Over the nearly fourteen years since I saw Being John Malkovich during its original theatrical run, my memory of the film had devolved to recalling the use of the portal to gain fleeting access to living inside John Malkovich's brain and my overall feelings in a more abstract sense. The only scene I could still recall with any clarity was Elijah's flashback to trying to rescue his parents from the bondage of human captors. Make of that what you will.

I can't think of a more perfect recognition of this film than its inclusion in The Criterion Collection. Thematically, it takes ideas of existentialism to dizzying ends; perfect art house intellectualism bait. Tonally, however, there is a persistent sense that the real subject is satirizing art house intellectuals who reflect on existentialist themes. Being John Malkovich doesn't so much as build to a payoff as it gets out of control and runs 90 miles an hour down a dead end street into a wall.

If not for the sense of humor, Being John Malkovich would be insufferably self-important. In 1999, I was too caught up in the novelty of the film to pay much attention to anything specific, but this time through I realized that it's Catherine Keener's Maxine that makes it all work.

It's Maxine whom Craig comes to see immediately after his first experience inside Malkovich and bombards her with a flurry of questions and implications. "Do you see what a metaphysical can of worms this portal is?" he concludes before declaring, "I don't see how I could go on living my life the way I've lived it before." Maxine silently indicates the window in her office and simply leaves the room.

Just like that, we've had exposition articulate the first several ideas raised by the film's premise...and had one silent gesture quash any notion that answers to them would be found. Philosophers may devote their time to scrutinizing the ethical and metaphysical concepts, but neither Maxine, writer Charlie Kaufman or director Spike Jonze have any intention of bothering to do it for us. Nor, for that matter, are they even interested in hearing what we may consider and conclude on our own time.

An entire book could be written on the gender normative roles as discussed in Being John Malkovich's concepts about penetrative sex and reproduction. Or, for that matter, the victimization of the male Malkovich.

Had the film tried to supply us with any kind of judgments about the issues raised or implied, the whole thing would have fallen apart. It's its restraint that prevents it from going so far down the rabbit hole that it loses us. To that end, it was an inspired choice when Criterion published the film on DVD and Blu-ray Disc to include the atypical "interview" ("The Originl Piece of Wood I Left in Your Head") conducted by Perkus Tooth. (Google "Perkus Tooth" to fully appreciate the brilliance.)

That delicate balance of originality and not taking itself too seriously is rare, and that's why even as I was unable to recall more than one scene in any specificity, I could vividly recall how the film made me feel.

Being John Malkovich was re-ranked on my Flickchart to #309/1570

On paper, Une femme est une femme is a film I ought to hate. For one thing, I dislike musicals. A lot of the gags rely on gimmicks that, cumulatively, make the film too cute by half. And yet, I couldn't help but to laugh several times. Jean-Luc Godard's third feature film (and the second of his that I've seen) is clearly an ancestor things that I've enjoyed over the years, like Animaniacs, and it was on that level that it successfully engaged me.

There's the early scene in which a collector approaches Alfred (Jean-Paul Belmondo) about an unpaid hotel debt from 9 July. Alfred insists that the collector must be mistaken, because he keeps a diary of everything he does. The collector, rather than denouncing the validity of such a diary outright in lieu of his own records, gamely awaits as Alfred thumbs through his pages. Sure enough, there's a diary entry about leaving the hotel without paying the bill.

Now having the evidence in Alfred's own diary, the collector returns to the matter of the debt...which Alfred calmly and flatly denotes he's never going to pay. The two part ways, trading insults (including an unexpected, off-putting anti-Semitic use of "Jew!" as an invective from Alfred) and nothing more is ever said of the debt. Theoretically, that scene is our introduction to the nature of Alfred's character, but there's something about the non sequitar that makes it a perfect microcosm of the sense of humor that permeates the film.

Of course, it's Anna Karina's performance as Angéla that's the real attraction here. Within the first few minutes, Karina coyly breaks the fourth wall with a wink. Just like that, we know precisely what kind of film Une femme est une femme will be. If you're not instantly smitten with Karina at that moment, you may as well shut off the film and watch something else.

The gender politics here are particularly fascinating. Angéla and Émile (Jean-Claude Brialy) trade clichés about women's prerogative and predictable gender-bashing, all in the course of her pleading for a baby while making and serving dinner. Angéla expresses disdain for modern women who have suppressed their femininity to the point of trying to be men. On the surface, then, Une femme est une femme can read as outdated.

However, the underlying theme of the film is progressive. Angéla is, after all, a striptease dancer in a wholly unimpressive dive. At no point is this the focus of any moralizing. Émile resists having a baby, citing the need for more financial stability, but never once does he say anything about how pregnancy would be incompatible with Angéla's line of work (a practical point of consideration not without merit).

