Film
The Beaches of Agnes
- Director
- Agnès Varda
- Certificate
- 18
- Running Time
- 113 mins
There’s disappointment in store for horny punters queuing for this subtitled 2008 autobiographical art movie by an octogenarian Belgian auteur who bears a faintly disturbing resemblance to Ann Widdicombe. The diligent BBFC slapped an 18 certificate on the film for a scene recreating Magritte’s The Lovers in which a corrupting stiffy appears, on the grounds that “the man’s erect penis presumes sexual activity”. The French, who are rather more grown-up about these things, gave it the equivalent of a ‘U’ certificate.
https://youtu.be/5TQNsbo7a-c
The opening scene, in which 80-year-old Agnès Varda arranges a bunch of mirrors on a beach, raises the heart-sinking prospect of two hours of relentless arty-fartyness. But the film actually proves to be quite engrossing as a consequence of Varda’s eventful life and involvement in many of the key artistic and political developments of the 20th century, from the French nouvelle vague to Cuba, where she photographed Castro, and California in the swinging sixties, where she hung out with Warhol, Jim Morrison and the Black Panthers. It would be tempting to describe her as a Zelig-esque figure, were it not for the fact that she’s also a film-maker of note and was an active participant in the US anti-war and abortion rights movements.
is needed now More than ever
An idiosyncratic montage, eliding between random reminiscence, archive footage, nostalgic visits to old haunts, and staged reconstructions of key moments from her life, the film is held together by Varda’s playful, reflective spirit and the occasional unexpected delight. Thrill to the sight of Harrison Ford’s first screen test (he was turned down) and a young, slim, hairy Gerard Depardieu as “un hippie” in Nausicaa. But it’s not without its irritations. With heavy symbolism, Varda repeatedly walks backwards away from the camera as she delves into the past (yes, we geddit!) and the conceit of having Chris Marker appear as a cut-out orange cat with a computerised voice is too wacky by half. Given her advanced age, death looms large, especially when beloved hubby of 28 years Jacques Demy suddenly succumbs to AIDS in 1989 and…whoa! – hold on a minute there, Agnès. I know this is not a conventional autobiography, but isn’t there a bloody great chunk missing here? Still, she’s good company and we even get to see her dressed as a potato, which is not something we’re ever likely to be able to say of Scorsese.
It’s back on screen in the Gleaning Truths: Agnès Varda season of digital restorations of her films.
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