wanted to mow the grass, burn the weeds, prune the trees. On the whole, I wanted to redo the garden in my own taste with my own hands. Yes, simply to please my mother. And for two solid weeks I went at it with shears and a scythe. I dug and cut and sawed and weeded. I kept my nose to the ground, literally. And I took great pains to get it ready as soon as possible. My mother's condition grew worse, and she kept to her bed. But I wanted her to be able to sit by the window and see her new garden. In short, when I was finished and everything was ready I took a bath put on fresh underwear, a new jacket, even a tie. Then I sat down in the chair to see what I'd made, through her eyes, as it were. I...I sat there...and looked out through the window. I had prepared myself to enjoy the sight. Anyway, I looked out the window and saw...What did I see? Where had all the beauty gone? All that was natural. It was so disgusting. All that evidence of violence!�

You think it's a blessing to know what God wants? I'll tell you what he wants. He wants to push me over!
Can't he see what's inside of me? All my sins.
We all sin.
-Not my sins.
l' m a liar. A hypocrite.
I'm afraid of everything. I don't tell the truth. I don't have the courage.
When I see a woman, I blush and look away.
I want her, but l don't take her, for God, and that makes me proud.
Then my pride ruins Magdalene.
I don't steal, l don't fight...I don't kill. Not because l don't want to, but because I'm afraid.
I want to rebel against you, against everything...against God, but...I'm afraid.
You want to know who my mother and father are? You want to know who my God is?
Fear.You look inside me and that's all you'll find.
Lucifer is inside me.
He says to me, ''You're not the son of King David.
''You're not a man, you're the Son of man. ''And more, the Son of God. And more than that, God.'' Do you want to ask me anything else?

Most scenes of this movie contain cruelty and human misery beyond comprehension. I am only grateful Polanski did not make the pianist guilty of living, although this feeling was somehow tacitly present. And yet, in all this monstrosity, a gentle ray of hope in the remanants of humanity--the appreciation of music. Ironically, though, talent was more valuable to the German officer than the man s life.

Fantastic movie. There is no going beyond that. Breillat has it all.