The latest in a series: Jean-Luc Godard's spastic but fun-to-watch-in-3D GOODBYE TO LANGUAGE

Well, he likes dogs, at least (see poster, right). Which is better than he's done with women over the years. Yes, Jean-Luc Godard is back, this time in 3D. And if 3D seems the least expected format for a filmmaker such as this, that is probably the entire point. Ever the provocateur, M. Godard intends to show us what we don't understand. And if this leads to the pitter-patter of pretension, all the better. That just adds to the fun of yet another increa-singly spastic movie from the "master."

As much as I consider Godard ( in chair at left) to be the epitome of The Emperor's New Clothes -- come on now: he was only half-dressed back in the days of Breathless, which gave us something new, yes, but beyond that, simply attitude over content -- I must admit that I had no trouble watching most of GOODBYE TO LANGUAGE, silly as some of it is. This was due mostly to the quite ravishing 3D cinematography (by Fabrice Aragno, who also worked on the director's also pretty Film Socialism). Watching this movie is often pure dimensional pleasure.

Not that Godard and Aragno give us stuff jumping out of the screen. Please. There does seems to be one segment in which there is a kind 3D within the 3D ("6D?" as a friend of mine questioned). But mostly, this is just nice cinematography with the extra addition of "space"

You can see, nearly feel, the planes here. Branches of trees against the river bank, nature in its glory, even a pair of very attractive breasts protruding toward you and a cock bouncing its way along (yes, there's some full-frontal nudity, too).

A story? Not really. There's a man and a woman present, so you can maybe find one if you look hard. But it doesn't count for, or come to, much. There is that lovely dog who appears almost throughout. And the usual late-Godardisms: dialog that sometime goes untranslated, or even unheard (Goodbye to Language, indeed!), as the director seems to be tweaking us but good.

I took a few notes at the screening I attended, but they appear now to have disappeared, but I am recalling my viewing experience as not at all a bad one. Still, I am either too dumb to get on this guy's wave-length, or maybe, as I suggest, it is one that offers neither much intellectual nor emotional reward.

Goodbye to Language 3D -- from Kino Lorber and running just 70 minutes -- opens this coming Wednesday, October 29, in New York at the IFC Center and the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center. Elsewhere? Actually, yes: In another eight cities across the country. (But not, I notice, anywhere in the Los Angeles area. Those cretins! Or maybe they're just too smart for this con job.) You can view all currently scheduled playdates by clicking here and scrolling down.

James Franco tackles gay poet Hart Crane in THE BROKEN TOWER. No one wins.

TrustMovies loves James Franco (shown on the poster at left and below). He loves to look at him and listen to him. He loves the guy's quirky intelligence and sometimes bizarre humor. He thought Franco's performan-ces in the underseen Howl and the much-seen Rise of the Planet of the Apes were both excellent. He admires the man's willingness to go out on limbs and engage with everything from life and higher education to film and soap opera and art installation and even... moviemaking. He thought Franco's 2009 five-minute short, The Feast of Stephen was somewhat interesting and certainly not awful. And now we have his new full-length THE BROKEN TOWER, which gives us a look at the life of the American poet of a century past, Hart Crane, which also proves to be somewhat interesting. But -- oh, gosh, how to put it nicely? -- this film is awful.

More than anything else, The Broken Tower, which Franco wrote (from Paul Mariani's biography and novel), directed, edited and stars in as Crane, reminds me of those would-be "art" movies we used to see back in the 1960s, which were probably indebted to the work of, if we had to single someone out, John Cassavetes, more than anyone else. These were black-and-white, shoestring budgeted (Franco's film has a bit higher budget than that), and intently focused on being artistic at all costs -- the biggest of which would be the almost complete annihilation of any possible entertainment value the movie might have possessed. (Cassavetes was better than this, but many of his acolytes were not.)

According to the press materials, The Broken Tower is actually Mr. Franco's New York University Film School "thesis" film, and as such it deserves, if not a grade, at least a pass or fail certificate. I might give it a pass, barely, with a grade of C-, and the suggestion that Franco center his ambitions back on acting. Arty and pretentious does not a good movie make. Watching the film, it seems as though the filmmaker may have been impressed with other black-and-white art movies such as Christopher Munch's Color of a Brisk and Leaping Day. But Franco does not yet understand what to do with the camera. He has it concentrate on typing and walking -- two very paltry actions that are not designed to interest the viewer past the first few seconds of screen time -- and worse, he likes to film the back of the head on those walks, as though something is about to be revealed.... by the hair, maybe?

And, oh, the sparkling dialog!  (I jest, because there practically is no dialog -- it's mostly title cards that key us into chapters from Crane's life. And then Franco repeats in action what has been told us by those cards.) As for the man's poetry, I cannot figure out if Franco imagines that, by reading aloud what sounds like an entire, lengthy and not very well-written poem, he is honoring Crane, or showing him up for the artsy twaddle the fellow created. It is certainly easy to understand why the man's poetry is not much remembered these days. (Still, before I "down" this guy's work, I should go to the source and trying reading some of it, rather than relying on what the filmmaker has presented.)

