Jules and Jim

"But not this one, Jim, all right?"

When it comes to the films of the French New Wave, movie buffs can often be divided into two camps: Francois Truffaut fans and Jean-Luc Godard fans. Me? Well, I've always been more of a Truffaut guy. Don't get me wrong, I still greatly admire many aspects of Godard's more experimental and intellectual approach to cinema, but there's always been something special about Truffaut's unbridled passion for moviemaking -- a certain exuberance and joy for the craft found in every frame of his work that never fails to inspire me. And the director's 1962 masterpiece, 'Jules and Jim,' is a perfect example of this playful cinematic enthusiasm. A wondrously stylistic exercise in formalistic flash, a blithe celebration of love and friendship, and a bittersweet tragedy all wrapped into one, the film is among the legendary director's very best work, and remains one of the quintessential hallmarks of the French New Wave.

Based on Henri-Pierre Roche's novel of the same name, the story follows two best friends -- Jules (Oskar Werner) and Jim (Henri Serre) -- as they both fall in love with the same woman, the carefree and unpredictable Catherine (Jeanne Moreau). As their love triangle traverses several ups and downs, for a time it eventually seems like the three might be able to live happily together, but Catherine's continually capricious and occasionally vindictive behavior eventually disrupts their peaceful existence, potentially spelling doom for the lovers' hopes of uncomplicated bliss.

Truffaut opens the film with a potent explosion of free-flowing style, perfectly setting the stage for the inventive and methodically unruly experience to follow. A montage of quick cutting sequences economically establish the effortless friendship between the title characters, and brief flashes of future scenes offer tantalizing promises of what is to come. Likewise, a fast-talking narrator fills us in on little details and internal thoughts, elaborating on what's on screen and in the characters' thoughts while evoking the spirit of the novel in a cinematic manner. Likewise, the rest of the runtime offers a similar abundance of formalistic moviemaking techniques, calling attention to the film's existence as a motion picture without disrupting the story or emotions of the narrative.

Key lines of dialogue will appear written on-screen emphasizing their significance, superimpositions will layer images over one another, and periodic freeze frames will suspend important moments in time, heightening the reality of the story in ways that only cinema can. And all of these intermittent flourishes are held aloft by a persistently kinetic and buoyant shooting style, defined by wondrous camera movements. Tracks, dollies, cranes, zooms, and handheld shots all litter the picture, and Truffaut frequently avoids traditional coverage through frequent pans and twirling images that circle and whirl around characters and locations, using the shifting frame to draw connections. Extended sequences and montages showcase the central trio during idyllic stretches in their relationship, highlighting bicycle rides and day trips to the beach, and all of these scenarios absolutely brim with life thanks to Truffaut's irresistible visual style.

But as light, quick, and exuberant as much of the pacing and style can be, there are also notable segments where the director will slow down the tempo, giving way to quietly dramatic, romantic, sensual, and melancholy passages that hint at deeper pathos and impending tragedy. The characters' unconventional relationship is treated with a deft hand, revealing all of the joy and pain it can cause, and Truffaut's highly influential direction is bolstered wonderfully by powerful performances. Oskar Werner and Henri Serre are great as the unsuspecting friends who both fall for the same women. Werner, in particularly, ends up becoming a rather sympathetic figure, and as the love struck Jules he walks a fine line between pathetic devotion and selfless adoration. Meanwhile, Serre's Jim is a bit harder to pin down, but the actor imbues the character with charm and frustration as he increasingly rebels against his lover's fickle whims.

And then there is Catherine herself. Simply put, Jeanne Moreau is a revelation here, and together, she and Truffaut craft one of cinema's most memorable and multifaceted female leads. A true force of nature, Catherine is strong-willed, playful, stubborn, full of life, spiteful and absolutely untamable. Those last two bits prove to be the source of much of the film's drama, and while the woman can be unlikeable at times, Moreau gives the part layers of depth, balancing her unsavory qualities with an incandescent spark that shines whenever she's on screen. More than just a mere object of desire or a source of conflict for Jules and Jim, she is a fully realized character all her own -- packed with irresistible allure and costly flaws.

Through his adaptation of Henri-Pierre Roche's novel, director Francois Truffaut effectively capitalizes on all of the unique attributes of filmmaking, using form and style to translate the literary into the cinematic, creating a work brimming with visual and auditory texture. Lively, bouncy, full of substance, and marked by just the right amount of jaunty disorder, the film's influential style has gone on to inspire many modern filmmakers (perhaps most notably, Wes Anderson) and continues to feel fresh and innovative to this day. And beneath all of that impressive flash, is a rich, emotional, heartfelt, joyful, and occasionally somber narrative about deep friendship and love between "three lunatics." One of Truffaut's crowning achievements, 'Jules and Jim' remains an essential and timeless piece of world cinema, ensuring that Catherine's unknowable smile will continue to entice and bemuse unsuspecting audiences for years to come.

The Blu-ray: Vital Disc Stats

Criterion presents 'Jules and Jim' in a Dual Format Blu-ray/DVD combo pack. A BD-50 Region A disc and two DVDs come packaged in a foldout case housed in a cardboard slipcover with spine number 281. A booklet featuring an essay by critic John Powers, a 1981 piece by Truffaut about Roche, and some of Truffaut's script notes to co-writer Gruault is also included.