Mouchette

directed by Robert Bresson, 1967

Bresson films don’t tell stories: they present blueprints. Mouchette’s rape is a wisp of smoke; her death a ripple on a pond. The rest of the film is a sequence of formal symbols, arranged in chronological order and designed to show how these events ensue. It is a dark, vivid, boring, and unforgettable film.

Bresson’s characters never cry on screen, ill-used, abused, or undone though they be. Emotion does not edify: consequence is all. The drama that plays itself out in a Bresson film is deliberately stripped of verisimilitude, reduced to a sequence of significant sentences, inexpressive faces, and long silences.

Most stories show both the good and the bad sides of their characters. Mouchette dwells on the bad. There is not a single act of selfless good will in the film. Mouchette dies not because of the bad things that happen to her, but because of the unbearable tedium of such a predictable world.

Bresson’s films disprove the idea that to be memorable, a scene must be exciting. Nothing is exciting in Mouchette. Nor is anything forgettable.

If we knew nothing of poverty and drink, would Mouchette still strike us? I believe so. The logic of evil begins in abundance.

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