Review of Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970) by Vieras E — 19 May 2008

Whatever complaints one might have about the film, it is nonetheless invaluable, for it alone in cinema fully grasps the strange associative logic that propels dreams forward, and to watch the movie is to fully immerse yourself into the random and wild id of a stranger's mind, something not even the surrealists of the twenties and thirties could achieve.

Yet the film is never particularly dark, instead focusing on that peculiar brand of innocent sexual experimentation peculiar to 70's "art" films, and revising it into a kind of menstrual feminism.

(Come to think of it, Valerie would make a great double feature with Celine and Julie Go Boating; they have a similar sense of psychical whimsy, such that, unlike in a Lynch movie, one truly does not care one whit about the plot).

But something prevented me from completely giving myself over to the movie, something that must be mentioned in any honest analysis of the movie, namely that one would appreciate this paean to pansexuality a bit more if its lead actress and object of desire wasn't, you know, THIRTEEN.

(Clearly the director loves his protagonist, but what kind of love IS this?) At times, one feels sullied simply watching it. Perhaps the filmmakers tried to deliver a true and mature artistic exploration into adolescent sexuality (something, it must be said, that is sadly lacking), perhaps not, but at any rate the movie gravitates towards being trenchcoat fodder a few too many times for its own good.

Alas, its merits (check out the cinematography, the wacky editing, the whole mise en scene) make it essential viewing. An masterpiece, yes, but a somewhat unfortunate one.