Vagabond

“Travel, leave everything, copy the birds. The home is one of civilisations sadnesses. Ina few years humanity will go back to its nomadic state.”
-Gustave Flaubert

Having regrettably been absent during the screening of Agnes Varda’s Les Glaneurs et la glaneuse, I duly checked out another recommended film by said director, known as Sans toit ni loi, or simply Vagabond.
The film didn’t particularly strike a chord with me, but what I admire about it is its boldness. The storyline isn’t so much of a tangled web that brings you to the edge of your seat – in fact the plot is fairly minimalist – but it paints a raw, homespun portrait of peoples’ lives through the eyes of an intriguing character. In this sense, Vagabond shares certain touchstones with films I’d consider amongst my favourites, such as Lost In Translation, Genova and various films by Harmony Korine.
Varda doesn’t particularly romanticise the concept of homelessness or travelling from place to place, in my opinion. The grizzly nature of the lifestyle is depicted from the word go, where we see that the heroine Mona is dead, and the events leading up to her demise are shown following the discovery of her body.
Throughout the course of the movie, we see her becoming more raggedy and frail, and by the time of her death, she has completely given up. This is not a happy-go-lucky Bohemian Gypsy lifestyle, full of tango and belly dancing, jewellery making and painting. The girl doesn’t have joie de vivre, she honed this way of life because she was disenchanted with her office job, and resigned herself to roaming rural France by herself. This is a tragic tale, because her way of life was born out of disillusion rather than brightness, and it leads to her untimely demise.
Vagabond did, however, portray a strong sense of community. The rural area of France she roams is very close knit and the people she encounters are all very accommodating. This is perhaps the aspect of the film that most idealises Mona’s lifestyle, as she runs into a goat farmer couple who allow her to stay during the night, a tree researcher who shows Mona her work, and others. This is probably the most heartwarming part of the film, as though her lifestyle may be questioned, it is also admired and even described as noble. Overall though, this film is certainly not an evangelist of a carefree, nomadic life.

Marx, use value, and the Colosseum

Reading through the likes of Karl Marx’s ‘The Fetishism of commodities and the secret thereof’ sheds a few glimmers of light on the trappings of use value. Here he presents us with the idea of a metaphysical conflict, a battle, between our grasp of the concept of ‘use value’. Is the value of a commodity marked by the labour, or even travails, expended in its production? Or is it simply marked by the use as perceived by the recipient?


If we look at the properties of certain objects or commodities “from the point that those properties are the product of human labour”, then a glittering example of toil and graft from a significant body of men producing something worth its weight in gold would be the construction of Rome’s Flavian Amphitheatre (Colosseum). Its construction commenced in 72AD and finished in 80AD, spanning 8 years in human labour and requiring thousands of skilled labourers and slaves to produce such a structure.
Though always an aesthetically pleasing amphitheatre (especially before devastating earthquakes and stone robbers left it partially ruined) it was neither originally nor primarily there for the public to bask in its splendorous structure or to admire the human labour exerted its construction. Never more so than when it housed mock sea battles, animal hunts and re-enactments of famous battles did it act as a true commodity, a source of entertainment, an object of desire; its value marked by recipients concept of its value towards their social lives.
In the present day, when the Colosseum no longer houses spectacles but is simply a spectacle itself, it draws in around 3.9 million tourists each year. Our concept of its value is now transferred to the rich fruits of labour involved, the iconoclastic nature of the architecture involved. It is an iconic symbol of Imperial Rome, and whilst the people involved in its construction at the time were merely put upon slaves, they are now greatly admired and their architectural endeavour induces awe.
The value of commodities is perceived differently by everybody, but each perception is cut from the same cloth and is undoubtedly connected.

Coffee and Cigarettes

In laymen’s terms, film as a medium is the manifestation of theories; and therefore is a practice. Theory being a body of ideas or principles, and practice being any active usage of a theory.
Now that I’ve cut right through the baloney, I’m going to natter about the theories and subtext behind Jim Jarmush’s Coffee and Cigarettes. Alas, I must shun Jan Svanmejer’s Food, for it piqued my gag reflex more so than it did my interest.
I watched Coffee and Cigarettes no longer than one week prior to the screening of several clips from the film on Thursday 13th January. I really enjoyed observing the conversations and interactions on show, because due to the mise-en-scène being quite minimalist, the social relations were the most significant aspect of the movie. The communication, both verbal and physical, provided wit, charm and intrigue.
There were, however, two key props running throughout the course of the movie. Can you guess what they were?
Correctamundo, they were coffee and cigarettes. Two commodities which many of the characters desire and even need, and which shape the interactions greatly. The opening vignette, featuring Steven Wright and Roberto Benigni, is perhaps one of the most notable examples. Their encounter appears to be somewhat serendipitous and fairly unlikely, and it is indeed coffee and cigarettes that shape the very fabric of their meeting. Benigni is portrayed as a caffeine junky, having ordered several espressos and by shaking like a vibrating bed. Steven Wright spouts the to-be-recycled line about drinking coffee before bedtime. This is then thrown into an addictive conversational mixture that also includes a barmy idea regarding coffee popsicles and the discussion of smoking habits. In a relatively short scene, we see how coffee and cigarettes provide a true nucleus to an encounter that in many other contexts could be tepid at best.
Even when coffee is partly substituted for herbal tea, like in the Delirium story, the shorts are constant and inextricably linked. In the mentioned vignette, the commodities form the conversations, such as the discussion of the benefits of herbal tea and alternative medicine. As with many of the other shorts, there are quirks and amusements on show, most notably the unexplained oddity of Bill Murray hiding out as a waiter.
Overall, I’d say this is a fantastic series of films that effortlessly bounce off each other. By the end, you crave even more (well, after a crafty fag and cup of coffee) as you truly appreciate the subtle eccentricities of regular, stripped down conversations. Moreover, it alerts you to the unsavoury habits and addictions you may not even realise you have.