Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I write to you from temporary lodgings, owing to the fact that my goddamn apartment caught fire some time early Sunday morning. We all made it out okay, and from what I hear they’ll be able to save the building, but good lord is it a shock to wake up to screeching alarms, open your bedroom door, and stare out into a hallway entirely consumed by black smoke. So yeah, it hasn’t been a great few days, with significantly more focus spent on finding shelter and surviving than exploring the infinite mysteries of cinematic art. Fortunately, my film review buffer is substantial and I still managed a couple viewings late last week, so our weekly film explorations can still proceed as usual. Let’s try to embrace a sliver of normalcy among the chaos, and break down a fresh Week in Review!

First up this week was Breathless, Jean-Luc Godard’s debut feature. The film stars Jean-Paul Belmondo as a car thief who foolishly shoots a cop, and Jean Seberg as the American girlfriend he hopes will join him in his escape to Rome. If you’re trying to pin Breathless down in terms of narrative, then I suppose you could call it a noir thriller about the noose closing round Belmondo. But Breathless is not a film about narrative; it is a film about characters and moments, seeking to explore how we define ourselves against the world and through our love.

Most of Breathless is taken up by scenes of talking or driving, or sometimes talking while driving. Mundane, business-oriented conversations will be clipped at a staccato rhythm, cuts quickening the breadth between sentences, as if the camera too is eager to get on with it. Car rides are more languorous, leaving time for admiring the scenery or airing idle thoughts, though still mediated by cuts that seemingly excise errant blinks or daydreams. Talks in bed are most luxurious of all, with Belmondo and Seberg’s conversations rambling idly from dreams of the future to favored cigarettes. Nearly every moment of this film is dedicated to character and texture for its own sake; nothing here exists for an arbitrary narrative function, it is all simply people talking and experiencing, such that we in the audience come to know them better than they know themselves. 

As you might guess, Breathless’ priorities were an absolute delight to me. Godard’s film embodies my opinions on plot versus character and theme, proving that just the barest threads of genre convention are necessary to instill life as it is lived with a sense of dramatic momentum. Belmondo and Seberg’s mutual fascination is made obvious through their idle talks, as well as the orthogonal perspectives on life’s purpose that will inevitably divide them. Seberg’s imperfect French echoes the youthful idealism of her philosophy, as well as the giddy novelty of her intrusion into Belmondo’s world. In contrast, Belmondo’s fatalism is anchored in his ego, ensuring the film’s last act feels as inevitable as any perfectly crafted sting. You can draw whatever lesson you wish from their love (or see it as a prism for mid-century transatlantic relations more generally), but Breathless itself refuses to moralize. It is merely revealing to us human truth, and hoping we enjoy the experience.

Next up was Night of the Comet, an ‘84 scifi-horror-comedy about a comet that passes close above the earth, vaporizing most humans and turning the rest into semi-conscious zombies. The only people who avoid this fate are those who spent the comet’s passage inside some sort of steel building, which just so happens to include valley girl sisters Reggie and Sam. Fortunately, the two are well-prepared for a post-apocalypse owing to their soldier father’s training, and proceed to chew gum and blast submachine guns all across Los Angeles.

Night of the Comet is a breezy, rambling, and generally enjoyable time, with its mixture of adolescent ennui and supernatural danger making it easy to see how it inspired Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Catherine Mary Stewart and Kelli Maroney make for a charming pair of sisters, and the color-filtered shots of an abandoned Los Angeles create a surprisingly tangible sense of paranoia and dread. The film’s low-budget seams are clear to see, and the inclusion of a secret scientific laboratory means the last act gets a touch unwieldy, but it’s altogether an easy afternoon watch.

Our next viewing was The Blade of the 47 Ronin, a loosely affiliated sequel to Keanu Reeves’ 47 Ronin, which sees us following the titular legendary blade three hundred years down the line, when evil witches are now attempting to claim it and destroy the world’s last remaining samurai. That preposterously convoluted backstory was clearly extrapolated backwards from this film’s actual intent: cyberpunk-tinged sword fights between warriors in quasi-goth regalia.

While the film’s stars aren’t exactly top notch martial artists, the fight choreography and cinematography are strong enough to keep the ride on the rails. And most crucially, Master Chef’s Chairman Mark Dacascos stars as the old head of our main clan, performing a role akin to Lawrence Fishburn’s Morpheus. I have an abiding love for Dacascos, and am always delighted to see him pop up in random martial arts roles. I wouldn’t say this film is worth the watch without that added appeal, but for any true Chairmanheads, this is a must-see feature.

We followed that up with a genuine martial arts classic, Tony Jaa’s breakout vehicle Ong-Bak. Ong-Bak is gritty, propulsive, and absolutely overflowing with absurdly hard-hitting fight sequences. Muay Thai is quite simply one of the most brutal martial arts in existence, focused largely on connecting punishing blows from the hardest, most spear-like points in your body. And Jaa is a terrifying titan of the form, with the film’s generous array of pit fights seeing him size up against footwork specialists, brawlers, and much else besides.

Alongside the thrilling fight scenes, Ong-Bak also demonstrates Jaa’s clear appreciation for Jackie Chan cinema, featuring plenty of playful gymnastics displays and inventive chase sequences. Following the classic template of “rural man must head to the city to reclaim his village’s treasure,” Ong Bak barrels through fights and narrative developments at a perpetual sprint, offering a stunning martial arts tableau with no fat whatsoever. A must-see for any martial arts fans.