Francofonia

Aleksandr Sokurov's Francofonia is an audacious exploration of art, power, and historical memory, defying traditional cinematic categorizations. It hovers somewhere between experimental non-fiction and a dreamlike essay film, offering a fragmented, yet visually poetic reflection on the Louvre Museum and its entwinement with French and European identity. While the film's conceptual ambition is undeniable, its execution oscillates between enthralling and disorienting, leaving the viewer in a state of contemplation-though not without moments of frustration.

From a technical standpoint, Francofonia is a masterclass in Sokurov's signature visual style. The cinematography evokes the textures of classical paintings, with muted tones and painterly compositions that envelop the viewer in a tangible sense of history. Sokurov's camera glides through the Louvre's corridors, transforming the museum into a living entity. His use of archival footage interwoven with contemporary sequences and re-enactments creates a layered narrative tapestry, though one that occasionally feels too fragmented to fully resonate.

The film's sound design and musical choices add another layer of complexity. Sokurov's narration-delivered in a contemplative, almost melancholic tone-acts as a philosophical guide, though it can veer into opaque soliloquies that risk alienating the audience. The integration of historical soundscapes with modern audio elements underscores the timelessness of art while subtly reminding us of its fragility.

Performances by the actors portraying historical figures, such as Jacques Jaujard and Count Metternich, are understated yet effective, capturing the quiet tension and mutual respect between these two unlikely collaborators. However, the symbolic appearances of Napoleon and Marianne, while visually striking, feel overwrought and detract from the film's thematic coherence. These moments attempt to inject a mythic quality into the narrative but come across as heavy-handed and repetitive.

One of the film's most compelling elements is its philosophical inquiry into the relationship between art and imperialism. Sokurov doesn't shy away from pointing out the Louvre's history as a repository of plundered treasures, raising provocative questions about cultural ownership and the ethics of preservation. Yet, his meditations often lack clarity, leaving viewers to wade through abstract musings that don't always coalesce into a clear argument.

As a companion piece to Sokurov's earlier Russian Ark, Francofonia is both a continuation and a departure. While Russian Ark dazzled with its audacious single-take structure and cohesive narrative flow, Francofonia opts for a more fragmented and introspective approach. This shift in style is both its strength and its weakness: it offers moments of profound beauty and insight but also tests the viewer's patience with its meandering structure.

In the end, Francofonia is less a film about the Louvre than a meditation on the intersections of art, war, and human ambition. It demands a viewer willing to engage with its complexities and forgive its indulgences. For those seeking a traditional documentary or a straightforward narrative, this may feel like an exercise in pretension. But for those open to Sokurov's idiosyncratic vision, Francofonia offers a singular-if uneven-cinematic experience.

"Francofonia" (2015 release from France; 90 min.) is a non-fiction movie loosely about the Louvre museum in Paris. As the movie opens, we hear a certain Alexander (that would be the movie's Russian director Alexander Sokurov) in conversation with a certain Dirk, who is on an ocean liner with art in one of its containers. It's not long before Sokurov directs his attention to June 14, 1940, when German troops overtook Paris, including archive footage of Hitler inspecting the Eiffel Tower and muttering "Where is the Louvre?" Eventually, we are introduced to Jacques Jaujard, the Louvre's museum director at that time, and Count Metternich, entrusted by Hitler to supervise the Louvre's art collection for the Nazis. At this point we're not quite 15 min. into the movie, but to tell you more would spoil your viewing experience. You'll just have to see for yourself how it all plays out.

Couple of comments: this is the latest oeuvre from writer-director Aleander Sokurov, best know for "Russian Ark" (about the Hermitage in St. Petersburg). In fact it can be said that "Francofonia" is a spiritual sequel to that movie. Going in, I knew that "Francofonia" was about the Louvre, but didn't know more than that. And while it is true that the movie's primary subject matter is the Louvre, it is in equal measure about the WWII occupation of Paris by the Germans, and a bunch of other things as well ("why are portraits so important in European culture, whereas they are non-existent in the Muslim culture?", asks Sokurov). Even while it's not always clear what the ultimate aim or direction of the movie is, that's not a problem for me. The only jarring thing for me was the occasional and unnecessary appearance of actors impersonating Napoleon (whom we see staring at the Mona Lisa, while repeating "C'est moi!") and France. And oh yea, we do get to see a bunch of paintings and other works of art from the Louvre. In the end, I was surprised how quickly the 90 min. had flown by, so while this movie is rather strange, it certainly is intriguing and held my attention.

