ALPHAVILLE (1965)

In Jean-Luc Godard’s strange foray into science fiction, life in Alphaville is only vaguely familiar, where its citizens behave like robots in an attempt to quash the illogical and untraceable patterns of emotion. In this world, technology and rationality reign supreme, robbing its populace of freedom, the ability to feel, and anything that denotes individualism. When Godard is able to let the film’s visuals speak for themselves on these fronts, the experience can be quite thrilling, but that constitutes just a small aspect of the film.

The hero of Alphaville / Alphaville: une étrange aventure de Lemmy Caution is Lemmy Caution (Eddie Constantine), an American expatriate mercenary disguised as journalist Ivan Johnson. Lemmy has been tasked with entering Alphaville to reconnect with missing agent Henri Dickinson (Akim Tamiroff), capture or execute the architect of this society, Professor von Braun (Howard Vernon), and destroy the supercomputer that dictates how this inhuman city operates. Known as ‘Alpha 60’, one can hear the computer’s proclamations throughout the city, uttered in a desperately raspy tone that doubles as a solid attempt at convincing smokers to give up their habit. The problem with this supercomputer lies less with the fact that it sounds like a packet of cigarettes come to life, but with the meandering remarks it makes.

One expects alienation from the bizarre kind of order that has been swept over the citizens of Alphaville. So having this narrator, whose voiceover isn’t diegetic, coming across as if he’s infiltrated Lemmy’s thoughts, surprisingly isn’t that disorienting a concept. What’s more aggravating is how abruptly he interjects the narrative, which doesn’t take nearly enough time to orient us in the ambience of its scenes. As Lemmy wanders through futuristic-looking buildings or blank white rooms, there’s rarely a sense of creeping dread or gradual disorientation. That’s partly because Lemmy is too aloof as a stereotypical noir protagonist to be overcome by emotion (dulling Alphaville’s message about how one can thwart a society that dismisses feelings as irrational aberrations of the state), though this absence of deeper intrigue is just as influenced by Godard’s refusal to make his characters reckon with their environments.

They are more than eager to talk shop when it comes to pontificating about wider society, with the supercomputer’s monologues stretching thin and being uttered unbearably slowly. (After waiting for 20 seconds for the unseen voice to complete a sentence, you’ll be disappointed that you hung out for something meaningful, let alone profound.) One can accept the dialogue being charmless and humourless, but the rules of this society are too plainly stupid for us to reckon with their ideas. Lemmy is far too self-reliant and intransigent to be convinced by them, nor are we ever to worry about what might befall him, since he doesn’t seem to worry about himself. Instead of authentically allowing viewers to sit with the disorientation that this world would produce in any sane individual (akin to a watered-down and sanitised version of the madness endemic to Tarkovsky’s Stalker from 1979), the voiceover narration continually interjects this journey to the heart of a dystopian world.

It’s far from the only element of Alphaville’s audio that is abrupt and over-used. Composer Paul Misraki’s score rarely complements the scenes that it features in, but instead crashes against them like a fiery wave, announcing its thunderous presence without any semblance of a build-up. These compositions’ exits, like their entrances, rarely have any interest in fading away, instead being unceremoniously dumped in and out of this narrative at will. The end result is so haphazard that one could swap out some of these musical arrangements for compositions with an entirely different tone, or rearrange when they interject a given scene, and it would be no more or less disorienting. Some technical flubs with regards to the film’s audio are also present, but at least that can be excused with age, like the significant amount of dubbed sound effects and dialogue.

Alphaville’s visuals are stunning, where everyday Parisian streets have been transformed into the ominous, soul-deadening region. Godard doesn’t employ any fancy tricks, but instead mostly limited shooting to night-time scenes outdoors, or choosing buildings for shooting that were considered modern at the time. A few ornate-looking objects later, like an intricate chandelier, along with a host of wires, dials, and other technological systems, and this city effectively becomes an alien, dystopic hellhole.

The handheld establishing shots make these brief scenes feel somehow illicit, as if you’re watching hidden camera footage from North Korea that somehow evaded the gaze of watchful guards. Perhaps that’s because these moments rarely feature Lemmy; when they do, like a beautiful overhead shot where he evades two police cars in his vehicle, he’s at such a remove from the camera that it’s as if this perspective has taken on the viewpoint of a stranger coolly observing the intense chase. Whether it’s in this protagonist being watched, or us viewing footage that feels as if even he wasn’t privy to it, tension is naturally drawn out of these brief scenes to put viewers on edge.

Alphaville’s execution scenes are particularly harrowing, with one vile method, where dissidents are gunned down in front of a swimming pool, then attacked by a flock of female swimmers who heartily slash at their chests and torsos with knives, feeling as if it was ripped straight from one of Ray Bradbury’s speculative fiction short stories. A restrained smattering of applause breaks out after each execution. So few movies and TV shows understand that in scenarios like these, brief, hollow clapping is so much more haunting than thunderous applause; thankfully, Alphaville is one of the rare exceptions.

In scenes like this it’s easy to forget Lemmy exists, not just because he stands at their periphery, but also due to how little this phases him. He isn’t starting to lose his grip on his sanity, nor is this protagonist succumbing to the madness disguised as rational thinking that’s endemic to Alphaville. Even in his interactions with Natacha von Braun (Anna Karina), the exotic, doe-eyed girl who’s never had a real chance at freedom, he’s too invested in his persona—which doubles as his entire personality—to show any vulnerability. Alphaville’s totalitarianism prohibits such emotions, while Lemmy achieves this effect through a never-ending dedication to the cause of being too cool and aloof for other people. Reluctantly taking Natacha under his wing, he lectures the misguided, naïve young woman into seeing the error of her ways.

One can’t observe the beauty of Ana Karina and expect that that doesn’t play a role in Lemmy’s interest in her, but as for what she gets out of their time together, that seems to rest almost entirely on intellectualism and maturity. She needs someone to remind her of her folly, a teacher figure who’s frequently dismissive of her opinions and, at times, her existence, all while never changing in any meaningful way. It’s a condescending relationship that, like Lemmy, pays little mind to Natacha’s feelings. Regardless of whether or not this is quintessentially noir storytelling, it sets up an unlikeable protagonist whose gruff attitude only goes so far in endearing us towards him. When he finally convinces her to stop being a little girl and accept reality, one is supposed to feel jubilant that this mentor/mentee relationship has achieved the desired effect. But it’s all too condescending and, ironically, unemotive to strike a chord.

Despite beautiful cinematography, tense handheld shots, and an impressive reimagining of Paris, even the film’s visual style can’t rid itself of awkward moments. Lemmy’s freeze frame fight is hilarious, where the implied combat looks so silly, and the developments within it are so abrupt, that one half expects to see one of the men thrusting against the other’s backside during one of its still images. Unintentional humour is also a cornerstone of the citizens of Alphaville, whether they’re swaying back and forth like insects that have just had giant drops of amber chucked at them, or eating cereal with such focus that they look like they’re battling an addiction for this snack (and losing handily). Alphaville is a sci-fi film plagued by higher aspirations, refusing to recognise that there’s plenty worthwhile about this genre in its own right. A middling love story and empty philosophising compromise this unique, oblique representation of a society gone awry.

FRANCE • ITALY | 1965 | 99 MINUTES | 1.37:1 | BLACK & WHITE | FRENCH • ENGLISH • SPANISH

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Jean-Luc Godard.
starring: Eddie Constantine, Anna Karina, Akim Tamiroff, Howard Vernon, Christa Lang, Jean-Louis Comolli, Jean-André Fieschi & László Szabó.