Eighties Punk Visuals Taken to Operatic Heights

A Vietnamese girl roller-skates around her apartment for no apparent reason other than that it’s cool. Meanwhile, her French boyfriend takes a momentary break from the giant puzzle he is working on to butter a baguette while wearing a snorkeling mask. Such is the world of Jean-Jacques Beineix’s Diva, a 1981 French film that has been re-released at Film Forum, complete with a gorgeous new 35mm print and English subtitles. Not that the subtitles matter very much—this is a film to feel and experience, and the plot and dialogue are secondary to the visual and aural elegance.

Of course, there is a plot, and to some it may seem important. Famed American opera singer Cynthia Hawkins refuses to record her singing, so fanboy Jules smuggles a tape recorder in for a concert bootleg. The tape gets mixed up with another tape, which identifies the head of an international prostitution ring. This turns into an electrifying journey through the streets of Paris in which Jules is alternately chased by the police, two snarling French thugs, and Taiwanese music businessmen. Along the way, he befriends the cute Vietnamese jailbait Alba and her boyfriend Gorodish, all the while trying to strike up a relationship with the diva-goddess Hawkins.

Even with an intriguing plot, it’s best to simply sit back and enjoy the sounds and colors. And what colors! Nighttime over Paris casts a glorious and vibrant blue over the film, while daytime in the police station is a washed out odyssey of yellow and orange. Jules, meanwhile, rebels against the totalitarian color scheme with his bright red jacket. Watching this film, it quickly becomes clear that the real star is the cinematographer, Philippe Rousselot. This is not surprising considering that he’s won three Césars (the French Oscars), including one for this film. Rousselot has also won an Oscar for best cinematography, and been nominated twice more.

The sound guys weren’t slacking off either. The film also won Césars for best sound and best music. From the opening scene, it is clear that these two components come together to form an exhilarating partnership. As Cynthia Hawkins sings on a stage that resembles a factory floor more than an opera house, the camera spins and flies around her. Her song is beautiful and elegant, and it collides with the visuals, bringing the film’s core themes of urban isolation and alienation into the forefront. The film’s non-operatic original music does a good job of bridging the gap between the classical elegance of Hawkins’ voice and the bitter ’80s aesthetic.

Seizing a punk/new wave sense of style, the film sets itself up as a series of fascinating contradictions. Hawkins may sing classical opera, but she dresses like Madonna. Jules meets Alba stealing records from a store in which the shelves are lined with Stray Cats albums, but her musical tastes tend more toward jazz and opera. Police are corrupt, seedy French guys who turn out to have good hearts, and prostitutes live in gorgeous lofts full of modern art. By the end of the film, viewers may feel like Jules after the climatic moped race through the Paris streets and into the metro (think mopeds on escalators and moving sidewalks)—exhausted, bewildered, and overwhelmed, but utterly thrilled.