Four decades since my first Godard, this one -- from four and a half decades ago -- spent an evening with me tonight.
Black and white late autumnal 60s kookie American-bit Paris, innocent Odile in her plaid skirt and plunked fedora doing the Madison (which I had forgotten for four decades but whose sophistication struck me from the film as having stood out as a dance then, too, too old for the consumerist youth culture of which I was then a part -- we being a 'band of outsiders' with little taste except for rebellion -- sophistication of a kind which certainly made it fail compared to the herky-jerky sock-'n'-rock-'n'-knock violence from cage-dancing frug artistes to mosh pit), doing it with her two would-be exploiters, her naivete and lucky decency ironically getting paid-off by theft from a thief, earning her and her lover a steamship trip to Brazil with a pompomed beret aslant her cute head.
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