Review of My American Uncle (1980) by Jake G — 22 Jan 2010

I've recently come to loathe the word "director." It's a crude term, one that does a scant justice to the auteur's craft, one that is more suitable to describe a construction overseer or the head of a law firm than the man or woman who pours their passion, their lifeblood into a film.

As it is hardly a new concept for us anglophiles, I suggest we take a leaf out of the Frenchman's book. In the opening credits of MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE, "director" is translated into "realision" (without the accent mark, of course, that would be fucked up by the dreaded question mark diamond), a word that if then translated into its logical cognate, "realization," makes a lick more sense than its crude cousin.

For an auteur, and we may safely call Alain Resnais that, is responsible for translating the written and spoken word to an entirely different grammar-- that of film, and realizing in moving pictures what otherwise might be so many words on a page.

And though the translation from literature to film, from script to screen, is not always graceful, and occasionally disastrous, it is now very widely accepted that cinema is an art form all of itself. Yet still in its infancy when you compare it to most art, that of drama, music, and the spoken and written word, it is in the synthesis of prior artforms that cinema achieves its vital importance as a medium.

(At this point, if you're worried you have somehow walked into the wrong classroom, some stuffy opening lecture of a Film History 101 course, sit down and be patient, goddammit).

Very rarely in watching movies do I happen to come upon a film that movies me to step back and contemplate cinema itself, its malleable, unquantifiable characteristics, and yet this is that film-- my perennial favorite, MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE.

From the first shot, a red, pulsating heart, Resnais makes clear that his film is no ordinary contrivance. The character study we have sat down to watch has instead assumed the pedantic air of a nature documentary, complete with the academic voice over and slide show-like cinematography. But then an odd thing happens, and unlike the countless educational films we have glossed over whilst TV surfing, there's something entrancing, even spellbinding about the spectacle that prevents you from mentally changing channels.

You realize, though at this point lost somewhere in the French professor's words, that the very "survival instincts" the dusty academic is describing in a red crab or a warthog are an enormous, obvious analogy for the lives we eke out as homo sapiens.

The voice, not a drone but one of an earnest passion, disappears and three new voices begin to muddle together, two male voices and one female that speak snatched phrases like "born on my grandfather's island" or "a natural child birth, as my father wanted.".

We have changed channels, though to one seemingly still related to the former program. Now, it seems, we are watching some bizarre biopic of three rather inconsequential seeming characters, though of tantamount importance in the film. Our narrator, now the slightly disembodied, very female voice one often hears while awaiting a flight's departure, describes of our three protagonists the kind of "Getting to Know You" kinds of things you might scrawl on a resume. The voice lays bare the characters in a few sentences, as in "his parents wanted him to become a priest, but he became the manager of a textile factory instead.".

These, as we begin to understand, are characters with layers we've never seen the likes of before.

In this first, introductory act of the film we see a glimpse into the childhood of each protagonist. Each was repressed by their parents in a kind of way, from Nicole Garcia's character, who was forced as a girl to attend Communist Party rallies and learn "US, go home" in tentative English, to Gerard Depardieu's character, who in his desire to make something of himself had to hide his correspondence school materials, to Roger Pierre's character, who secretly reads "The Golden Knight" rather than his mother's recommendation, Racine's famous romances.

Their uneasy childhoods, although surely filled with moments of happiness, give way to rather uneasy adulthoods. Each character has their fair share of "success" (the nature of which will be questioned in the course of the film), from the lead bill in a hit play, per Garcia, to a profession requiring three secretaries, per Pierre, to a fulfilling overseer position, per Depardieu.

We learn in the beginning that the protagonists share a mutual love of movies, each with a favorite actor, and consequently shots from their old black and white favorites are intercut with significant moments of their lives, when applicable. This is yet another instance in which Resnais exhibits a vision not limited to mere drama, but to techniques that enhance the film's movie-as-allegory feel.

And here I take off my synopsis hat, for it is in the struggles of our protagonists that we find the meat and gristle of MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE.

The movie's title, incidentally, is literally translated to My Uncle from America. The avuncular relative in question is hinted at, even figuratively danced around throughout the film-- but ultimately is of rather secondhand importance, a device that Resnais uses to probe the wistful aspect of our protagonists' dispositions. Whenever our character's speak of a vague, half-forgotten childhood dream, they invoke the name of the legendary Oncle D'Amerique. Which when brought up in conversation, incidentally, provokes my favorite description of the US of A in a movie, spoken by a friend of our female protagoinst: "America is fake. I know, I've been there.".

The music consists of a few rather mournful adagios, used sparingly but to great effect. This, in my unlearned opinion, is the best way you can use music, as a tactful underscore of important scenes, and though MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE is only my first (!) Resnais film, I'm willing to wager that musically, his technique is much the same in LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD and HIROSHIMA, MON AMOUR.

Though acting in films is not my forte, as I tend to gravitate to the directorial aspects (screw convictions, that word is too goddamned necessary to forego) of movies, I like to flatter myself that I know a good performance when I see one. Acting roles come and go, mostly average, but every once and a while you see a movie that has an extraordinary performance or two, the kind that convinces you that the fictional character is, au contraire, non-fictional in some kind of parallel universe.

All three central performances of MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE are of the latter category. And although I'm not exceedingly familiar with the French actors and actress in question, I have a hard time believing they ever eclipsed their efforts in this movie.

I'll address now, at some length, the matter I've hinted at earlier in this review, that of Alain Resnais' superb "realision." In MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE, Resnais' camera is a kind of third party witness, a roving eye that always seems to catch the three in inconvenient moments. Shots are fluid transitions from one to another, elegaic but deceivingly simple looking. Resnais' salient eye extends beyond cinematography, though, to the subplot of including the human psychology lecture. This, truly, is where "brilliant" reaches "favorite film of all time" status, or at least for me.

Ultimately, watching this movie is a cathartic experience, a life affirming testament to the human condition, its strengths and weaknesses, and an all encompassing cinematic experience. It has been called a thinking man's film, and that it is-- but I like to think that I'm not the only one who sees the genius in this movie. This, then, gets my vote for the ultimate film to be enjoyed and understood before you die: Alain Resnais' MON ONCLE D'AMERIQUE.