**** (out of four) By Aaron Dumont Despite what you've heard, Lancelot du Lac remains one fo the most meditational, multi-faceted and cinematic movies ever made; this bare-bones, minimalist interpretation of the legend of Arthur, a late-period Bresson film that teeters dangerously between 'gorgeous' and 'tedious', is a stark, modernist beauty, a masterfully-structured transformation of the Arthurian legend and all its absurdities, its ridiculous blemishes, its lack of insight and apathy, and possibly all the other countless, pompously glamorous counterparts and adaptations--mostly cinematic--of the legend, as well.
From the opening scene to the closing shot, Lancelot du Lac purposefully closes out all "emotions" (aka overacting and overposing) and any "enchanting" (read: astonishingly depthless and distracting) features of the original while calmly, serenely gliding through the anonymity of death--however, though seemingly of work of pessimism, Lancelot du Lac is as far from; it incorporates not only the agonies and facelessness of war, it succeeds in its transcendent, near-reverential attempt to give a reason to all the coldness and brutality--the camera moves along with phantom-like eyes of disillusionment and of loving craft, yet still remains almost purely physical, savage and kinetic much of the time. While most movies would simply remain boring as hell right from Step 1, Bresson, knowing an actual thing or two about cinema, meticulously emphasizes the texture, shape and form of the movie, creating a sprawling canvas of transmuted life, space, and humanity, while still reserving bridges and swirls of poetry and liberation.
Bresson was indeed a skilled craftsman of the cinematic form. And, much like the rest of his oeuvre, he claws past every little insignificant bit and plot piece that are oh-so-conveniently (and, of course, conventionally) used, and goes straight for the most basic, most shamefully true, most resonant instincts; compulsion, meaningless bloodshed and the need to stay alive. Bresson never compromised; every one of his movies need devoted, undivided detention to grab hold of. And, he manages to sustain a movie with that (and an incredible one, too)--which should at least be respected, considering how that shouldn't even be possible in cinema.
Though of course, Lancelot du Lac is difficult, to say the least--a fantasy without fantasy, a spectacular tale told in the mode of guilt and sensitivity. However, that's also what makes it so stunning--it is the work of someone who has given up on the petty, masturbatory pizazz of film-making, and of a genuine, fully-bloomed artist in their prime.
From the opening scene to the closing shot, Lancelot du Lac purposefully closes out all "emotions" (aka overacting and overposing) and any "enchanting" (read: astonishingly depthless and distracting) features of the original while calmly, serenely gliding through the anonymity of death--however, though seemingly of work of pessimism, Lancelot du Lac is as far from; it incorporates not only the agonies and facelessness of war, it succeeds in its transcendent, near-reverential attempt to give a reason to all the coldness and brutality--the camera moves along with phantom-like eyes of disillusionment and of loving craft, yet still remains almost purely physical, savage and kinetic much of the time. While most movies would simply remain boring as hell right from Step 1, Bresson, knowing an actual thing or two about cinema, meticulously emphasizes the texture, shape and form of the movie, creating a sprawling canvas of transmuted life, space, and humanity, while still reserving bridges and swirls of poetry and liberation.
Bresson was indeed a skilled craftsman of the cinematic form. And, much like the rest of his oeuvre, he claws past every little insignificant bit and plot piece that are oh-so-conveniently (and, of course, conventionally) used, and goes straight for the most basic, most shamefully true, most resonant instincts; compulsion, meaningless bloodshed and the need to stay alive. Bresson never compromised; every one of his movies need devoted, undivided detention to grab hold of. And, he manages to sustain a movie with that (and an incredible one, too)--which should at least be respected, considering how that shouldn't even be possible in cinema.
Though of course, Lancelot du Lac is difficult, to say the least--a fantasy without fantasy, a spectacular tale told in the mode of guilt and sensitivity. However, that's also what makes it so stunning--it is the work of someone who has given up on the petty, masturbatory pizazz of film-making, and of a genuine, fully-bloomed artist in their prime.