evening1 Director Robert Bresson amazes here by coaxing an extremely moving performance from a donkey named Balthazar. By comparison, the humans around him appear stubborn, shallow, cruel, and mercenary. We gain a troubling picture here of the indifference of nature, and the ultimate aloneness of the innocent. The final scene of this film is heartbreaking! Running counterpoint to Balthazar's story are the complicated comings and goings of various humans, none of whom is very likable. We focus on the dour Marie (Anne Wiazemsky), who rebels against her sheltered lifestyle by sleeping with a sinister young hood (Walter Green) and sells her body when necessary. We also follow, for reasons that aren't terribly clear, the peregrinations of an unappealing bum named Arnold (Jean-Claude Guilbert). Now that I have seen this intriguing film, along with "Diary of a Country Priest," I'm interested in viewing anything else that Bresson has directed. What a unique perspective he brings!

Paul Hesp A film tends to be judged by its mass appeal: films cost lots of money and therefore film makers normally want them to be seen by lots of people. But that does not mean that film SHOULD be judged by its mass appeal: you do not judge the value of the US publishing industry by the number of murders in westerns and thrillers. Robert Bresson used the medium of film for unusual purposes. His minimalism stimulates your attention: you scan gestures, looks and shabby interiors for clues. Sounds – a key turning in a lock, a tram passing, a donkey's braying, brief snatches of music - take on a heightened meaning. A few seconds of classical music are often heard when there is a 'window of opportunity' for a human being. True, Bresson demands a lot from the viewer, and with some films I just gave up; but I prefer that to the attitude of many film directors who make me feel insulted: another simpleton has been duped into paying for a piece of trash providing two hours of oblivion. Bresson disliked acting, as it got in the way of what he wanted to express with his films; instead he worked with amateurs, 'models' who were not allowed to dramatize or psychologize. The most extreme example of his approach is 'Au hasard Balthasar', where the protagonist is a donkey called Balthasar subjected to and witnessing human vices. 'Au hasard' means at random, and all the cruelty seems random. But I wonder, with my imperfect French, whether au hasard in this case could not be a 'call to action': 'au secours' means help!, so maybe 'take your chance (in life)' is a possible translation here. Although I'm familiar with Bresson's unusual approach it took me a couple of viewings to understand that the 'story' and the 'characters' mean even less in this film than in others. There is a story –Balthasar's successive misadventures and occasional rebellions, ending in death – but it is not a very coherent one, more a succession of scenes illustrating various forms of human shortcomings and nastiness, personified by a variety of… well, models. All of this is just there to bring out the patient suffering of the donkey, who in the process becomes, as one of the few decent people in the film says, 'a saint' and dies a painful yet peaceful death. You can see the animal as a symbol of Christ, as many have done, and for a catholic like Bresson it would be a 'natural' symbol. But I'm always wary about symbolism in film - you'd end up needing a user's manual ('this actually means that'), and a film which requires a manual is no good. Rather, Bresson stimulates a sort of hyper-awareness of the world by the way he shows it. Balthasar's various owners impose a role on the donkey, who usually puts up with it but never becomes a satisfactory actor from a human point of view ('good for you', I always think when a cat refuses to obey). There is a memorable scene where Balthasar is 'employed' in a circus (soon to be kicked out) and is led past cages with other animals. They eye each other; we are briefly in their world: trapped, but never willing servants. When the humans create havoc in the film, the camera zooms in on the donkey's profile, quite still – the eye of the storm, you might say. I do not value this film quite as highly as 'Un condamné à mort s'est échappé' or 'Pickpocket', maybe because sometimes I hear, so to speak, Bresson's brain creak as he works on his message. But the last couple of minutes are perfect. My eyes start pricking. Not so much because the poor animal is a dying a slow yet beautiful death, on a sunlit hillside, surrounded by placid sheep. Or because of any implied symbolism (the Redeemer dying for His flock). My best explanation is a 'parallel', the end of a poem by the Scottish poet Sorely MacLean about the mountains of the Isle of Skye: '…beyond misery, despair, hatred, treachery,/ beyond guilt and defilement: watchful,/ heroic, the Cuillin is seen/ rising on the other side of sorrow.'

tomgillespie2002 At the start of Robert Bresson's profoundly touching drama, the children who had been at the purchase of the young titular donkey, Balthazar, baptise the animal, which in essence renders him with a soul, and one which will encounter the cruelties and beauty of humanity. In this early life, the children, particularly Marie and Jacques (later playing as teenagers by Anne Wiazemsky - who later married Jean-Luc Godard - and Walter Green respectively), play with him lovingly, jostling in the hay. With monetary issues, Balthazar is taken into adult life, abused by masters who use his prowess to pull carts, whipping him regularly. He escapes, and goes back to that place of beauty, where the children had so adored him. Of course, they are grown, and Marie (the only one who actually lives at the farm) takes him back in, however, the farm is struggling, and this relationship is soon split.As Balthazar is then moved from owner to owner, he is used to deliver bread, to again pull carts. He is saved at one point by a drunk, Arnold (Jean-Claude Guilbert), who is accused of murder - although this infraction is never elaborated on, and he is only accused several times by local teen-thug and thief, Gerard (Francois Lafarge). Balthazar also briefly becomes a star in a circus, making mathematical calculations using his hoof. Aside from the various moments of violence inflicted upon the poor animal, he is witness to the violence that the people he comes in contact with have over each other. Marie, ignoring the protestations of her fathers wishes to stay away from Gerard, she ignores him and continues a sexual relationship with the petty criminal, which inevitably leads to heartache.Beautifully shot in black and white, the French rural countryside becomes a majestic, and yet horrific backdrop for the sins of humanity, and the innocence of an animal that is forced to do the bidding of the people. Bresson often frames Balthzar at the centre of the image, his large eyes portraying utter pathos - and we, the audience adore him. The final moments of the film are some of the most simple, yet moving moments in cinema history. Gerard, using the now old and work-tired Balthazar, steal him to carry contraband over the border. Fleeing the area due to gun fire from the border patrol, Balthazar escapes into a field where sheep are grazing. Having been shot he walks slowly and joins the flock, sitting, his eyes displaying something that resembles happiness - or at least a relief to be with other animals. The end, however, is also incredibly heartbreaking.www.the-wrath-of-blog.blogspot.com

treywillwest Just purchased a used copy at work and saw the film last night, for the second time. It reconfirmed for me what I suspected upon an initial viewing- that it's one of the four or five greatest films I've ever seen. That sounds like hyperbole from a guy with an MFA in film studies, but its far from a radical statement. While Bresson is woefully under-represented even in most film schools (at least in the U.S.) he is considered by many a hard-core cineast among the greatest in the pantheon of auteur's, and many think this his highest accomplishment. Godard called it "the world in 90 minutes" so I think that tells you something. Bresson started out as a painter, and I think what is so unique about this film is the way it has a narrative power different than that of any film I've ever seen. Indeed, it seems more like the "still" narrative of a painting, like that of a Caravaggio or a Rembrandt. It's not narrative in the sense of a "beginning, middle, and end" because its truths- the fleeting joys and predominate pain of life and death- are so universal that we know them, on some level, before we witness the work. But art-works of such grandeur illuminate what we take for granted and make life seem, again, like a transcendent drama.