Review of L'Argent (1983) by Eric B — 12 Nov 2011

You are reading in a large campus library. Your ear picks up a sound. In the distance, someone in dress shoes walks toward your section. Her heels coldly resonate on the tiled floor. Click, click, click, click. The sound grows louder as she nears. Click, click, click, click. Distracted, you lift your eyes and frown. She finally passes, unaware of your irritation. Her steps fade slowly -- too slowly -- as she continues onward behind your back.

Until "L'Argent" mercifully switches to a rural setting near the end, the entire film is like this. Torture. You've never heard so many footsteps as characters numbly, silently tread through various rooms and hallways.

But the aggravation doesn't stop there. The cast's body language is so bloodless and repressed that your mind may scream at director Robert Bresson to just let his actors be human. Observe the unnatural hand movements. The stiff postures. Even a brief scene where a clerk completes a camera sale turns exasperating. It's shot as if he's a magician doing card tricks.

This and Woody Allen's "Husbands and Wives" (neurotic shaky-cam) are the only two films I've ever seen that actually gave me a headache.

Based on a Tolstoy short story, "L'Argent" shows how money corrupts via the impact of a single counterfeit bill. Two schoolboys buy a trivial picture frame, only because they want change for a forged, 500-franc note. The naive shopkeeper is later berated by her husband for accepting the money, but she points out that he took two phony bills the day before. Literally passing the buck, he unloads all three bills on a delivery man, Yvon (Christian Patey, just one of the cast's unknown, seemingly untrained actors).

When Yvon innocently tries to pay for lunch with the money, the waiter calls the police. Yvon is arrested. He avoids prison but loses his job. This sends him into a downward spiral of crime that costs him both his freedom and family.

Bresson's mimimalist style does have its intrigue. As with some of his other films, there is no musical score. Perfunctory behavior is dwelled upon, while crucial action occurs off-camera. The film is over well within 90 minutes. Its brisk, clinical pace is remarkably distinct. But at what price? Is a movie successful when a tragic story breeds no empathy whatsoever with its characters?