Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975) – C. Akerman

Named as the #1 Greatest Film of All Time in the 2022 Sight and Sound critics poll (which runs every 10 years) and shockingly I had never seen it.  But when to find the time to watch a 3 hour and 22 minute film, masterpiece though it may be?  With my family off to visit Japan, now was the time. How strange then, the synergies with my current “lonely” lifestyle and the plot of the film, which finds widow Jeanne Dielman (Delphine Seyrig) performing ordinary household chores on her own all day long while her teenage son is at school.  This is often hailed as a key feminist film due to the primacy of “women’s work” (in all its drudgery) – and Jeanne receives little gratitude or even acknowledgement from her largely non-communicative son.  His only real comments seem to focus on his mother’s sex life, revealing some Freudian subtexts.  Little does he know that Jeanne also draws an income from prostitution, with daily male guests to her little bedroom. Throughout the three days we follow her, she is emotionless and we get not even a tiny glimpse of what is going on in her mind. Yet tension builds through the endless “minimalist” scenes that director Chantal Akerman stages for us: endless “real time” minutes of washing dishes or peeling potatoes or walking to the shops. The tiny apartment (and seemingly the world outside) is perfectly colour coded in pale greens and blues and Jeanne’s wardrobe matches. Every shot is static, usually head on.  But as the running time accumulates and the perpetual routines continue to be enacted, we start to notice little things.  Was the stove left on? (It was).  Did she not button a button or comb her hair? (She did not). On the third day, we start the really wonder whether everything is okay for her. She stares off into space a bit more, some tasks might not be getting done. After the long slow build, this is riveting. The film ends with a surprising climax. In retrospect, the 200 odd minutes passed surprisingly quickly, holding your attention with its sheer audaciousness and with little mysteries (what is the flashing blue light anyway?). So, is this the greatest film of all time? The case would be that it has experimented dramatically with cinematic form while also making important arguments about the inequity -- and well-being destroying effects -- of women’s work (including prostitution) and the economic plight of single mothers. Fascinating, if you can find the time (and you should).