Jealousy Screen 26 articles



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  • Garrel père shot the film in 35mm black and white, working with legendary cinematographer Willy Kurant (Masculin Féminin, Under The Sun Of Satan, Pootie Tang), and the silvery shimmer lends a nostalgic flavor to this nominally contemporary tale. There isn’t much to it, really, but a little truth and loveliness is always welcome.

  • Beautiful to look at, thanks to Paris, film stock and the cinematographer Willy Kurant (“Masculine Feminine”), “Jealousy” has a quiet melancholy that’s very pleasing... The director eschews humor in favor of flat declarations: “I love you . . . definitively.” It’s an exquisite glimpse of Parisian coupling and uncoupling, but it’s strangely lacking in real conflict.

  • ...“Jealousy” is the kind of slight, academic, self-satisfied exercise that preaches only to the converted... Garrel may not tread a single inch of new territory thematically, but the film’s staging (most scenes are done in a single take), its descriptions of its characters’ behavior and the actors’ performance are all accomplished with a steady, understated expertise. And yet some of the old phoniness partly overthrown by the New Wave remains...

  • All a bit thin, unless you care about the autobiographical aspects (I don't), but effective in offering counterpoint to the central neurotic narcissism, both in a tender guitar riff that creeps in now and then - the tenderness the couple might enjoy, if they weren't such actors - and of course in the alert, live-wire kid. She's funny.

  • The doomed fate of the romance is predictable enough – one wonders what he saw in this woman – but the film’s pathos lies less in the failure of passion than in the bonds that linger past separation. And so ironically Jealousy works most poignantly when it’s least invidious: as a portrait of confused adults and the children whom they love and care for, and whose love helps heal the heart.

  • La jalousie largely avoids the overbearing moroseness of much of Garrel’s recent work, while its brevity (a brisk 76 minutes) gives it something of the feel of an exercise, a trait that characterizes most of his best films. And more than any of his work from this century so far, it packs an emotional wallop, precisely because Garrel relegates his gloominess to the margins and tempers his everlasting sadness with the spectral promise of enduring endearment.

  • Garrel remains intently focused on the ends of things, the points where relationships meet their inevitable breaking points and start to dissolve. Contingent focus on doors and locks, barriers and limits, with Young Werther getting heavily referenced (the puffy white shirt helps further the impression), amid the turmoil of emotional suffering, itself presented as masochistic indulgence, an essential companion to the first blush of romance.

  • Philippe Garrel is a casual filmmaker, focused on capturing snippets of experience and filtering the reality of French life through art. Shot in crisp black and white by cinematographer Willy Kurant, the film holds a mirror up to its characters without making grandiose overstatements about the refractive consequences of extreme self-consciousness.

  • Jealousy works because it's not trying to do too much: Rendered in lustrous black-and-white by veteran cinematographer Willy Kurant (who shotMasculin Féminin for Godard), the picture feels intimate and concentrated, less fluttery than some of Garrel's other pictures—it's right at the intersection of direct and oblique, like a good haiku.

  • It’s a case where Louis Garrel’s moody act (his hair ever ready for a David Levine illustration) is satisfyingly flattened out by the swift cuts of Mouglalis’s line delivery. So too does Garrel père etch his 76-minute film’s bare assortment of scenes with efficiency and with what Eric Hynes aptly calls “intergenerational empathy” (part of a “legacy of longing”).

  • What it resembles, in the end, is life as remembered from the afterlife. In Garrel’s cosmology, the great beyond is the medium of film; it’s pretty there and no one ever ages, but it’s also too removed from the world of the living to completely understand them. Jealousy—arguably the slightest film Garrel has produced since the 1980s—may not add up to a whole lot, but its sense of life and the medium is, as always, substantial and accomplished.

  • In the category of contemporary directors whose work I reflexively anticipate and enjoy to the extent where it’s almost unfair, there are few who make me question my own responses as much as Garrel... I always end up chuckling my way through his recent work, but I suspect a more serious reaction is expected, and fear I’m being disrespectful to someone whose work I love. This perceptual problem is embodied by his son Louis, Philippe’s reliably inexpressive leading man since 2005’s Regular Lovers.

  • ...Louis [the character] obviously has a type, yet the movie suggests that he can never be happy in a domestic situation for long because he hasn't yet gotten over being abandoned by his father. (Garrel himself has been in several long-term relationships, most notably with the pop singer Nico and with actress Brigitte Sy, Louis Garrel's mother.) On a related note, the movie makes clear why the little girl would bond so quickly with Claudia—the new woman is just like her mother.

