What is there to say about Contempt (1963) that hasn’t already been said? It’s a movie about the movies, made by movie people for movie people. Jean-Luc Godard’s adaptation of the Italian novel Il disprezzo, by Alberto Moravia, enjoys a comfortable reverence as an established icon of the French New Wave. But its prestige and pretension are beside the point. The only thing that matters is are you in the mood?
Oh, god, yes. Let Georges Delerue’s orchestral Théme de Camille sweep you into a world of lust, melancholy, philosophy, and marital problems. Welcome to Italy, 1963. Cinema is in crisis, as is the marriage of Paul and Camille. Paul Javal (Michel Piccoli), a moody playwright turned screenwriter, is tapped by the vulgar American producer Jeremy Prokosch (Jack Palance) to assist with the script for a film adaptation of the Odyssey directed by Fritz Lang, who plays himself. Meta discussions of cinema, philosophy, and life abound between the three. Camille (Brigitte Bardot) is Paul’s beautiful wife, who Paul does not hesitate to offer up at the first nudging to Prokosch in exchange for the writing gig. Camille is not happy with this non-consensual barter. Paul plays dumb. A marriage unravels and the movie unfolds accordingly under the Italian sunshine.
Do not underestimate that sunshine. Contempt treats us to extended shots of walking along the deserted Rome roads; walking to the tiny red sports car; walking to the villa, around the villa, into the villa, and back to the tiny red sports car—all drenched in gorgeous summer light. Even indoors, light streams from open windows, illuminating the slender, modern furniture. The few windowless interiors, such as the loud theater in which Camille and Paul find themselves shortly after a long and heated argument, feel claustrophobic and uncomfortable by comparison.
It is said that half the film’s budget went to Bardot’s salary, and if this is true, then she earned every penny. Beautiful, scowling, one minute rageful and the next loving, she carries every scene with a mesmerizing electricity. She’s funny, too—she refers to Odysseus as “the guy who travels.”
Watching Contempt, it’s best to do as Bardot does: sit back in that tiny sportscar and enjoy the ride. It’s summer, after all. Don’t you want to go to Capri?
Contempt screens at Film Forum through July 13 in a new digital restoration
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