Review of Last Tango in Paris (1972) by Mark S — 20 Apr 2011

Obscene. Classic, Controversial. Art-House. A film so powerful that Roger Ebert wrote 3 reviews on it over the last 30 years. I believe that this film will mean something else to everyone who sees it, that the speeches, sex, and violence will evoke different emotions. I think that's exactly what these type of experiential movies are to do, just evoke, maybe nothing in particular, just pull a response, a feeling from you.

Last Tango in Paris was supposed to be a landmark movie, a film that dealt with sex, death, and grief in adult ways. It would pave the way for mainstream films with natural nudity, and complex emotions. Then Star Wars happened. I have mixed feelings.

The film is about a man whose wife has just committed suicide, and he is obviously reeling from it. He sees a girl he follows her. They are alone in a room. They suddenly and compulsively have sex. It's not rape. She kisses back. They agree to meet there regularly. They never exchange names. No history. No backstory. All that is bullshit says Brando. The only thing that is real is that room. They talk. They laugh. She feels like a child. They have sex. This is the only place they are free. He is free from his guilt, she is nothing but a way to shield himself from it. Perhaps that is the most she has ever mattered to anyone. She wants to know him. She loves him.

And like any good story, the roles flip. By the end, he has left, and she is broken. He reappears, he tells her all about himself. He loves her. Does he really, or is he just losing himself even further. She doesn't want anything to do with him. Why? Has the emotional experience been too much? Or has she just realized that he was right, that not knowing someone was as free as you could ever be. Being in their company, being yourself, with no fear of repercussion, or being bound by your past.

Brando's character was married to his wife for 5 years. He says that he could've been married for 200 and understood the entire meaning of the universe, but never her. Why did she kill herself? He doesn't know. We never know. We never know each other. As much as we like to pretend that we have any sort of connection with any other human being the fact is we are completely limited and bound by our own unique experience, and will never be able to comprehend any other idea of consciousness, not even to the smallest fragment, no matter how much we would like to convince ourselves otherwise.

That is what he offers her. The opportunity to forgo the fruitless endeavor of pretending like getting to know someone, knowing their name or age, means anything. That to just be, an exist next to one another, with no expectations, no plans for the future, and no semblance of a past, that is the best we can do. When you do that, and just let go to the experience, maybe that is real. When you strip away the romanticizing over your shared beliefs, and swapping stories, that simply acknowledging that you are existing and sharing in a moment together, albeit interpreting it completely differenetly, that perhaps that is as blissful as our existence will ever be.

That is how I've interpreted what I've seen. I was strongly evoked because of the music, filming, and acting was good enough to do so, and the meaning was never served to me. One thing to be looked at with distant longing for in this film is the length of the shots. Today we are edited down to shots that usually last for something like 2 seconds. here there are shots that linger for minutes. That is the actors' friend. These performances were not made in the editing room. These were delivered, and that is a difference. Brando gives long monologues and stories with no cuts, there are few cuts in the scene with his wife, and you are allowed to feel the connections, see that their is life, not have it artificially constructed for you with dutiful editing.

Marlon Brando is the most celebrated film actor to ever live. He was an enigma of a man, as well as an actor. Like most good actors, he was filled to the brim with self-loathing and inexplicable behavior. This film came out the same year as the Godfather, and it was hailed as the return of Brando, the tour-de-force actor. Brando hated this film, and called his performance embarassing. Here is the greatest actor of all time, and he has as many train wreck performances as he does brilliant ones. Maybe that is a testament to his genius, a necessary sacrifice to brilliance.

Roger Ebert wrote that his acting in the scene with his wife as the best acting ever recorded on film. His part was almost entirely improv, there was no script. It shows. The conversations feel real, stories wander off, start and stop, there is no beginning or end or climax to them. There are bumps, pauses, and stumbling over their own words. Brando even coughs when another actor is talking. He COUGHS. Not to serve a purpose, you get the feeling he just coughed. Has that ever happened in a movie before? No, but it happens in real life.

I don't know if this is the best acting in the history of history, it certainly is very fine acting. Brando evokes, and he is certainly confident in everything he is doing. The film itself is uneven, and probably spends too much time away from Brando, as Jeanne is only interesting when she is with him. The movie is about him, and it is ultimately sad to watch him collapse before your eyes. I wonder what he was like before she killed herself.

I've written a lot about this movie, and that should tell you something. Movies that leave you thinking are rare, even good ones you can mostly close the door on once you've seen the credits roll. I like to ask questions, and ponder meanings. I like when a film gives me the opportunity to do so.