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Review by: Jack Foley | Rating:
One
DVD SPECIAL FEATURES: Commentary by Bernardo Bertolucci,
Gilbert Adair and Jeremy Thomas. Documentary: The Making of The
Dreamers. Featurette: 'Outside the Window – Events in France,
May 1968'. Michael Pitt and the Twins of Evil music video 'Hey
Joe'.
‘PORN for film buffs’ is how one very weary critic
responded to the latest film from Bernardo Bertolucci, after being
forced to sit through almost two hours of its somewhat pretentious
subject matter.
The Dreamers is exactly that type of movie, however, a hopelessly
self-important arthouse piece, which fails to connect with all
but the most ardent film fanatics.
Set against the political backdrop of France in the Spring of
1968, when the voice of youth was reverberating around Europe,
the film follows young American student, Matthew (Michael Pitt),
as he befriends the beautiful Isabelle (Eva Green) and her brother,
Theo (Louis Garrel), and subsequently spends his time with them,
while their parents are away on holiday.
What begins as a light-hearted Spring of indulgence, however,
quickly becomes something far more sinister, as the trio begin
to experiment with their emotions and sexuality, while playing
a series of increasingly demanding, and often degrading, mind
games, set against the backdrop of film.
Adapted for the screen from his original novel, by Gilbert Adair,
the film takes place at a time when a protest against the sacking
of the head of the French cinemathéque began a period of
civil unrest in Paris, borne as much out of hope as out of frustration.
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Or, as Bertolucci puts it, the film is ‘a reminder of a
period when an entire generation woke up in the mornings with
incredible expectations’.
Whether audiences will be able to stay awake, however, is a moot
point, for this is the stuff of nightmares for anyone who doesn’t
have a firm grasp of the films, or the politics, of the time.
Quite apart from the fact that none of the principal characters
comes across as remotely identifiable, the film also falls into
the trap of allowing them to operate as a clique, thereby snubbing
the audience for large parts of the picture.
If you don’t empathise with them, or can’t grasp their
motivations, or the political frustrations of the time, then you’re
lost, and this becomes a hopelessly futile journey, which neither
director, nor performers, feel as though it’s worth letting
you into.
The film is also ill-served by the all-too frequent bouts of
nudity and sex, which do little to break the monotony, particularly
given some of the imagery which takes place (menstrual blood,
at one stage, is employed for one warped declaration of feeling).
Had Bertolucci perhaps taken a little more time to explore the
politics of the time, and a little less to explore the curves
of his protagonists bodies, the film may have seemed a little
more accessible; but, in the main, it presumes too much of its
audience and ultimately leaves them frustrated.
Little wonder, then, that another critic emerged from the same
screening groaning the term, ‘pretentious wank’ after
he had seen it, for this is, indeed, an arduous journey, masquerading
as something far more important than it really is.
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