Breathless

As the summer of 2015 waned, Breathless was first on my very deliberate list of movies to watch. The school year crept up and I didn't think I'd have time for a satisfying French New Wave dive. That hesitation, that drive to control my experience, left me Breathless-less for eight and a half years. I get more out of an experience the better I plan and process it, but I get more experiences if I don't; life demands that balance.

As it turns out, I didn't miss much over those years. I doubt they would have changed much. Apart from the final provocative minute, Breathless offered little. I can see it defining a movement and invigorating cinematic style in its time, yet 64 years blunted its edge. Hipsters might still boast about Godard, but Breathless isn't truly hip anymore. And if it doesn't have style, it doesn't have much, considering its moral and emotional vacuum. It's a 90 minute scat without dynamic arc. It would have helped to at least enjoy the characters a little more, but Michel wasn't very likable.

I don't precisely know its influence on film, so I'll trust the critics on that; but if Breathless was released today, I'd probably call it a bad movie.

Calling Breathless cool is like calling The Twist scandalous. I'm sure it was.