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| | The New Yorker: The Critics: The Current Cinema (Site not responding. Last check: 2007-10-26) |
 | | One of the loveliest sights, halfway through a film soaked in loveliness, is a travelling shot of the Bois de Boulogne; it marks the climax to a short speech in which we learn that the Bois forms the remnant of a larger forest that encrusted Paris when, as Lutetia, it was invaded by Julius Caesar. |
 | | But then Godard has never been a thinker, any more than Fellini or Antonioni was; to be a movie director, in the Godardian scheme of things, is far more a calling than a career, and at the age of seventy-one he still makes his job seem like a mixture of pathologist, painter, and bookworm. |
 | | This is not a complaint; you could equally point to "The Flaying of Marsyas"—as fluent a painting as Titian ever produced, but streaked with the vengeful and the bitter, and thus with the suggestion that old men have a right to rebuke the lustres of their youth. |
| www.newyorker.com /critics/cinema?020902crci_cinema (1308 words) |
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