Vivre sa viei is a miserable piece of low quality sexploitation remarkably poorly made by a very inept hand.
It is only notable because it was the backdrop of a discussion with a girl coming into her ownii (which is to say, being washed of the filth). During the police proceedings upon the model-with-panties-glued-on displayed in Godard's shilmiii she got mildly indignant (remnants of a "fuck the government, man" hippy echo, I guess), but I pointed out that the police are perfectly correct, and their treatment of her judicious : she is, after all, a whore. "How is she a whore ?!" came the disbelief, and I pointed out that there goes a girl owning no real estate. What'd she call it ?
"I don't own real estate. Am I a whore ?"
"Of course you are. You're my private whore."
The notion that whether privately installed in a private home, for the immediate use of the lord and his servants, or else publicly installed in a public house, for the mediated use of the lord though some mercenary temp-servants, a stove's still a stove had apparently not occured to her.
She had thought, naively, that "in order to be a whore you have to, at least once, have sex for money", to some ritually specified level of specificityiv. Then again this is directly and obviously false, isn't it. Random vagabond, whether she imagines herself "a student", or "a journalist" or a "PR expert" or whatever else is nevertheless and insecapably a whore. She's may be a poorly qualified whore, sure. She could be a remarkably inept whore, definitely. She could even belong among the self-hating tribe of whores, or the self-denying tribe, or anything else. But while Eleanor of Acquitanie may act as a whore she can never actually be onev ; and similarily whether the whore put up whatever Joiana-the-cow or Jolene-the-pantsuit pretense she might, act "as a lady" all he wants, she nevertheless stays a whore, to be judged for her performance as such.vi
Outside of this circumstance, Godard's inept offering fa proprio schifo. The best characterisation would be to say it's the exact equivalent of a documentary on May 1968 attempted by a slightly overweight and definitely overpampered scion of the Comte de Melgueil & Narbonne-Pelet, Seigneur D'Ales who spent all of 1968 at his father's country house (five rooms! two and a half bathrooms!) in some obscure village. The unremarkable Candide has no friends ; nor has he ever gone to college ; nor has seen anything of Paris but randomly chosen and slightly worn 2nd hand reproductions (and is consequently unsure whether the Big Ben's in the XIVe arrondisment or not). Some country girl from across the river passes in his eyes for that famous Mme de Rohan, and in general Godard's Vivre sa vie is exactly and unerringly cinematic donquihotism through and through.
But where simpleminded stupidity turns away from bonhomie into sharp, pungent evil is where the reduit mental actually dribbles women-nude-from-behind in utterly spurious scenes trying to prop up his entirely absent credentials with cheaply bought nothings. It's the exact equivalent of
Above depicted, Jean-Luc Godard back when he was doing totally serious IPOs ; whether his move into cinema has been a net gain or a net loss remains an open question.
I do not recommend seeing this film unless you've competent whores to keep you compaknee.———
- 1962, by Jean-Luc Godard, with "Anna Karina" (actually Hanne Karin Blarke Beyer, rando 18 yo frogfaced ukrainian from Denmark that the dood obtained via Coco's bridemail service). [↩]
- The establishing shot here would be that during a previous conversation wherein I observed something like "that girl really liked you" she returned "you don't know the half of it, when we went to the girls' room she kissed my cunt". Then I asked what the other's name was, and she confessed ignorance, so I congratulated her on her whorishness.
Which... yes, I think a lot more of a teen whore than I think of Jolene -- and this isn't some kind of eccentric quirk, some outlaying idiosyncrasy "like all great men have" according to the despicable "people themselves" looking for comfortable ways and means to worm out of existing. No, none of that : it is the most factual, purely objective evaluation. The wide open teen is doing something with her life, specifically living it ; the other scumbag pointedly is not doing anything, and she well fucking knows it. [↩]
- A shitty film is, evidently, a shilm. [↩]
- How exactly can you not "have sex for money" ? Is your fucker buying you dinner ? How about permit the use of his stagecoach, his bed, something, somewhere ? If he spends an hour with you in preference of spending it with an accounts book, is that hour magically not worth money because your cunt is so special as to make physics magically stop ?
Human existence is money, and the bizarre, deliberately-nonsensical metaphysics associated to copulation aren't a thing -- which is why they're satisfying! Otherwise, of course you're having sex for money. For as long as anything happens in this world it's for money, what the everloving fuck would it be for ?
Oh, you meant to say "not just for money", "not principally for money" ? Nice cop-out. No competent whore ever did it "just for money" in this sense either, what did you think, that you personally invented lace and warm water splashes ?
You eat, somehow. The odds greatly favour the theory that you eat in the manner of Napoleon's preggos. Or what, you earned your keep ? Oh but please, do tell! From whom ? How ? "It's not whoring if you whore out to Jesus", that's the further cop-out ? For as long as you're not any actual man's whore but whore out for "abstractions" ie abominations all's good ? Please. [↩]
- Not because "queen" of this or that jure uxoris, but because duquesa suo jure. [↩]
- If the other gender preoccupies you, the word's a knave. [↩]