Disapointment

I really wanted to like this movie. I feel terribly cynical trashing it, and that's why I'm giving it a middling 5. Actually, I'm giving it a 5 because there were some superb performances.

As somebody who had not heard any of this before, it became a curious phenomenon to sit and watch a film and slowly have the realities begin to click into place.

The acting in this movie is really good.

As I read it, this rambling film is a case study of declining potency. Jean-Pierre Leaud is surprisingly unprepossessing as a dumpy, long-haired director who's made a couple of well-received skin flicks with titles like, "I'm Hard, I Come, I Sing," but has had -- well -- director's block since 1984. It's a sad tale. And you feel sorry for the actor right away, if you remember Leaud in Truffaut's earlier films or in "Belle de Jour," a dark and sometimes menacing vibrant presence.Felt sorry for his character as well. The film makes it clear that sex is like power is like life. Leaud's 1968-style political activism is now obsolete. The new activism opposes a government that treats us "like a statistic." Its ultimate response is elective mutism, so Leaud winds up communicating with his son by reading his notes instead of having a conversation.We can see Leaud's power -- his vision, if you will -- being taken away from him. He's directing a scene in which a fake chauffeur is seduced by a 16-year-old heiress. (I think I'm getting this right. It was a little confusing.) He lays out his plan for the rest of the crew. As usual, the cameras will stay perfectly still while filming this sexual encounter. One camera for closeups of organs and faces, the other for a medium shot. The actress will not emote while the chauffeur does her. No phony moaning or wild gyrations. Leaud, the director, will take care of that part for her. Finally, he wants her to, well, swallow as she might offscreen. Those are his directorial intentions.Just before shooting starts, the Assistant Director plays some romantic music, thinking it may help the scene. "No music," says Leaud politely but firmly.The scene begins the way Leaud wants it. But Leaud is staring at the floor. The AD asks, "Aren't you going to direct it?" Leaud replies: "I've already directed it." But not to the AD's satisfaction. First the AD begins prompting the actress -- "Louder. We can't hear you." Then, little by little, the AD takes over the scene. He instructs the actress to shout and move around more. He plays the forbidden romantic music. He moves the cameras around. And the actress gets a cliché right in the face.What might have been a more or less personal scene has been turned into something that the industry grinds out like Wendy's Whoppers. And all this time, Leaud has been moping in his chair, without a whimper of protest.That scene summed it up for me in many ways. Other scenes got by my interpretive apparatus entirely. I don't know what's going on when Leaud leaves his wife. I have no idea why Leaud asks permission to build a house on a friend's land and then, after laying out a sketchy floor plan of a tiny shed, simply sits there staring at it for scene after scene. Is it "symbolic"? If so, the symbolism whizzed past me without doing any damage and went on its way. I think I DID get symbolism elsewhere. When Leaud's son and his girlfriend make love in a meadow, we don't see them "doing it" but we get a lot of shots of sheep running around all woolly and sweaty looking. Very mammalian stuff.Is the movie worth watching? Probably. Nice photography, good acting. Definitely, if you're a 50-year-old and your vision is increasingly impaired by senile cataracts.

This film marks the first time I saw a penetration scene on a basic cable channel. It's significant, if not technically or artistically amazing. It was in medium shot, and at first I thought it was more simulated softcore nonsense since the gentleman appeared to be positioned too far away during coitus. Turns out he was just impressively endowed.'Pornographe' turns in good performances from the actors, especially Leaud. He has the kind of homeopathic presence that made Sarah Polley famous. From a distance, the French national character appears understated, and quite reserved. Contrast that with the classic German, who is full of bluster, extroverted positivity, and usually neat as a pin. The English, finally, appear perpetually drunk and flooding the sidewalk with urine.The long meditative shots of trees were meant to convey atmosphere, but kind of made me feel like I was waiting at a bus-stop. A minor complaint - it's worth seeing.

An aging porn flicks director must change the way he does his thing. But Jacques is more of a thinker than a director. He sees his job as a form of art that's being thorn by the new generation of directors.Jean-Pierre Léaud is great in the role of Jacques. Some of the scene you would never see in a Hollywood-made movie.Out of 100, I give it 80. That's good for *** out of ****.Seen in Toronto, at the Carleton Cinemas, on July 4th, 2002.

There is a tradition in French film, which very much comes from "The new Wave", of letting the actors saying deadly destiny-filled things with an absolute zero expression in their faces. Every third line usually starts with the words "Écoute chéri". Personally I can't cope with that acting tradition. Unfortunately that tradition is still strong, as one can see in "Le Pornographe".The plot is about an aging porno director, who once quitted his art, because of his son finding out and his son being disgusted. That could of course be a good script out of this, but it isn't. Not at all. It's hard to find that the people really care about each other, so why should you? Where is two X-rated scenes here, but why? Is it maybe a trick of getting people to the movie houses? They won't be much excited.