Diva (1981) existed in my psyche as one of the most beautiful films ever and a paragon of cool. I remembered the unlikely romantic couple strolling through a blue-hued Paris at dawn accompanied by a Satie-esque piano piece. I remembered that there was a song from some obscure opera. Ahhhh... the music. I remembered it was a stylish film, pleasing to look at, full of great sets and interesting objects, like that beautiful, vintage, white Citroen. Mostly I remembered the punk, “Priest,” the fantastic Dominique Pinon who would later dazzle me in Delicatessen and make me think he was some kind of French re-incarnation of Charlie Chaplin. His was the face on the poster and on the soundtrack LP. Like any punk worth his safety pins, he was full of disdain. In fact, most of his lines begin with, “I don’t like…” Discovering the music he had pumping into his earpiece was to me one of the great cinematic jokes.
Seeing it again recently for the first time in at least 25
years shook the film off Mount Olympus. It’s still a good film, but great? No.
One of the most beautiful films ever? No. Cool? Sure, but coolness at its
detached worst.
Diva was always about flashy style over any real
substance, and flashy style tends to not age so well. Watching it now isn’t quite
like seeing your 80-year-old grandmother in a mini skirt and too much make up,
not quite, but close. I kept thinking of the effect director
Jean-Jacques Beineix’s film had on the moving images that followed it: the
early days of MTV, Miami Vice, and Chanel No. 5 commercials came to mind
first. And then The Hunger. (Is that worth a Second Look?) But I won’t hold
Diva responsible for every slick and vapid moving image produced in the 80s,
that would be unfair.
So, what about Diva now? It’s still an eyeful and an earful: stunning visual compositions, gorgeous music. But the sets (Jules’ ginormous loft in a mechanic's garage, Gorodish’s ginormous loft in a factory, the decrepit but oh so chic opera house) and locations (a
lighthouse safehouse?) seem more than a little hokey. I understand what Diva
reacted to—the kind of realism that reached its height in this country with
Taxi Driver—but shots of mirrored sunglasses (lots of mirrors, actually) look
laughable now.
But I can forgive all that. And I can forgive the convoluted noir-ish series of events that suggests a plot. What I can’t forgive is the lack of any real character. We’re watching types here, types with specific tastes, but showing that a young postal worker loves opera doesn’t make him full, round, and human. Am I given a glimpse into Gorodish's character when he demonstrates to Jules, in a snorkel and mask (why?), the zen of spreading butter on a baguette? Ahhhh... no. No one has human complexity, no one goes anywhere, no one grows as a result of the events, no one transforms. Okay, maybe the diva does, at the end when she hears her own singing for the first time. That moment, and it’s the final moment of the film, is the most emotionally real and moving scene in the film. But it’s too little too late.
I kept thinking of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s
Blue (1993) while I was watching Diva. Blue takes place in Paris, has many
shots of reflective surfaces, has much the same color palette,is one heck
of stylish film, and has a one word title. But Blue isn’t just style, there’s plenty of substance to it;
it has an emotional story to tell and uses an actress up to the task of
delivering those emotions. Juliette Binoche inhabits a character on a journey from
searing grief to acceptance. I’ve seen Blue many times and it always
devastates me; its style never gets in the way of substance. Its style enhances the substance. Now there's an idea!
So were we all beguiled by Diva’s beauty in the 80s? Maybe. I kind of think Diva was like a great piece of candy. At the time it seemed to deliver something necessary, but ultimately it wasn’t very nourishing. It’s still a great piece of candy, and we need candy. I’m all for candy. I just think it’s a good idea not to confuse candy for something more substantial and nourishing.
Watch it again and let me know what you think. If you're outraged and want to rip in to me based on your memory of seeing Diva 25+ years ago, hold off until you watch it now, and try to remove the nostalgia from your eyes when you do. Then if you still think I'm talking crap, feel free to unleash your wrath upon me.
