Opens Fri Feb 20.
Bernardo Bertolucci's The Dreamers marks a curious event for cinema: The release of the film is more cause for celebration than the film itself. The Dreamers is rated NC-17, which means revenue-generating video chains such as Blockbuster won't carry the film in its intended form, and publications such as our very own Seattle Times and Seattle Post-Intelligencer probably won't even carry advertisements for the picture in their pages. And yet somehow, miraculously, here the picture is; Bertolucci's poem to filmmaking and youth is taking its bows, complete with major studio backing, and its arrival brings with it a welcomed dash of spit in the eye of the Motion Picture Association of America. Mangi la merda voi whores corporativi!
Sadly, though--but perhaps unsurprisingly--the film itself is damaged goods, a fact that spoils Bertolucci's victory over censors. What would have happened if The Dreamers had been a brilliant work? Would it have forced the MPAA to not only recognize the merits of adult fare, but also encourage it? Would there have been a major restructuring of the current ratings system? We will never know, for Bertolucci's film fails on nearly every front it engages; messy and confused, the picture annoys when it should inspire, frustrates when we wish it would fascinate, and its release, though splendid to see, will most likely flounder. The Dreamers will be quickly forgotten.
The story takes place in Paris during May of 1968. Fans of revolt will recognize the setting as one of marches and a general strike in the city; cinephiles will recognize it as the month when the founder of Paris' majestic Cinémathéque Française, Henri Langlois, suddenly found himself locked out of his own beloved institution by the French government. Both events--the strike and Langlois' dismissal--sent Parisians to the streets, and it is during one of the many protests that we meet the major protagonist in The Dreamers, a young American named Matthew (Michael Pitt).
Vacant and suitably pretentious, Matthew is spending a year studying in Paris, purportedly to polish his French, but really studying cinema at the Cinémathéque. And it is at Langlois' grand archive that he meets Isabelle and Theo (Eva Green and Louis Garrel). Twins, possibly once Siamese (given shared scars on their shoulders), Isabelle and Theo are the spoiled children of artistic parents, and their layabout existence--which consists of little more than scattered classes and films at the Cinémathéque--betrays their interest in pressing politics, especially for Theo who, when he's not consuming films at the archive, enjoys expounding on communism and the workers' plight, lectures reinforced by that sturdy cliché of a poster of Mao on his wall.
Isabelle and Theo are surprisingly close siblings, and their odd relationship quickly rears itself during Matthew's first meeting with them outside the Cinémathéque, where he finds Isabelle pretending to be chained to the archive's doors. Up on a perch, Henri Langlois addresses the crowd of protesting cinephiles as the French police look on. Tucked deep in the crowd, Isabelle shoots Theo a wicked smile as she introduces him to her new American friend. Matthew awkwardly fumbles for words, obviously taken with Isabelle, and Theo somewhat menacingly states that he has seen Matthew at the Cinémathéque a number of times, usually taking in the works of Nicholas Ray. "You know what Godard said about Ray?" Theo quizzes him, only to supply his own answer: "He zaid, Ray iz cinema." At which point the French police, perhaps taking a cue from the audience, charge into the crowd.
After fleeing the fracas, and with the Ray matter settled, Matthew first accepts an invitation for dinner, then agrees to stay with Theo and his sister while their parents are on holiday. And it is during his stay that things take a turn for the twisted, for on his very first night he stumbles past the twins slumbering au naturel in the same bed. Hmm.... But while some of us might make for the exit, if not Charles de Gaulle Airport, at such a sight, Matthew merely eases the door shut and pads off to bed. He is young and in Paris and outside the streets are boiling with revolution, after all, so what does it matter?
As it turns out, it matters a great deal (for Matthew at least, if not the revolution), for once their parents have embarked on their trip, Isabelle and Theo initiate Matthew into their naughty dream world--and The Dreamers begins to earn its MPAA rating. This initiation begins with Isabelle delivering a kiss to Matthew played so passionately it causes combustion; gathers momentum when Theo loses a wager and is forced to masturbate for his sister; and culminates in Matthew and Isabelle humping on the kitchen floor as Theo scowls over them while he cooks up an omelet. And after the omelet: Theo dabs his finger in his sister's menstrual blood, followed by Matthew smearing it across her face like war paint. VoilĂ : NC-17.
But why should we care? The Dreamers has been assembled with Bertolucci's expected grace, and Michael Pitt tries hard to carry the film on his sumptuous lips, but there is a hollowness--and, occasionally, an outright ridiculousness--that plagues the picture. The intent may have been to create a testament to both the passions of youth and the passions of cinema, but the result is little more than lame nostalgia and weak art-house pseudo-porn, for the brief foray into Isabelle's cycle aside, the sex in The Dreamers is relatively tame and, on the whole, feels surprisingly unnecessary. And though this in itself doesn't deliver the film a crippling blow, when bundled with the affectations of both the characters and the film as a whole, the entire project borders on parody. Bertolucci has attempted to create a work infused with the spirit of youth, revolt, and a love for movies--a melding of Emmanuelle and Cahiers du Cinema. But like a Mao poster hanging on your bedroom wall, it achieves little more than cliché.