This movie made quite a splash at the 2015 Venice Film Festival. "Francofonia" opened without any pre-release fanfare or advertising at my local art-house theater here in Cincinnati a week ago, and the Thursday early evening screening where I saw this at was one of its last, as the movie was gone the next day. I was frankly surprised how many people there were (about 10), but maybe they had the same thought as I did (better see this before it's gone!). If you are in the mood for a deeply subjective non-fiction film (but don't call it a documentary) about the Louvre, I'd readily suggest you check this out.

Sometimes what we've seen before is enough. Director/ Writer Aleksandr Sokurov, who did so well with 'The Russian Ark,' a seamless, one-long- take tour of the Hermitage, does fails heavily with the Louvre. The computerized opening is mere gadgetry; a sour Napoleon brags about the art he stole for the Louvre; Marianne, the personification of France, appears serially, glumly droning Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité rather too often. Earlier Mariannes (e.g. Bardot, Deneuve, Casta) were at least lookers. Too much time is spent on stuff long-since covered by 'Monuments Men' and at least one TV documentary on the Nazi occupation and art looting. As nothing new is added, 'bored stiff' will have a literal meaning unless your theater has really good seats.

Director Sokurov eschews the usual form for this type of film, which would be documentary, in favor of a sort of historical drama. It switches back and forth from the present era to WWII to the 18th century. It is an attempt to explain the history of The Louvre by integrating several different phases in its existence; The acquisition of much of the artwork by Napoleon in his conquests, transporting it out of harms way before the Nazi occupation, and a contemporary recap of the logistics and hazards involved in each phase.

Can I be frank? I found the whole exercise somewhat confusing. I would get the gist of a particular scenario, only to have the director switch gears and move to another era and another circumstance, and having to readjust my focus and concentration on this new problem (where are we now?, I kept asking myself). I enjoyed glimpses of the Great Hall, the Mona Lisa and several other treasures that go to make The Louvre the epicenter of western culture. All I was asking was a little clarity.

Maybe he just could have made it a documentary.

Revered Russian director Aleksandr Sokurov's paean to the Louvre Museum and mankind's art treasure is an inventive genre-buster but also a bemusing underachiever. Reconstructing the scenarios of Louvre under Nazi occupation during WWII, Sokurov blots out the distinctions between documentary and fiction filmmaking: archival documents and vintage photos, recurring shots of an anonymous apartment at present where video footage of a struggling cargo ship amid the choppy ocean is playing on the computer, interlaced into a lax narrative re-enacting the story between Jacques Jaujard (de Lencquesaing), the director of the French National Museums and a Nazi officer, Count Franz Wolff-Metternich (Utzerath), predominantly, their so-called Kunstschutz (art protection) movement during WWII, which has spawned a feeble Hollywood dramatization, George Clooney's star-studded THE MONUMENTS MEN (2014).

Yet, the film's overall effort fails to pass muster as a competent infotainment which dissects the cardinal situation where arts and warfare corralled together, Sokurov's platitudinous commentaries breathe with a wisp of solipsistic sentiment, although perambulating inside the Louvre is inherently enchanting, and Sokurov's slick camera-work guides viewer to the ensconced masterpieces with his trademark aplomb and dexterity, not to mention the awesome temporal morphing panorama feat. Personally, the segment where the camera slithers around a mummy exhibit is quaintly numinous. But our tour is often interrupted by a resurrected Napoléon Bonaparte (Nemeth), repugnant and irksome in his boosted egoism, and Marianne (Korthals Altes) repetitively uttering the incantation of "liberty, equality and fraternity", when you have the entire Louvre at your feet, but we are only allowed to glance at such a limited purview, rank dissatisfaction inevitably materializes. Stripped off the "single take" stunt with which he has stunned the world in Russian ARK (2002), this belated pendant work haplessly betrays that Sokurov's ambition and talent has ebbed away significantly, especially when his disaffected grouse can be overtly detected through counterpointing the disparate circumstances between France and his fatherland, a close-minded overtone of editorializing writ large woefully.