Oh My Godard, What a Deal

In these recessionary times, we're all looking for good deals. And while I often snicker when I hear the cultural backwater that is San Francisco referred to as the "Paris of the Pacific", I was pretty pleased that last week when our humble Castro Theatre hosted the first screening in the U.S.A of Jean-Luc Godard's (ironically) Made in the U.S.A. Sadly, travel prevented me from catching the screening, but I suspect a Criterion DVD is just around the corner.

And, speaking of Godard, our local rag The Believer magazine has just released their 2009 film issue. This magazine is really hit or miss, but this issue is worth its $10 cover price for the magazine alone, but inside is an amazing little jewel of a DVD dedicated to Godard in the U.S.A. There are two Dick Cavett interviews, an interview of him on the beach in a bikini in Del Mar with Alice Waters, and several other extras.

I got my copy at the 826 Valencia store for $8.26 (go figure) including tax.

And while I was out on Valencia, I was thrilled to see that Dog Eared Books had several copies of the dear old Horizon magazine, a periodical published from the 1950s to the mid-1970s. This arts quarterly -- like American Heritage magazine -- arrived boxed and in a hard cover. I almost teared up as I thumbed through the familiar pages of this magazine that was on coffee tables of several of my relatives as a child and formed many of my early impressions about art, taste and aesthetics. How fitting that two issues featured favorite artists of Catalonia -- Gaudi and Miro.

We can't put a price on things that bring us happiness, but having Horizon and Godard on a Saturday afternoon is pretty close to bliss.

Contempt!

Now that Bryce Digdug is back from the Big Easy, we had a chance to compare notes on the Minnie Riperton shows at Jazzfest and Thursday night's performance at the Fox. There was a near riot in the rush ticket line that snaked along Market Street all the way down to Franklin.

Our banter got pretty heated as we shared our opinions about the two concerts but could not come to a consensus on which was the better (apparently Minnie didn't include her San Francisco curtain call, a rousing rendition of "Feelings", in New Orleans) as we sat in our seats last night at the Castro Theater. Our little tiff was soon blown away by gentle Mediterranean breezes as we enjoyed Godard's Le Mépris (Contempt). What a wonderfully wacky cast -- Brigitte Bardot, Jack Palance and Fritz Lang. Lang (who played himself a la Cecile B. Demille in Sunset Boulevard), perpetuated the myth that he fled Germany the night he was offered the role of the Third Reich's official filmographer by Goebbels. It was a bit more complex than that. However, it was fun to see him refer to Brecht as "BB".

The other BB -- la Bardot -- had plenty of bare bottomed scenes, hilariously covering it with a book while sunbathing in one scene. Perhaps more erotic were the architecture and scenery -- a shabby chic Italian country villa, a shabby deco cinema and a modern villa built on a seaside cliff in Capri with better-than-sex views.

Bardot was actually a very good actress in the film. There was certainly plenty of focus on her physical attributes ("You like zee thigh?" "Oui!" "You like zee breast?" "Oui!"), but she purposely tried to tone it down, putting on a dark wig and chatting with her mom on the phone.
Though unable to come to agreement on Minnie Riperton, Bryce and I agreed that Bardot's costar Michel Piccoli was very hot in that sexy Eurochic/trash '60s sort of way. Unlike today's male Hollywood overly buff/waxed mannequin stars, he was lean and furry in a great sort of way, having a wonderful scene wearing just his cigar and a fedora in a tub as la Bardot ranted at him. Okay, he did need just a little trimming around the edges, but he was particularly fetching on the roof of that Capri villa in a cream colored linen suit and his same fedora.
Debriefing over dinner at Le Mediterranean (detect a theme here), I nearly spat out my Merlot and had to mask my horror when Bryce said he'd never heard any of Bardot's great pop singles from the late '60s or her frequent partner in crime, Serge Gainsbourg. Contempt, indeed!

Just in case there are any other readers who are equally unacquainted, I suggest they check out the great Bardot/Gainsbourg collaboration on "Bonnie and Clyde", and Bardot's definitive "Harley Davidson" (below) where she makes Nancy Sinatra look like FLDS sister-wife #18.