Review: Last Year at Marienbad (1961)

I do not, nor will I even attempt to, understand exactly what "Last Year at Marienbad" is about. It features an unnamed man (referred to in the screenplay only as "X"), trying to persuade an unnamed woman ("A") that they met somewhere last year (it might have been Fredricksbad, or Marienbad, he's not quite sure). For ninety minutes, "X" attempts to convince "A" that she knows him, and for ninety minutes, "A" assures "X" that she does not.

The unique thing about "Last Year at Marienbad", however, is that the plot does not matter; it is all in the presentation, a case of style over substance. The entire film was shot within (and around) several European chateaus by director Alain Resnais, who then proceeded to have them edited together without regard for continuity or logic; this results in a distinct dream-like atmosphere, in which the difference between reality and fiction becomes blurred (in fact, I'm not so sure there is even any reality in it at all): Characters may begin a scene in one room, and may be in another room (or another chateux altogether) by the end of it; entire phrases are repeated all the way throughout, lending to a sense of deja-vu (which I understand the movie was going for); and minor characters are sometimes inexplicably frozen while main characters navigate through them, as if they are navigating through a painting.

Needless to say, these are the kinds of films that critics fawn over, and it should come as no surprise that "Last Year at Marienbad" is a critical darling. Roger Ebert has picked it for his ongoing "Great Movies" column; it won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival upon its showing there in 1961; and it has a 94% aggregate score (out of 34 reviews) on the popular film review website Rotten Tomatoes. It is the kind of film that critics seem to debate about its meaning passionately and incessantly, even though the director (Alain Resnais, one of the leaders of the French New Wave) has himself admitted that there is no meaning. It is almost as if critics feel a need to praise it, for fear of being ridiculed by their colleagues for "not getting it" if they don't.

I say these things not because I found "Last Year at Marienbad" to be detestable, because it is far from that. In fact, it manages to be an interesting film for most of its 94 minutes, a feat in which the late, great cinematographer Sacha Vierny deserves much of the credit for. I don't think I have ever seen a film (his work with Peter Greenaway included) in which every single shot strives to be a work of art; an attempt at perfection, and it succeeds. Its narrative structure, or rather, its apparent lack of such a thing, is also an admirable trait, with voiceovers that seem to come out of nowhere, and silent characters that show up several times within the story, and for no apparent reason (other than the aforementioned feeling of deja vu the film strives for). Time does not exist here, as the past interweaves with the present, and so on and so forth.

But my main complaint is the fact that this all goes on for 94 minutes. This is perhaps a rather fair running time for a feature film, but no amount of narrative trickery can keep a film of this kind afloat for that long. Lines of dialogue constantly repeat, as do certain scenes. The same locations and pictures come up constantly, almost to the point of annoyance. And you can only see a man get rejected by a woman so many times before it just becomes tiresome. This would be absolutely wonderful as a short film, and that is how it should have stayed, as it simply starts to recycle its ideas from about the thirty-minute mark, on. Many people may argue that the repetition hides some underlying meaning, some kind of symbolism that somehow ties everything together, but I must stick with the directors' own confession, and deduce that it is simply repetition.

I am reminded of a news article I read a couple years ago, in which a man, who was a janitor at an art museum, took a close-up picture of a toilet somewhere within the facility. Through a mix-up, the photo somehow was presented as part of an exhibit, and was praised by the museums' patrons as a bold, effective statement about the blue-collar worker, or something to that effect. Eventually, the mistake was discovered, the picture was pulled, and those involved were disciplined.

So it is with this film, and countless other foreign films of its kind. Now I am not debating that, as a whole, foreign cinema is not better, or at least more daring and thought-provoking, than American cinema. I would rather take a film like this any day, over the usual, droll, cookie-cutter films that Hollywood churns out on a weekly basis, and while it does get old, it cannot be debated that "Last Year at Marienbad" is technically a very well-made film. The performances are good, the visuals are consistently astonishing, and it does a good job of maintaining an unpredictable, dream-like quality all the way throughout. The fact that it was made in 1961 also earns it some extra points, simply for being way ahead of its time; for showing us that films don't have to be about getting from point A to point B, but that they don't even have to go anywhere.

But at the same time, it still rambles on with seemingly little to no point. I will admit something that I rarely see any other critic admit about "classic" movies, but that seems to happen to me constantly while watching them: By the end, I was bored out of my mind. Maybe that just means I wasn't born to be a film critic. Maybe it means I'm missing something, or that it is simply over my head. Or maybe, just maybe, I am the only one that seems to see it only at face value; that doesn't attempt to dig for answers that just simply aren't there.

I guess sometimes, a toilet is just a toilet after all.

Rating: * * 1/2 (out of 4)