One of the many reprises in Reprise are the editing and sound techniques embraced by the French New Wave. It is an anti-Hollywood film geek’s dream to experience mismatched sound and image, abrupt cuts to black, handheld camerawork, deliberate discontinuity, and the much maligned voice over narration, all done deftly, lovingly, and meaningfully.
But none of that is why you should see this film.
You should see it because director Joachim Trier’s love of cinema shows through in every frame, his love for these characters is just as great, and his respect for the audience’s intelligence is paramount. You should see this film because there isn’t a false note by the ensemble cast, because the clueless boys club of Philip, Erik, Lars and the rest will make you laugh and the love stories between Philip and Kari, and Philip and Erik will break your heart, because you’ll be moved by these characters and sad when the lights go up and they leave you. You will exit the theater, and if you are of a certain age, you will remember what you were like in your early twenties, the friendships you had that may now be gone, the loves you couldn’t live without. You will carry this movie with you for days.
Okay, so now back to the geeky stuff. Technique is never used for the sake of technique or to show what a smarty pants the filmmakers are, but to augment the tonality of the scene. A perfect example of this is the omniscient narrator: he knows when to be ironic, when to be informative, and most importantly, when to shut up. He never overstays his welcome. New Wavers will be reminded of Eric Rohmer, whose narrators are not always so tactful. Here’s another: Philip and Kari, we are told, spent a blissful weekend in Paris when Philip was right in the head. When Philip asks Kari to go with him again in his discombobulated state, we find ourselves in Paris with them, but we are unsure for a good while whether we are watching a memory or the present, and we don’t care that we are unsure. Chronology is meaningless when memory is as powerful as anything in the present. Hiroshima Mon Amour, anyone? You want more? How about when Philip and Kari are in their Parisian hotel room, talking about their relationship. Sometimes the audio matches their moving mouths, and sometimes they speak and their lips don’t move at all, but they stare longingly at each other. The lines between what is being said, what is being thought, and what is being understood are gone; Kari and Philip have that kind of young, intense love.
Despite all the Nouvelle Vague nods, Reprise worships most at the altar of Fellini’s I Vitelloni in its narrative, themes, and emotion. It’s most obvious visual borrowing—a scene where the group of five male friends stand on a concrete pier look out over a vast sea—mirrors Fellini’s scene respectfully, but it is not a mere reference, it is an embellishment on that iconic image. That’s not to say it’s better, I would never dare suggest that, but it is more than a “look how clever I am, I’ve seen some cool movies” sequence.
All of this borrowing doesn’t feel mannered, like say a Todd Haynes film, and it’s not designed to display the hipness of the filmmaker like a Wes Anderson film. The real genius of Reprise is how it manages to be an art film and a commercial film; if you get the references, you’ll smile knowingly, if you don’t, no problem, you’ll enjoy the moving story, fine performances, great soundtrack and more. My movie-going companion admitted to not being up on her French and Italian cinema, and she loved it. A week later we were still e-mailing about it.
We complain all the time about the lack of quality films out there. Well here’s one. Plop down your greenbacks and show that there’s an audience for films like this. Just go already.