So why did Franco bother with making this film? It must have to do with Crane's homosexuality. One of the filmmaker's best scenes involves a blow-job, and I am not being funny about this: Franco does a good job of shooting the scene, of creating tension and release, and of giving us something to look at that seems both fresh and "felt." There's also a nice scene than has Crane, who worked as an advertising copywriter, trying out the sound of the word naugahyde -- a synthetic product which was evidently new at the time. But this, as so much else in the movie, goes on way too long. Otherwise, this mostly fledgling filmmaker keeps his camera to a tight frame on everything, in order, I would guess, to make the film look more "period" by including the necessarily detailed close-up, as above, but not expanding the view into scenes that would clearly call attention to modern times. (The good cinematographer is Christina Voros.)

In the cast, the biggest name is Michael Shannon (above right), who portrays a sailor for whom Hart has the hots. There's a nice lovemaking scene (three photos above), but Shannon is given so little to do that the use of an actor this good seems a bit wasteful. Also on view, as the younger Hart Crane, is Franco's brother Dave, who may actually be even more beautiful than his older sibling and director, and -- given the parameters of the movie -- makes a pretty good impression.

The entire film is in black-and-white except for a few moments that take place in a church. These are in color -- which calls to mind once again those artsy film duds from the 60s. Over all, and over its 99-minute running time, the movie acts as a kind of cinematic vacuum, sucking up energy like a black hole. I still love Mr. Franco and in fact will look forward to his next venture as a filmmaker -- but only with hope that he gives up trying to create "art" and decides instead to simply create -- come what may.

The Broken Tower opens today in New York City at the IFC Center in New York, and is simultaneously available via VOD. Consult your TV reception-provider to see if the film is being shown  on VOD in your specific area.

Bruno Dumont's HADEWIJCH: Thank god it's opening in time for the religious holiday

Was Humanité just an over-rated fluke? It's beginning to look more and more likely. With each new film that Bruno Dumont serves up -- Twentynine Palms, Flanders and now HADEWIJCH -- it's is becoming clearer that this fellow has little understanding of how human beings behave or the world works. Consequently, the filmmaker, pictured below, busies himself with rank outsiders: "others" who don't/won't/can't fit in -- working, I guess, from the premise that, if you get as far away as possible from anything remotely resembling normalcy, maybe viewers won't notice how false your characters really are. This would be true for the uber-quirky couple (not to mention the titular community) shown in Twentynine Palms; another couple, this time nearing the brain-dead, in Flanders (and, oh, that atrociously-imagined middle-eastern "war"); and now the religious nut and her zombie family in his new one.

In addition to presenting us with bizarre, cliched (but unreal nonetheless) characters, Dumont likes to insert a heavy-duty subject into the mix: rape and murder in Humanité, more ultra-violence in Twentynine Palms, the war in Flanders, and now religion -- and, oh, yes, terrorism -- in Hadewijch. You can't say that this guy doesn't go for the zeitgeist! If TrustMovies is being crueler than usual here, he also admits that, though he enjoyed (he is stretching that verb hugely) Flanders no more than he did Twentynine Palms, he has now found Hadewijch a bit better than either of the earlier films. Another ten, twenty more movies from Dumont, and who knows how high the enjoyment level will have bubbled.

In Hadewijch -- the name doubles as the moniker of a mystic from centuries past, whom the title charac-ter, Celine, appears to be aping in her quest for the love of Jesus -- we are confronted with another over-the-top character who has such weird ideas of religion and faith (and most everything else, actually) that we can only wonder how she had avoided an asylum until now. Her family, very wealthy, appears as clueless in its way as Celine is in her own.

Into this less-than-believable situation, arrives an Algerian kid from the banlieues, whom Celine comes across (in the Dumont version of meet-cute) and brings home to lunch. Yes!  He in turn introduces her to his brother, a stoic and deeply religious Muslim who is involved in -- not theater, not manufacturing, not running the local Mail Box Express (like a Muslim friend I have here in Jackson Heights). Come on, people: Put on those thinking caps. What else would any self-respecting Muslim be concerned with but -- of course -- terrorism.

Soon, our Celine -- a girl so utterly uncertain of her own ideas that she makes your everyday sheep look like William the Conquerer -- is knee-deep in oh my goodness. And where does religion fit into all of this? Don't ask. Ah, but our Celine certainly does. By the finale I think you might just say that our lass has found... redemption.  Or, as I am fond of calling this sort of thing, re-dumb-tion.

However you choose to view the movie's conclusion, you will probably arise from your seat, shaking your head in amazement, and murmuring, "WTF. Dumont has done it again!"  Now, among all this nonsense, there are some good things to be seen.  The film's cinematography is sterling (by the director's oft-time collaborator Yves Cape), and the filmmaker does have a feel for interesting faces (if not any particular acting ability) like that of his leading lady, newcomer Julie Sokolowski. To be fair, the girl has been given a role of which even a young Meryl Streep might have found it difficult to make much sense.

Dumont has chosen for his locations, as usual, nature and some fairly dismal housing projects, but this time, into the mix he has tossed a fabulous apartment, Celine's home (shown above) -- which makes a nice visual change from the rest of the film -- and, in fact, the rest of his oeuvre.

So forget Santa and just go with god, as Hadewijch, from IFC Films, opens today, December 24, in New York City at the IFC Center, with three showings daily. You can check the performance schedule here.  And if you can't wait -- or can't get into Manhattan -- the movie is already available via IFC On-Demand.  Click the link at left to determine if and how you can get it.