Lights...camera...action! : Godard's A Woman is a Woman

Angela (Anna Karina) has decided she wants to have a baby. Lover Emile (Jean-Claude Brialy) will have none of it. Their current situation is fine as is. He doesn't seem to care when Angela decides to seek outside help from Emile's pal Alfred Lubitsch (Jean-Paul Belmondo). "Is this a comedy or a tragedy?" This being a Jean-Luc Godard film it's, well....Godard.

Described by its director as a "neorealist musical," A Woman is a Woman (1961) is full of such willful self-contradictions. Self-conscious in the best possible way, Godard's film is always concerned, first and foremost, with making sure you know it is a movie. Music starts and stops mid-scene, the actors playfully acknowledge the camera, one character is named after a famous film director, actors from other films contemporary to this one pop up in little cameos. If it all sounds a bit precious, well it is, but this is also what makes it so endearing.

Just as musicals are often based around the inherent charisma of their stars, A Woman is a Woman finds Godard in love with his trio of good-looking stars. This is his second film with Karina (after Le Petit Soldat). His infatuation with her here is more than evident (they married soon after filming). Brialy character comes across as a bit of prick, but he's still got a nice, well-groomed handsomeness to him. Less traditionally attractive, Belmondo's looks are rough but still appealing. He is also one of those actors who, like Bogart, makes smoking look cool. (One of the best gags in the film has him trying to smoke while seemingly every passerby grabs a light off of his cigarette so that by the time he tries to take a drag himself, it's all gone.)

Godard also referred to his film as "not a musical, but an idea of a musical." While that might at first seem like typical Godardian provocation, there is a lot of truth in that statement. One could easily imagine A Woman is a Woman not only as a Lubitsch-style comedy but as a 1940s or '50s Hollywood spectacular. Angela says as much at one point: "I would like to star in a musical comedy, starring Cyd Charisse, Gene Kelly, choreography by Bob Fosse!" So, while the film itself may be an idea of something it is not, so is Angela in love with the idea of something she wants to be. She performs at a strip club, singing and taunting the men, but she has it in her head that motherhood is what she really wants when in fact it may just be the concept that she has latched onto.

As distancing as Godard's style can be at times, with the start-and-stop music, on screen text, and such, there are numerous little pleasures to be had in the movie. Angela and Alfred strike identical poses in a game of "You can't do what I can do." Emile rides his bicycle around the apartment while arguing with Angela. During another argument, Emile and Angela hold up books instead of speaking. Movie in-jokes for the cinephiles in the audience are cute and well handled ("Breathless is on tv tonight"; cameos by Jeanne Moreau and Marie Dubois). Finally, there is the most musical sequence in the film (as in Band of Outsiders, it takes place in a cafe). Alfred plays a Charles Aznavour record for Angela; they sit and listen to it in its entirety as Angela grows sadder and sadder, having just learned about an infidelity of Emile's. It's a wonderfully played scene, punctuated by fetishistic shots of the record playing in the jukebox.

This was Godard's first film in color and also his first in widescreen. The importance of cinematographer Raoul Coutard to the director's work cannot be overestimated. He appears to have been a perfect match for the Godard's own unique style of improvisation, whether it is filming with a hidden camera on the street or in the confines of Angela and Emile's apartment (a set that had to be built when an agreed upon location fell through at the last minute). Criterion's dvd, following on Rialto's theatrical reissue last year, shows off both the compositions and the colors very well. (These screen captures don't really do the disc justice. It plays much better than the somewhat soft-looking shots would imply.) Michel Legrand contributes lovely music, though it may be hard to appreciate it at times given Godard's epileptic use of it.

For one of their lower-priced titles, Criterion have come up with a very nice selection of extra features. There are behind the scenes photos, publicity shots, and a great selection of international posters. An excerpt from a short television documentary, "Who Are You, Anna Karina?" was made several years after A Woman is a Woman (she and Godard were divorced by now) and also features comments from Brialy and Serge Gainsbourg. A thirty-plus minute promotional record from the film's original release is accompanied by on-screen translation; a combination of audio from the film and Godard's discussion of it, this is exactly the kind of item fans are delighted shows up on dvds.

Godard's first professional short film, Charlotte and Veronique, or All the Boys Are Called Patrick (1959) is another nice addition. Scripted by Eric Rohmer, the short follows two roommates as they both separately and unknowingly make dates with the same womanizing man (Jean-Claude Brialy plays Patrick). Its a nice little slice of black and white Paris, well performed by the charismatic Anne Collette and Nicole Berger.

Criterion's disc streets June 22. Fans of Godard's own particular brand of filmmaking are advised to check it out.