1972 represents a zenith for Marlon Brando, giving two of his most iconic performances: that of the Don Vito Corleone in The Godfather, and as Paul in Bernardo Bertolucci’s notorious Last Tango in Paris. Its more than safe to say that different aspects of Tango would be far less effective without the presence of Brando and Maria Schneider as Jeanne (absolutely gorgeous, by the way), they both brings their characters to life in all their flaws and idiosyncrasies.Paul is a middle aged American living in the beautiful city of Paris. Having recently lost his wife by means unknown to the audience, Paul takes up a relationship with the (absolutely gorgeous) Jeanne, a young and engaged Parisian, after they meet in a dilapidated apartment. Paul insists their relationship be kept anonymous from themselves, in one of the films most important lines, “You and I are gonna meet here, without knowing anything that goes on outside here. Okay? Because we don’t need names here, don’t you see? We’re gonna forget everything that we knew, all the people, all that we do, wherever we live. We’re gonna forget that, everything.” In this single monologue, Paul not only disconnects their encounters from the events controlling his real life, and he sets his control and dominance over Jeanne.
This is an important detail that through the films use of erotic sex scenes becomes all the more apparent as the running time stretches toward its conclusion, never is Jeanne once in control over her and Paul’s sexual tryst. When they first meet in the apartment (which stands as a barrier between them and the world which Paul attempts to shut out), it is Paul who comes on to Jeanne, not the other way around. Even when Paul has Jeanne stick two of her fingers up his ass, he is in complete control, commanding her to trim her nails, telling her exactly what to do; him raping her with the butter. The entire situation is about him gaining control back over his life, which was turned upside down by his wife’s sudden suicide. Part of how he does this is by keeping his history and his self a secret from Jeanne, by, as Pauline Kael said, mythologizing himself in her eyes.
I noticed this more when I read Kael’s famous review, but Paul really is the realization of the American “tough guy” in all his flaws, both on the surface and buried deep down, completely ingrained into his broken psyche.
When Jeanne initially attempts to leave their anonymous charade, Paul attempts to regain control by giving her all his information, his “life story” and when this doesn’t work, the only way he can regain total control is by releasing himself completely; he lets go of reality and the social constrictions of the real world and looses himself to himself. Paul’s nihilistic turn ends in tragedy, chasing Jeanne through the streets of Paris to her mother’s apartment, where an ingeniously subtle piece of foreshadowing cruelly lends itself to Paul’s demise. Having been shot, Paul places a piece of gum under the railing lining the apartments’ balcony, and collapses, dead. Jeanne silently muttering to herself, “I don’t know who he is, he followed me in the street. He tried to rape me. I don’t know what he’s called. I don’t know who he is.” What is truly tragic about Jeanne’s final lines is that while like the gum under the railing, Paul may have left his impression on her life, but those practiced fabrications of her story to the police, “I don’t know who he is” are completely true.
Last Tango in Paris represented one of the first major uses of eroticism not just in film, but for film. Unlike Oshima’s use of sex as narrative four-years later for In the Realm of the Senses (which, while inventive as an idea, made for a dull film), Bertolucci uses sex to further his narrative as opposed to replace it. Every sex scene represents a stage in the characters personal annihilation, and they deepen our understanding of these characters emotionally. While this was expected to permeate itself into future filmmaking endeavors, not only has it never really caught on (Oshima’s experiment being a notable exception, as well as Guccione’s disastrous attempt to inject explicit sex into the infamous Caligula [1979]), Last Tango in Paris has all but disappeared into many a film goers subconscious.
This is a shame, as Tango still stands as a well made, exceptionally well acted and effective film some thirty-eight years later. The cinematography by Vittorio Storazo, who seven years later who lend to considerable talents to Francis Ford Coppola for Apocalypse Now, is the kind of steamy, atmospheric visual splendor that lends itself perfectly to such an erotically charged picture as this. The score by Gato Barbieri is lush and evocative; and these are also perfect descriptors for the film itself. My only complaints with the film are that it seems to lose its sense of time, feeling like it takes place over a longer period then the three days these characters turbulent affair actually lasted. There are also times when scenes feel like they have little significance to the film, particularly those involving Jeanne’s fiancé (Jean-Pierre Léaud), they fit thematically, but not cinematically; their significance is more deeply buried and takes a deeper, further reading into the film then is normal. This may not necessarily be a bad thing, but for me it pulled me from the otherwise lush experience of the film.
*** ½ out of ****
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