It’s sometimes difficult to understand, years later, the contributions a single film can make to cinema as an artistic body. Moviegoers who don’t happen to consider themselves “cinephiles,” or students of film and its history, may have some difficulty understanding just what is so special about Breathless. Nearly 60 years after its release, and probably without you knowing it, Breathless has influenced nearly every aspect of movies, television, advertising, and who knows what else. Filmmaking is all about innovation, expanding on what’s already been done. In the case of the film at hand, that innovation became known as the “jump cut,” and film was never the same again.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a jump cut is defined as:
“A sudden often jarring cut from one shot or scene to another without intervening devices (such as fade-outs)…”
In a clinical sense, yes, that’s what a jump cut is—a cut with no discernible cue to let the audience know that time has passed within the story—but, on a formal level, it’s something more. It’s a statement (at least it was in 1960). It has a jarring effect that can take the viewer out of the story, letting them know that they are, in fact, allowing themselves to be manipulated through a series of moving pictures. It displaces continuity in a way that, until Godard, hadn’t been done before. You see, the rules of filmmaking had been laid out many years earlier by D.W. Griffith, and the like: immerse the audience in the story, and above all, do not draw attention to yourself. Godard, always an outsider (and an expert on film), said, “to hell with it!” And just like that, changed cinema forever.
Commonplace everywhere you look now, in 1960, it was one hundred percent shocking. As with any new technique or innovation, someone had to do it first, and Godard’s jump cut became the most exciting thing since parallel editing.
An avid film critic, historian, and analyst, Godard was well aware of the rules he was breaking with Breathless. To the untrained eye, his techniques may appear amateurish, but they’re anything but. Every scene, line, angle, and cut is a deliberate confrontation to the old way of doing things, an unabashed critique of what a movie is supposed to be, and how it’s supposed to be made.
It’s easy to go on and on about the jump cuts, but Breathless has much more to offer. There’s a certain coolness and grit about it that’s unmistakable and undeniable (and, up to this point, missing from American films). This same visceral style is a staple of the cinema to come out of the United States in the late 1960s, most notably Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde (1967)—a film Godard was considered to direct at one point—and on through The Graduate (1967), Midnight Cowboy (1969), The French Connection (1971), and many others.
American films from the 30s and 40s flooded Europe and Asia in the wake of World War II, naturally influencing these nation’s film industries, but the interesting part is what these countries sent back. What American audiences got in return were international films that wore their influences on their sleeves, but were wholly unique, culturally enlightened, and considered groundbreaking works. Just as “old” Hollywood was a direct influence on Breathless (with its gangster pictures, anti-heroes, and of course, Bogey), it, and the French New Wave in general, would become a direct influence on “new” Hollywood in the coming decades. Cinema is cyclical like that.
This new form, along with its youthful energy (and combined with just the right amount of violence, sex, and relatable naivete), made the film ahead of its time in a medium that was ready for change. Arguably amoral young people were allowed to be themselves, with not a single righteous do-gooder to stand in their way. Sure the cops are after Michel, but one never gets the sense that he has to pay for his crimes. The morality lessons that came with many American films due to the Hays Code are thankfully absent. There isn’t any public outrage or cries of delinquency at his lifestyle. He simply is.
American movies of the era had become formulaic, predictable, and overstuffed with sermonizing, but Breathless was the breath of fresh air the industry needed. Audiences were looking for something new, brash, and most of all, fun. Godard and his contemporaries (first in France, and by the end of the decade, in the U.S.) were happy to oblige.
Based on a treatment by fellow French New Wavers François Truffaut and Claude Chabrol, Breathless tells the story of Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo), a small-time crook who’s obsessed with Humphrey Bogart. After nervously killing a police officer, he finds himself in in Paris to collect money that’s owed to him, all the while attempting to convince Patricia (Jean Seberg), an American gal living in France, to run away with him. Their immaturity and nonchalance (or at least their appearance of nonchalance) is the cause of Michel’s eventual downfall, but it takes them a while to get there. In the meantime, we are treated to long conversations about life, love, and what it means to be alive. It’s all very wonderful, and very French.
The performances are wonderfully nuanced, fresh, and exciting. The leads play off of each other like they’ve been at it for years. There’s a loving familiarity between them, but still enough aloofness to keep us very well engaged and hoping for the best. But of course, the best we can hope for is a fatalistic and violent climax that offers very little closure due to some very cryptic words uttered just before we’re hit with the big “FIN.” It happens to be one of my favorite endings of all time. The look on Patricia’s face while she imitates Michel (who was imitating Humphrey Bogart) is priceless.
While there are many, many groundbreaking and influential films out there, Breathless is a must see. If you haven’t had the opportunity to sit down with it yet, it’s time to change that. I know it’s French, I know it’s old, I know it’s in black and white, but don’t be afraid of it, because it has also influenced your favorite movies of all time.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.