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Friday, March 7, 2025

Milestones (1975)



           A filmmaker deeply committed to expressing his far-left political ideology onscreen, Robert Kramer directed the awkward but impassioned Ice (1970), then codirected this sprawling hybrid of documentary and fiction—although Kramer participated in many other projects, Ice and Milestones are probably his most enduring statements. Codirected by John Douglas, Milestones explores the lives of myriad characters connected to Vietnam War-era counterculture. Most of the people who appear onscreen are hippies who’ve dropped out of mainstream society to live in communes and/or radicals who’ve had legal trouble stemming from activism. The picture also features perspectives from the preceding generation, courtesy of parents vexed by the choices of their adult children. Had a more disciplined filmmaker tackled exactly this material—picture an Altmanesque epic—it could have become the definitive cinematic record of its time. Alas, Milestones is a minor historical artifact that many viewers will find boring and pointless.
           Instead of using narration, onscreen text, or at the very least crisp introductory vignettes, the filmmakers spew a largely formless collage of conversations and moments, forcing viewers to intuit much key information through context. As the picture churns through multiple “storylines,” a term that’s only somewhat applicable here, viewers watch folks hang out, share experiences, and talk (endlessly) about their feelings. All of this stems from the queasy mixture of documentary and fiction. Some elements feel like real life caught on camera—particularly the pieces depicting a woman preparing for natural childbirth. Other elements are obviously staged, including two crime scenes. Viewers can make reasonable assumptions about when characters are presenting scripted (or at least prompted) dialogue, as opposed to speaking extemporaneously, because moments featuring “acting” are painfully amateurish.
           Still, a general theme emerges from the sprawl—what do antiwar radicals do once the focus of their activism disappears? Do they return to their families? Do they get jobs? Or do they try to live their counterculture ideals permanently? As one character suggests, “a revolution [is] not just a series of incidents but a whole life.” Unfortunately for all but the most sympathetic viewers, Milestones buries this worthy concept inside a series of drab scenes that span more than three hours. That’s a lot of time to spend watching grungy 16mm footage of hippies strolling naked through the woods, engaging in low-key rap sessions (plus the occasional argument), and so on.
           Excepting the aforementioned crime scenes (plus the climactic sequence of natural childbirth that unfolds in full view of the camera), the most engaging bits are conversations during which characters either speak directly to the movie’s theme or inadvertently capture their historical moment with Me Decade psychobabble. In a particularly absurd moment, self-involved Jimmy, identified as a onetime zoology professor who ditched academia for activism, expresses what a heavy trip it might be to participate in raising his preadolescent son: “I’m his father, and I have a very special kind of relationship. I mean, I dig other kids too, but I can’t brush away my feelings. I mean, maybe it’s just part of me that I have to get on top of.” As if parental obligations are some old-fashioned hangup.
           Kramer and Douglas had to do their own thing, but in retrospect they might have been wise to ditch the fiction elements and focus on capturing life among left-leaning young adults at a confusing time. Whenever the filmmakers try to get overt, they stumble badly, as with a silly dream sequence or the laughable cut from dialogue about a character with fragile emotions to a shot of that character dropping a piece of pottery that shatters.

Milestones: FUNKY

Sunday, March 2, 2025

Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles



          While I’m a reasonably adventurous cinefile, the reputation and running time of Chantal Ackerman’s acclaimed character study Jeanne Dielman kept it near the bottom of my to-view list for decades—I was challenged to muster enthusiasm for a 3.5-hour picture comprising extraordinarily long takes of mundane activities. Even when Jeanne Dielman was named the greatest film of all time by Sight and Sound in 2022 (more on that later), the movie seemed as if it would be a slog to watch. Now that I can finally report back from the other end of Jeanne Dielman’s 201 minutes, of course I understand that being a slog to watch is part of the picture’s design. It’s open to debate whether the film’s abnormal length was the best way achieve her goals, but clearly Ackerman wanted viewers to feel as numbed by repetition as the leading character does. Accordingly, the key question is whether the movie rewards viewers’ time. I believe the answer is yes, though perhaps not to the degree implied by Jeanne Dielman’s placement on the Sight and Sound list.
          For those unfamiliar with the picture, it depicts three days in the life of fortysomething widow Jeanne (Delphine Seyrig), who lives with her young-adult son, Sylvain (Jan Decorte), in a Brussels apartment. Jeanne supports the household with sex work, receiving one client per day as part of a highly regimented routine. Up each morning to prepare breakfast and send Syvlain off to school; cleaning, errands, and meal preparation interspersed with occasional childcare for a neighbor’s infant; then evenings spent serving dinner and helping Sylvain with schoolwork, even though he’s so absorbed in reading that he barely communicates with his mother. (The boy’s age and grade level is never stated, but he’s either a high-schooler or a college student.) Jeanne Dielman is as rigidly structured as the title character’s lifestyle, with chapter breaks identifying transitions between days, and the glacially paced plot only gets cooking about halfway through the movie, when an unexplained change in Jeanne’s mental state causes her to become dislodged from everyday activities, for instance dropping a spoon or forgetting to close one button on her housecoat. All of this is preamble to a single noteworthy event, which won’t be spoiled here but which retroactively imbues Jeanne Dielman with layers of meaning.
          It should be apparent by now that appraising Ackerman’s movie by conventional standards is pointless—even though the narrative has an ordinary shape, the style is borderline experimental. Ackerman deliberately avoids opportunities to take us into her leading character’s mind, forcing viewers to extract Jeanne’s psychology from her behavior. (The director reportedly coached leading lady Seyrig to constrain her facial expressions.) Viewers get enough information to grasp the contours of Jeanne’s life, but then Ackerman adds the element that makes Jeanne Dielman so challenging—outrageously long takes of activities ranging from the cleaning of dishes to the preparation of meals. Throughout Jeanne Dielman, a static camera watches Seyrig do uninteresting things in their full durations. Presumably the film’s advocates zero in on this aspect as one of the picture’s great strengths, a means of forcing viewers to engage with the grinding tedium of domestic work.
          And then there’s the climax, which provides a bracing commentary on the toll such domestic work, done in the service of men, has on women.
         I’m certain the film’s champions would argue that it must be watched repeatedly in order to appreciate its profundity. I don’t see that happening anytime soon, though I acknowledge my willingness to watch comparatively dim-witted entertainment films over and over again compares poorly with my reluctance to spend another 201 minutes with Jeanne. Nonetheless, I feel confident that I took much of what the film has to offer from one viewing. Jeanne Dielman is, in its idiosyncratic and unwieldy fashion, both a crisp statement and a potent conversation piece. But could it possibly be the greatest film of all time, as the contributors to Sight and Sound’s list determined? No. It is difficult to perceive that designation as anything other than a rebuttal to decades of male-dominated cinema discourse. However, exalting Jeanne Dielman over enduring films directed by men could also be seen as an amplification of Jeanne Dielman’s message—in a patriarchal society, a women has to make a hell of a noise to get heard.

Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles: GROOVY