The Last Days of FilmStruck: Vivre sa vie (1962)

I know what I want to say. I think first about whether they’re the right words. But when the moment comes to speak, I can’t say it.

This monologue is taken from the main character in Jean-Luc Godard’s film, Vivre sa vie (My Life to Live). The film is an experimental rumination on prostitution (much like The 400 Blows is a rumination — or exposé — of the mistreatment of incarcerated youth in the juvenile systems of France in its time) and at times it feels transcendent. I could be reading into things that aren’t there — perhaps it’s the remarkable “movie theater vigil” with The Passion of Joan of Arc that provides such a uniquely spiritual feeling to the film — but I find the entire thing grabs ahold of me and wrings my neck like a Dostoyevsky novel. It’s bitter, it’s philosophical, and it’s cold. [spoilers herein]