Going Places (1974)

          In some ways, the loathsome protagonists in French director Bertrand Blier’s gonzo dramedy Going Places are cousins to the madman played by Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange (1971). Like McDowell’s character Alex, the hedonists in Going Places move through the world on pure instinct, stealing anything they want, destroying property when the mood strikes them, and using women as unfeeling receptacles for their hateful lusts. Yet while Alex occupies a world of consequences, the buddies in Going Places roam free, so it’s difficult to understand what sort of statement Blier, who adapted the movie from his own novel, wanted to make. Similarly, it’s tough to accept the notion that Going Places elevated Gérard Depardieu to star status. He’s extraordinarily loose and naturalistic in Going Places, so it’s not as if the film fails to showcase his talents. The question is why audiences responded to such a deeply unsympathetic character. De gustibus non est disputandum.

          Jean-Claude (Depardieu) and Pierrot (Patrick Dewaere) travel through France looking for adventures, sex, and thrills, usually making their way from one place to the next by robbing pedestrians or stealing unattended vehicles. One night, while burglarizing a shop that belongs to a pimp, they kidnap a prostitute named Marie-Ange (Miou-Miou). During the crime, Pierrot gets shot in the testicle, though he later rallies his energy to rape Marie-Ange. Afterward, he complains that she’s sexually unresponsive. Inexplicably, she finds the abuse endearing, so before the boys release her, she obliges their request to “touch her ass hairs” for luck. And this is only the first half-hour of the picture, which gets more depraved with each passing moment. In one scene, the degenerates pay a sexy young mother to let them suck her breasts for milk, and in another, Jean-Claude rapes Pierrot because, they, that’s what friends are for. Following a strange and tragic episode with a recently paroled criminal, played by the great Jeanne Moreau in an affront to her cinematic dignity, the boys reconnect with Marie-Ange, since they want to provide her as a sexual plaything for a young man of their acquaintance. Oh, and at some point the lads kindly deflower a virgin, played by Isabelle Huppert in an early role, and, naturally, she thanks them for the courtesy.

          In nearly any other movie, characters behaving this way would be portrayed as sociopaths, but given the lightness of touch he applies to his storytelling, Blier seems determined to portray his vile protagonists as playful anarchists. While it’s dangerous to view Going Places through the narrow prism of conventional American morality, whatever that phrase means, the sheer amount of damage inflicted by the men in Going Places is shocking, so the movie begs for contexualization.
          Setting aside larger questions, the film has virtues that surpass its bizarre narrative. Some of the performances are lively, while others, including Moreau’s, are intriguingly stylized. Peppy jazz-guitar musical interludes by Stéphane Grappelli add bounce, particularly when coupled with Blier’s technique of using scene transitions to create visual punchlines. Furthermore, cinematographer Bruno Nuytten’s lovingly crafted images exude warmth. It’s possible there’s a provocative satire buried somewhere inside Going Places, and the film unquestionably skewers the cosmic joke known as the male animal. (The original French title translates to The Testicles.) Yet even though Going Places is weirdly compelling thanks to jaunty pacing and provocative events, it’s nauseating to watch two hours of men cheerfully abusing women. Make what you will of the fact that Depardieu, notorious in real life for boorish behavior, later made seven more movies with Blier.

Going Places: FREAKY

Monte Walsh (1970)

          A lovingly photographed ode to an aging cowboy trying to make sense of his life in the waning days of the Old West era, Monte Walsh is evocative and humane despite glacial pacing and murky storytelling. One of the few films directed by the venerable cinematographer William A. Fraker, the picture looks fantastic from start to finish, with dusty scenes of hard men battling nature plus glamorously lit romantic vignettes; furthermore, the production design makes every costume and prop feel like a real object that’s been used for tough work. The authenticity continues through to the dialogue, which is effective in an unpretentious sort of way (“I ain’t gonna spit on my whole life,” the title character says when faced with the prospect of becoming a performer in a Wild West sideshow). The big problem with Monte Walsh is that for all of its insight and texture, the picture doesn’t have a particularly strong story.

          Based on a novel by Jack Schaefer, the tale concerns graying cowboys Monte (Lee Marvin) and Chet (Jack Palance), who struggle to find work as employers including straight-shooting rancher Cal (Jim Davis) lose market share to omnivorous conglomerates. Meanwhile, the boys fall into a violent ongoing rivalry with Shorty (Mitch Ryan), a younger man with a bad temper and a buffoonish tendency to show off his riding skills. Monte also has an ongoing quasi-romance with a French prostitute, Martine (Jeanne Moreau), and even though they talk about settling down, she knows Monte will be out riding horses until he dies.

          There’s a somber quality to the whole picture, as if every character knows a gloomy future awaits, and the film uses irony for effective counterpoint (Mama Cass sings a wistful theme song, “The Good Times Are Coming,” which is appears as a sad refrain throughout the movie). Unfortunately, even though many moments are touching, there’s a fundamental lack of psychological clarity, so heavy scenes of characters facing their demons are perplexing. For instance, what is Monte trying to prove during the movie’s biggest action scene, when he breaks a bronco over the course of a wild ride that destroys half a town?

         Despite the handicap of a muddy script, Marvin and Palance give plaintive performances, and the supporting cast is strong. Though Moreau is badly underused in one of her few English-language pictures (Monte Walsh isn’t terribly concerned with the lives of women), Davis, Ryan, Billy “Green” Bush, Matt Clark, and Bo Hopkins all essay vivid frontier types. FYI, Hollywood took another crack at Schafer’s novel when Monte Walsh was remade for television in 2003, this time with Tom Selleck in the title role.

Monte Walsh: FUNKY