  • The fists of Louis Garrel kept onscreen for the entire interval between standing up and sitting down again, the countless thresholds that linger after the characters have long passed, the daughter that survives as a fruit of a marriage that no longer exists… all these elements hide not only the evidence of a surprisingly bressonian Garrel, but also the traces of a world whose internal disjointed nature is the cause of its very ruin.

  • This slim, sensitive melodrama reminds me pleasantly of Rohmer with its set of zigzagging romances and its interest in tracing their emotional fallout. Like much of his work, it’s inconspicuous, understated, nonjudgmental.

  • The teacher warns his pupil against conflating truth and fiction, since it's easier for him to relate to literary phantoms than real people. In this hazy uncertainty lies the very essence of Garrel's method, the heart of his cinema, as he doesn't even invent names for his children's characters, Louis and Esther. From this duality springs forth the entangled beauty of the movie, which couples a loving dance of reality and fantasy, autobiography and script.

  • The great thing about Jealousy is that it takes a scenario that’s fairly rudimentary and applies to it a liberating light touch that illuminates Garrel’s considerable experience... Through the film’s dryly presented controversies, one can make out a careful blend of compassion and apprehensive remove, and it’s rare to witness such a clear-headed line of attack towards the reckoning with one’s own turbulent personal history.

  • A strange thing happens in the movie: the action seems to spiral downward, to settle toward a sodden stasis. As I watched the film, I sensed that the drama was losing energy; it turned out that the characters were losing energy, that the lack of money became a lack of energy... “Jealousy” is a work of rueful, retrospective wisdom, but its rough-edged beauty is very much of the moment—there, Garrel seizes the day.

  • Director Philippe Garrel (Louis’ father) omits none of the existential gloominess that is his stock in trade. But for some reason, this 77-minute philosophical treatise—gorgeously shot in black-and-white by Willy Kurant—cuts more to the heart than near-impenetrable Garrel efforts like Regular Lovers (2005) and Frontier of Dawn (2008). It’s a bleak beauty.

  • Garrel’s insistence that there’s a common thread running through all human experience, irrespective of circumstance or class, certainly limits his thematic range—not to mention the size of his audience. Still, no contemporary relationship drama shares Jealousy’s deep-set, hopelessly utopian faith in the ability of art to lift the veil from life—just as no one shares Garrel’s flair for capturing the unadorned intricacies of human behavior.

  • Philippe Garrel’s La Jalousie [is] a masterful work... In the end, it is actually one of the most accessible films in Garrel’s œuvre – as the enjoyment of the young audience packing into the Gartenbaukino for the screening I attended attests.

  • Especially significant and notable is the remarkable rhythm that Garrel gives the film’s unfolding: at seventy-seven minutes, it covers a lot of ground (and not a small number of characters) in a gallop, without ever seemingly overly elliptical. This compression is a source of energy for Garrel’s style.

  • Information and exposition is continually elided, just as individual scenes forgo demarcation, creating internal ellipses which gather an effortless rhythm from moment to moment. Indeed, Jealousy is built on such fleeting instances; romance is born in a glance and relinquished with an edit, as Garrel’s expert imagining of the temporal boundaries linking each of these relationships fosters a kind of time-lapse visual diary of intertwined fates.

  • The present folds into the past so subtly and neatly we simply don't take account. One must be careful because a moment is so immediately a memory that things too easily get away. Garrel captures escaping moments, memories as soon as they register. Both Boyhood and Jealousy see life as precious, but Garrel locates this preciousness in the smallest gestures and feelings—glimpses of life being lived, felt, and becoming the past.

  • With nary a special effect in sight, the film revels in ravishing black-and-white ’Scope, the stunning limpidity of which makes one wonder why it’s been used so infrequently since the heyday of Kurosawa and Imamura. Given the simplicity of the story and settings of Jealousy, the wide screen might seem a luxury, but the format is friendly to the film’s semi-improvisational style and allows the emotional distances between characters to echo throughout each frame.

  • The film’s 77 minutes, shot in an autumnal, woolly, Bergmanesque black-and-white, watch them do nothing much — alone together, or her with friends, or him with his young daughter and other actors. There’s a casualness at work here that’s absorbing because Garrel doesn’t make a moment mean more than it ought to.

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