Boy Meets Girl 4K 1984 Ultra HD 2160p

Leos Carax is a truly cult figure. A representative of the “new new wave.” Something like tenth-generation postmodernism. But what can you do? We live in a world of quotations, and we have to choose the best masters. To seek out, amid the chaos and jumble, a special charm—Poetry. And thankfully, Carax has plenty of that.

They say that boredom reigns supreme... And, as a result, there’s a craving for self-expression... Perhaps. But I’m becoming increasingly convinced of the one true rule—an author’s works cannot be separated from their personal life, or more precisely, their biography (from my unsuccessful past in philology). It’s harder with real people in this sense, especially with those like Carax—the silent types and recluses. That’s why, it seems to me, he’s telling us, the audience: “Watch my films. That’s all of me there.” From his name to his muse—a different one every time.

We have Denis Lavant—with an appearance as repulsive as it is alluring. With a vivid appearance—cheeks pockmarked by smallpox, the gaze of a madman, intently distracted. He is constantly in motion. Everything inside him is seething and bursting to get out.

And then there’s the girl—Mireille Perrier. The boss’s girlfriend.

And yet—the only emotion worthy of attention, uniting and binding everything together like adhesive tape, the first works of Carax’s “unofficial trilogy”—is, of course, Love. Indescribable.

So, *A Man Meets a Woman*. Black and white. Meetings and partings. Love and blood. A cage. There’s no third option.

May. Heat. Paris.

Alexa is dumped by his girlfriend, who cheated on him with his best friend. A double betrayal, isn’t it? And so, aimlessly wandering the streets, he accidentally witnesses a most unpleasant scene. Another breakup. Only he can’t see the girl. She—Mireille—is somewhere up there, in her room, listening through the intercom to either silence or the inner monologue—a farewell, a confession, a expression of revulsion—of Bernard, her boyfriend. Their meeting—Alex’s and Mireille’s—is inevitable. “The tragedy of all lonely people is that they come together to avoid being lonely.” And so what if Alex cheated, shuffled the cards to his advantage, and set up the meeting… As for Mireille, she’s a sort of Joan of Arc of ill-fated love. A close-up: her short-cropped hair, her large, sad eyes…

Her fate is sealed. And the torrent of words piercing the heart—Alex’s desperate monologue—is what “Boy Meets Girl” consists of almost entirely: monologues. People speak and listen only to themselves—a closed circle within itself, focused solely on itself—that won’t stop or save the girl.

Even poets didn’t die of love—mostly of tuberculosis and poverty. But here is a girl whose love drags everyone down. And herself, too. “You can’t do that,” says Carax. You have to know how to let go. And how to meet someone new. Alex breaks free, flies away... Where? But I’m getting ahead of myself—I’m delving into *Bad Blood*.

For now, we see Paris—the city of lovers. Happy lovers—do such people even exist? Paris says, “Yes.” Cardboard couples on the bridge, pressed against each other like dolls; there they are again—in the window—drawing applause and a few coins tossed, it seems to me, not out of envy. Rather—out of indifference.