Kung-fu master!

I undertook a time machine type ride heavily imbued with nostalgia when I saw this film in 2005.Kung Fu master directed by the unofficial grand mother of French new wave cinema Agnes Varda is as relevant in our contemporary times as it was 20 years ago in a not so distant past of 1987.It was a time of ubiquitous video games and all the unending worries,fears and anxieties related to a mysterious disease called AIDS. In this film it was nice to see some young French actors who ever since have nicely grown up such as Lou Doillon,Charlotte Gainsbourg and Mathieu Demy.The mystical Agnes Varda touch is very much evident and she takes her viewers on a tour of two different countries where our leading lady Jane Birkin has resided :England and France.Kung Fu master also contains in itself a puppy tale of juvenile love.In the hands of a less versatile director this would have been an absolute catastrophe but due to Agnes Varda's experience in handling such a complex tale of human emotions, what we get is one of the most personal wonderful statements of 21th Century on love.This is the only plausible reason for viewers to watch this film.

A requiem for a long-lost youth begging to close the door on the past bereavements by tricking the ungainly mother living her lorn childhood dream; This time with the pure, yet infeasible love of a playful child.

Such doomed to failure passion for an immature boy seems to be incontrovertible to all the sane,mature beings, yet the irresistible temptation of being cherished and loved by someone after a long time, even for a small moment, makes the ill-fated adult mother blind to the consequences.

An uncanny story which which may choose to express itself simply and plainly, by not going too deep and remains at the surface with its characters, but still is satisfying,well-crafted and well-played.

/ B+

Kung Fu Master is about a 14 y/o who fell head over heals with his classmates mother, who shockingly returned the favor. It is very 'French' at that. Other quirks of the film is that it is family affair. Its stars Charlotte Gainsborough and her mom Jane Birkin, and Varda's son Matthew.

I definitely watched this brand of 'French' films.

More about a study of the extends of Human Sexuality under cut with smart Social Commentary. This time around AIDS, and the idea of loving someone with a certain kind of baggage.

I always have a rule with this film with moral bent.

If its actively trying to be weird and tries to remove the moral compass of the situation, it kind of fails. This falls deeply in that category. Jane Birkin's character is so enthused by the attention AND I felt that the two times in the film that this situation actually is placed on the spot is not enough against how many times Varda tries to 'dramatize' and 'make sense' of the situation. It clearly does not irk a lot since the male character is not as sexualized AND given the free reign as the active pursuer of the relationship. The ending does work on his end though. But her story needs more.

This is very bad. Always - there is an adult in the situation guys. She is a bad example. I hate how Varda is just trying to justify the relationship in an unironic way.

What makes me doubly sad is that Varda directed this film wonderfully. Well photographed, well directed, and phenomenally acted. Its practically crisp. I wished that it went harder to be honest. Its a material that needs more reckoning, more reactions from others. Its too focused on her in a bad way.

Not Recommended.

The plot is understandable for the initial 50 minutes or so. The emotions and feelings that are not meant to be shared or are considered taboo are brought out innocently and "understandably". But it all changes once the plots takes you to London. It remains no lonher 'understandable" and begs the viewr to as the question: "why?'. Birkin's mother's suggestions of handling her emotions still baffles me, and I just can't imagine that conversation happening in any way. That scene and then the subsequent 20 minutes before the end just doesn't do it for me and what could have been a genuine story of desire, feelings, boundaries, temptations, ethics etc., turns into something unrealistic and unbelievable.

The story here is about a woman falling for the 14 year old classmate of her daughter's, but forget about the story now, it's not a prurient film of course and seeing just a 'social issue' movie would miss the whole point. This is a small exercise on context by Varda but as astute as ever.

Varda seems to be parodying the notion that her film would have just a social relevance by having the AIDS scare of the time so prevalent throughout - the film is from the late 80s, it evokes a distinct air of the time when youths crowded arcade parlors and TV segments on HIV sounded doom for mankind - or preempts it, perhaps unsure herself if it's not unavoidably going to be that in the end.

But see something else, about the narrative horizon in which things acquire their significance.

The woman who simply has these feelings one day that threaten to bring down everything, in context of what she experiences, it's a real affection for the boy, it shakes her in earnest. The boy who acts all grownup around her, bringing her flowers like a man would, later in a hotel plans to seduce her, but Varda has specifically taken care to show that he becomes just a kid with his peers or always off to a video game.

The film's title comes from a video game that he plays in the arcade parlor, in the game's nested story-within a hero fights monsters to make it all the way to the top level so he can set free a princess kept prisoner. This is of course a deliberate confluence by Varda. We'd like to think of love in this way, as something that frees us, but what if it's sometimes fiction? Meaning, the woman is simply not mindful that the boy inhabits a wholly different context than hers, simply playing a game of love.

And this is what Varda marvelously depicts later in a scene where the kids are goofing with Nazi paraphernalia in a room. A parent who walked in and thought the kids have strayed into budding Nazism would have only been misled by appearances, inhabiting a horizon in which objects (Nazi stuff) are charged with their narrative significance. But as the scene plays out Varda shows that it's evidently just another game for them.

This is the exercise, on how phenomena give rise to illusory narrative, on how illusory narrative traps us in illusory significance, chimeras of our desires. It isn't about nostalgia or passionate love. Love doesn't equal truth, unless it's shared in truth. This was a point made in Le Bonheur. In my ongoing project I'm after filmmakers who abet mindfulness, the wisdom that comes from it, and Varda has this.