Band of Outsiders (Godard, 1964)

I feel utterly deficient in attempting to write anything on Jean-Luc Godard’s Band of Outsiders. The best I can do is put down some of my immediate, disjointed thoughts and disregard the “scholarly discussion” that a film with such a lofty reputation often inspires.

The only other reference point I have toward Godard is Breathless, a somewhat adequate comparison as both are spoofs of B-movies and the crime caper genre. Godard once famously decreed, “ All you need to make a movie is a gun and a girl,” and both films are pay heed to that declaration.

If Breathless and Band of Outsiders are cut of similar cloths, Band is a more expertly and elegantly crafted film. While Breathless was Godard’s first film, shot on a shoestring budget and with the no-name actors, Band is sleek and crisp, the work of an experienced director. It has fewer of those distractingly hectic jump cuts—I’m aware that statement may amount to blasphemy, but it’s an honest opinion—and a much better story.

Band is less ephemeral, but Godard keeps his signature sense of improvisation, of freshness stemming from the off-the-cuff quality of his dialogue. Our trio of thieves is a hapless gang, neither they or the audience is fully aware of what should be happening as they stumble through the film. Godard’s capriciousness is a proverbial breath of fresh air; the spontaneity with which the trio decides to run through the Louvre in record time is inspiring as a portrait of youth and whim. (Oh god, I really do sound like a pedantic 40-year-old critic here.)

Band of Outsiders has been described as Godard’s most accessible film, maybe because it has been paid tribute to by none other than American Cinematic God Quentin Tarantino himself. (Yes, that was tongue in cheek there.) Bandeis perhaps most accessible because it functions as the ultimate tugger of heartstringers—a love story.

Godard presents a very hackneyed story—guy likes girl who likes other guy—amidst another very hackneyed story—the planning of a robbery. It works because his three lead actors find a perfect balance among each other. I must admit, however, that I never cared much for Arthur (Claude Brasseur), who always struck me as a scoundrel. Sami Frey’s dark brooding Franz seemed a much better fit with the awkward, naïve Odile. I mentioned before being captivated by Anna Karina even before ever watching her in a film, and she does not fail me here either. Odile is not the most romantic girl (despite what the narration may say), nor is she the most beautiful, nor is she even witty or intelligent. Yet Karina manages to captivate on screen because Odile is Odile and Karina is Karina.