Bleu is typical of the french films i know of. tastefully done. plot is secondary here. visually, it's a feast. fragmented(just like this thread). the camera moves in the manner of the most observant eyes with the most sensitive heart. maybe it's avant-gardish, but the abstractness and dissectedness in the scene do remind me of the modern art works, be it cubism or what. colours. colours are always central to the french films. such a powerful thing to heighten emotions. the shimmery, almost heart-breaking blue colour that floods in the movie seeps into you with that suppressed sorrow and suffocates you. and the music. weaves in and out of the plot so perfectly in tune with the image, and they resonate. everything is so contained. so muted. so restricted. yet there is clearly this wild desire for the heroine to break free from it. a desire to come out of it, like a fire trying desperately to burn through something and emerge. and the antagony is painfully delicious. in every detail.
how clever does a man need to be to know how exactly to combine all these elements together to create a uniformed outcome that stirs us? how much has he to feel in the first place? what kind of man is he? i wonder.
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