Story Movie
The action takes place in Paris in the late sixties. A forty-five-year-old American man is shocked by the recent death of his wife, he considers himself guilty and is in a state of deep depression. Desperately clinging to life, he meets a young Parisian woman, a strange and eccentric girl much younger than him. Their connection turns into a passion that reaches almost to the point of madness, a passion whose limits are hard to imagine....
Review 4K Movie
I can safely say that this review is the most tortured and difficult and, at the same time, the most long-awaited for me. It was created for about a year, typed on my keyboard, typed on my phone, erased, restored, later erased again... This seemingly endless road found its end point only when I realized that there are two approaches to writing about this film. One is a balanced and monumental justification of the significance and uniqueness of this creation for cinematography. The second is a rambling and emotional digging into my feelings and thoughts that this creation generated in me. If I hadn't chosen the second way, it is unlikely that I would have ever reached the finish line of work on this text....
A tired man. What is that? A human being is a biosociospiritual being, complex both physiologically and psychologically. Fatigue - a combination of the results of physiological and psychological stresses, reflecting, as a rule, on the spiritual, inner world of a person. Paul, the protagonist of Bernardo Bertolucci's movie “Last Tango in Paris”, is an ordinary tired man. He is exhausted by the big city, in which no one cares about him. He is broken and destroyed by his wife's suicide. He is weary of the hopeless confusion in his relationships with people. He is disillusioned with life and can't figure out what he wants from it or if he wants anything at all.
Everyone can take a position and speak out accordingly. In my opinion, two types of opinions are most likely. The first: poor guy, he has been hit by so much as a hundred of such things, you wouldn't wish such a thing on your enemy... The second: everything that doesn't kill us makes us stronger; Paul is just a wimp, he should have pulled himself together, lifted his head and moved forward. At their opposites, each of the possible models of opinion almost equally confirms one of the main ideas of the movie. People don't want to understand each other. Either because they aren't smart or empathetic enough, or because they just don't want to do it.
Loneliness is one of those things that is guaranteed to happen to humans anyway. We are born and die alone; may we be helped with milk and advice at the beginning of our journey, may we be surrounded by care and a funeral procession at the end of our journey, we are still nothing more than cars coming out of different garages and ending up in the same junkyard. The roads between these two points may be completely dissimilar and different. But does it really matter how many traffic lights and exits you pass as you get from point A to point B? Only the time spent on the road may be significantly different.
And what happens afterwards? Few people know. And those who do know may be mistaken or lying. We don't know what's out there waiting for us. The unknown is frightening, it penetrates the skin, is drawn in through the nose and ears, caught in the eye and consumed with food. We fear death not entirely because we fear the unknown. We are afraid of losing what is there, what is known and can be felt with the hand, convinced of its reality.
“You may be just a person in this world, but to someone else you are the whole world,” said the famous and wise writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This saying very clearly reflects the essence of society and human souls. No matter how insignificant you are in the avaricious society and in the vast universe, you can find someone who will know you and let you know yourself. But what if that turns out to be impossible? Paul, sitting in front of his dead and flower-covered wife, frantically touches the wrinkles on his forehead with his fingers and runs his eyes somewhere along the ceiling of the dark room, as if trying to see something. “I suppose I could comprehend the whole universe, but I shall never know the whole truth about you.” Man is an enigma, an ingeniously laconic and incredibly complex layering of coincidences and deeds, mistakes and triumphs, joys and sorrows. Paul is an ordinary man, he removed the protective mask of skepticism and misanthropy from his face only in front of Rose, his wife, but in the time that we watch him with Bertolucci, he has said little about himself. So we can't understand him either.
It's so scary... You can never fully understand anyone, even if you want to and try very hard. The opposite is also true: can anyone fully understand you? I don't think so. People intoxicate each other with illusions and delusions, in which everyone reaches unprecedented heights of understanding in groups of various sizes. When this intoxication subsides, a hangover sets in. In it, sobriety of sight is merciless to the ravaged mind and soul. Paul is in pain, not only has he failed to understand the nearest and dearest person in the world, he is doomed to live misunderstood for the rest of his life without the opportunity to surrender to the oblivion of sweet illusions. Therefore, having said goodbye to Rose, he puts back on his face a mask of cynicism, which will not make it clear who he is...
Some time ago, Jeanne, the young girl with whom Paul had engaged in frenzied sexual play after his wife's suicide, had pulled the covers off a shapeless heap in one of the rooms of their rented apartment. There was furniture piled on top of each other, wasn't there? Or was it someone's soul? Touch it and it would fall apart? Maybe Jeanne had been right when she had forbidden Paul to lift the piece of parquet, which probably hid someone's hiding place? Or was it still worth a look? Although Jeanne is no Amelie, she doesn't care about the long dead. And she doesn't want to waste the life force necessary for the normal functioning of the body on it...
And even earlier, Paul was crying tearfully, twirling a small red lampshade in his hands. What did he remember? What pierced his being? What moments surfaced from the swamps of memory? Something connected with happy days together with his dead wife? Or perhaps some distant memories of his childhood, when he was carefree and easy, his body was unfamiliar with scars and gray hair, and his heart was free of prisoner-suffering...? Who knows...
“Last Tango in Paris” with Bernardo Bertolucci in the director's chair and Marlon Brando in the title role is a great movie about a man. About each and every one of us. Hence, I advise everyone to see it.
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