Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles

Je ne sais pas comment le nommer autrement, donc je l'appellerai "tyrannie de la caméra". Alors que dans les films conventionnels, la caméra se soumet lâchement au mouvement des acteurs, cette caméra véritablement autoritaire trouve sa place (statique) et nous ne faisons que suivre les personnages qui doivent se soumettre à l'espace délimité par son cadrage (et le fait que cette caméra est vraiment inflexible se voit clairement dans les têtes coupées de manière arbitraire des personnages indisciplinés...). La caméra traditionnelle et le montage capitulent devant un récit agréable et apparemment naturel, où les ellipses temporelles servent à supprimer de manière non réaliste les scènes apparemment insignifiantes. Akerman laisse la caméra capturer même ce qui est "ennuyeux" et y découvre plus que toutes les histoires "hollywoodiennes" réunies (contrairement à Truffaut, Akerman ne supprimerait pas les embouteillages...). Dans ce cas, il s'agit du stéréotype pénétrant jusqu'à l'âme du mode de vie (voir le féminisme), dans lequel la moindre déviation de la norme peut devenir une explosion de frustration refoulée. (03/05/2014)

Cours de cuisine, de tenue de table et de préparation de café avec la pécheresse Jeanne Dielman. Un minimalisme formel avec quelques différences mineures dans un contenu répétitif. Une observation procédurale du déroulement de quelques jours en compagnie d’une femme qui accompagne son fils au travail le matin et qui dîne et discute avec lui le soir. Entre-temps elle cuisine, fait des courses, reçoit un visiteur masculin contre rémunération, prend une douche, prépare le dîner… Un aperçu d’une vie privée si littéral et centré sur l’acteur qu’il en devient plus satisfaisant sur le plan du voyeurisme que s’il s’agissait d’un documentaire. Une pureté académique qui vous restera en tête pour tout ce temps passé en toute intimité avec un seul personnage. (21/04/2023)

Every neorealist’s dream come true. Even though there is always something happening in this film (cooking, cleaning, setting the table, knitting), it lacks a dramatic plot in the usual sense of the word. It is neither action- nor goal-oriented, nor does it contain any external conflicts. It is more or less composed of scenes “between events”, which would have been cut from a standard narrative film. With hypnotic cyclicality, the same actions are repeated again and again. The concept of space and time is also subordinated to them. The shots are mostly as long as the duration of Jeanne’s activities. She sets the film’s rhythm. The enclosed space-time of the household is an extension of her personality, which, unlike the male protagonists, she does not try to overcome and destroy, but conversely embraces with masochistic humility. Though the interchangeability of the individual days reinforces our conviction that nothing will ultimately happen, when we grasp Jeanne Dielman from the opposite end, we can watch it a second time as a film in which pressure builds up for three hours and will have to be released in some way. It is necessary to understand the radical final gesture from the perspective of the second wave of feminism, which perceives the body as a weapon, identifying the personal with the political. In other words, we shouldn’t consider Jeanne’s action as mere evidence that she has been pulled out of the cyclically repetitive housework. The minimalistic style of frontally shot, symmetrically composed, long and static shots, empty monologues (which primarily have a rhythmic function, as they do not communicate much through their content) and mise-en-scène, in which the slightest change plays a role, does not serve to tell a story with spiritual reach, unlike the films of Bresson and Dreyer. Spiritual reach is exactly what is missing in Jeanne Dielman’s life. While she finds the daily routine stultifying, the film takes on a hypnotic quality thanks to its unchanging rhythm and shot compositions, whose balance reflects Jeanne’s obsessive need for order. We gradually begin to notice the colours, the lighting, the interplay of horizontal and vertical lines and the placement of objects in the shots. Every movement and every change of angle takes on meaning. The director thus does not have to draw our attention to changes through editing or dramatic music. Every disturbance of order becomes exciting in a space with similarly rigid rules and the most gripping scene in the film may be the one in which we wait to see whether the milk bottle whose stability has been disrupted will tip over and spill. Similarly fragile stability and the need to disrupt it are thematised on another level throughout the film, which is worth as much as several feminist essays. 90% (20/12/2015)

Even though I wanted to hate this movie because it is unbelievably long, I have to admit that it has its qualities. It makes you think. Like, why does it do all of this, why doesn't it talk, why doesn't it sing, why doesn't it listen to something while doing housework. All of this and much more justifies what it eventually does. Definitely an interesting and not nonsensical approach to the movie. (11/10/2015)