NOUVELLE VAGUE. Out of Love for Godard [REVIEW]

Looking at Richard Linklater’s recent festival premieres—the master of on-screen sentimentality and endlessly fascinating dialogue—it’s clear that the Before trilogy creator has developed a strong affinity for the Hollywood-favored “movies about movies” narrative. This type of storytelling peels back the curtain for everyday viewers to reveal the inner workings of legendary artists who helped shape cinema as we know it today. After Blue Moon, a nostalgic piece in which Ethan Hawke masterfully portrays Lorenz Hart spending his final days reminiscing about the height of his musical career—before he had to confront the exhausting void within and the lack of inspiration—this American director (though “observer of cinema’s phenomenon” might now be a more accurate label) takes us to yet another pivotal moment in film history.

Fascinated by the rebellious creativity of Chabrol, Truffaut, Rohmer, and, most importantly, Jean-Luc Godard—the French revolutionaries who unexpectedly transformed modern perceptions of cinema in the late 1950s—Linklater invites us behind the scenes of one of the most iconic films of that era. Breathless, which launched the careers of Jean Seberg and Jean-Paul Belmondo, serves as a kind of cinematic sanctuary for Linklater. He pays tribute to it in every scene of his meticulously documentary-style work, which precisely captures the genius of Godard and his contemporaries. A regular at soirées thrown for France’s artistic elite, Linklater always longed to break free from the limits of being merely a film critic and analyst.

As he himself admits, he wanted to express true criticism by creating a cinematic response to the flaws of the era’s filmmaking. He closely follows Godard’s legendary nonchalance, and rather than simply making a film about Godard’s life, he nearly transports us directly into the world of Breathless. Critics of New Wave cinema won’t find here an objective or rational balance between Linklater’s personal reverence and directorial restraint. Nouvelle Vague is very much a love letter to Godard’s artistic ego and to the critics who admired him. Yet it still manages to retain Linklater’s signature reflections on the fantasies and desires of twentysomethings today.

To say that Nouvelle Vague merely draws inspiration from the making of Breathless would be a gross understatement. From its opening moments—shot on black-and-white film—we almost literally recreate not just the production, but the content of the original Breathless, placing Linklater in the role of a vigilant imitator who dances on the edge of cinematic fanaticism for the creator of Contempt and Alphaville. Brilliantly cast Guillaume Marbeck and Zoey Deutch are contemporary echoes of Jean Seberg and Jean-Luc Godard—and easily among the most compelling performances at this year’s Cannes Film Festival.

Their fledgling characters cross paths with true icons of French cinema: Agnès Varda, Juliette Gréco, Roberto Rossellini, and Éric Rohmer, reenacting entries from a cinematic encyclopedia. The issue is that in its effort to honor one exceptional artist, Nouvelle Vague neglects the psychological depth of the other figures—sometimes summarized in just a few sentences, but more often pushed to the margins, overshadowed by the schematic replication of Breathless’s visuals.

This time, Linklater’s dialogues are sharp, abruptly cut by dynamic editing, yet they still carry the situational humor that the American director is known for—along with satire and a witty critique of certain entrenched practices in the film and critical worlds.

Films like The Fabelmans, Babylon, and Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood brilliantly sparked this now widespread cinematic trend, and Linklater takes it a step further—crafting a film within a film so flawlessly recreated that only the actors’ faces distinguish it from the reality it’s portraying.

Of course, I understand the outrage from those accusing Linklater of exploiting the legacy of the French auteur and failing to inject Nouvelle Vague with a personal spark. Accustomed to his intimate, sentimental interpretations of modern relationships and family dynamics, we now find ourselves in uncharted waters—devoted more to exploring the legacy of a previous era’s artists than to trailblazing new trends. Still, I find myself embracing this unexpected transformation and the tenderness with which Linklater treats the legacy of a filmmaker who, in a way, motivated him to choose his own career path. This unpretentious observation of a cinematic guru—who remains, without a doubt, Jean-Luc Godard—is a truly fascinating return to the roots of filmmaking.

It could prove to be a dark horse at Cannes—and who knows, maybe even in the Oscars race. After all, what resonates more with the often insular world of film critics than a work that explores their own artistic neuroses?