The film refrains entirely from poking fun at the idea of strippers being mothers. When we first follow Angéla into the Zodiac, we see children. Angéla mentions other women by name, and we can assume these are other dancers having babies. No shame is ever assigned to these women, nor are they suggested unsuitable. Even in 2013, sex workers are rarely portrayed in such a normative light.

After Angéla admits to having slept with Alfred, Émile doesn't berate her. He clearly becomes jealous and competitive, wanting to have sex immediately to at least cast suspicion about the paternity should she become pregnant, but there is no judgment or hypocrisy from him about the incident. Yes, he had sex with a prostitute at the same time that Angéla was with Alfred, but we're not given any reason to think that Émile lets it go because they're "even". Sex work without apology is simply part of the world for these characters.

Of course, the biggest issue is that Angéla wants to have a baby. She's not pressured into it. On the contrary; this is unmistakably her choice. If anything, it's the treatment of Émile that's suspect.

Even her frustration at women who refuse to cry in the name of modernity is an oft-repeated refrain from many feminists today, who are rightly put off by the idea that a woman "can't" exhibit certain behaviors because they're obsolete. Angéla cries. Not because she's programmed to be a certain way as a woman, but because that's simply who she is. Why should she apologize for crying, or for wanting to be a mother?

A lot of the film's humor is predicated on references to then-contemporary pop culture and to French history. I know just enough about both to feel alternately clever for getting some jokes, and ignorant for knowing I should have gotten others, but didn't. J. Hoberman's 2004 essay for The Criterion Collection concludes:

In the punning punch line, Brialy calls Karina shameless: “Tu es infâme!” Sweetly, she corrects him: “Non, je suis une femme.” A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.

Hoberman's characterization of the final lines fails to properly explain how the line - which gives the film its title - pays off a joke set up much earlier. Jeffrey Gantz explained it more clearly:

Godard spoofs her “accented” French (only the French would cavil) and also the Franco-American “divide” (red-white-and-blue is everywhere, but whose flag is it?) when she’s talking to Alfred on the phone: he says, “What? I said, ‘Okay.’ Don’t you understand French?” Angéla-as-Karina even inspires the film’s celebrated conclusion. Émile says, “Angéla, tu es infâme”; she, deliberately (?) misunderstanding and attributing to him a grammatical mistake that no three-year-old would make, replies, “Non, je ne suis pas un femme. Je suis une femme.” Big wink at the camera. Fin.

I knew that Angéla being Danish and not French had to do with the moment, but I couldn't quite grasp what the moment was. If I had more clearly understood Émile's set-up line, I would have gotten the joke (my former French teachers would be happy to know I've retained some of their lessons). I'm glad that Gantz broke it down for me, even though I know that if you have to explain a joke, there is no joke.

It's worth noting that the Studio Canal print presently streaming on Netflix erroneously translates Émile's "Don't you understand French?" as "Don't you understand basic English?" That was, for obvious reasons, even funnier but it doesn't help the viewer who needs subtitles really grasp the nuance of the punny ending.

The Criterion Collection in general and even Jean-Luc Godard in particular enjoy reputations for cerebral stories, and it's nice to find a lighthearted gem like Une femme est une femme. It could have been an absolute slog for me, but I instead found it delightful.

Une femme est une femme entered my Flickchart at #245/1571

This 1959 short was included as a bonus feature by The Criterion Collection on their DVD release of Une femme est une femme. There are hints here of the sense of whimsy to Jean-Luc Godard's storytelling showcased in that feature, but I found Patrick (Jean-Claude Briady) so offensive that I had a hard time with this one. There's flirting and then there's street harassment, and Patrick is guilty of the latter. That both Charlotte and Véronique succumb to his bombardment is even more difficult to stomach.

On a technical level, it's a solid short. It's funny how more mindful I tend to be about things like costumes and set design in a short than in a feature, but I was struck here by Véronique's wardrobe and hair, especially as she sat with Patrick at the cafe. She was pure glamour, and I just wanted him to go away. Placing the large poster for the James Dean movie in the bathroom was an especially nice touch, instantly telling us about their shared taste in then-contemporary American movies.

The characters are all well developed and clearly given their own personalities and arcs. Between the youth of the actors, the kinetic energy of the handheld camera work, the lively exterior filming locations, and the snappy cutting, this short moves at a very brisk clip without feeling rushed. It's a shame I just couldn't stand Patrick or the actual narrative!

Charlotte et Véronique, ou Tous les garçons s’appellent Patrick entered my Flickchart at #1128/1572