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Back to the Feature: CQ (2001)

I think Roman is the only Coppola filmmaker I’ve never seen a movie by. I’ve seen several that he has written of course through his collaborations with Wes Anderson but nothing that he has directed. That is pretty fair though, because he has only directed two movies, not nearly as engaged in that side of the business as his father, sister, and niece -although he has assisted his family as second unit director on several of Francis and Sofia’s movies. CQ from 2001 however was all his own.
It did come on the heels though of a prolific career for Coppola as a director of commercials and music videos and that shows in the visual style of CQ, wholly an homage to campy European genre films of the 1960s. You see it in the mock production values, and the elaborate costuming, in some of its compositions and editing -interestingly it is a movie about a film editor.
Jeremy Davies, just a few years out from Saving Private Ryan, plays the editor Paul -an American based in Paris in 1969 where he is working on a sci-fi movie called Codename:Dragonfly that is an obvious stand-in for Barbarella, its American lead actress Valentine (Angela Lindvall), a variant on 60s Jane Fonda. Here she is not married to her director Andrezej (Gerard Depardieu), though he is clearly infatuated with her and is perhaps amplifying the character’s sex appeal and the film’s general horniness as a result of this. When he is removed from the film by producers unhappy with its direction and lack of a satisfying ending, Paul -who has his own filmmaking ambitions- soon finds himself elevated to the role of director, tasked with ending the film as he himself falls for Valentine as well.
There are a couple different pastiches that Coppola is carrying out here. The first obvious one is Barbarella -to the point there are a couple moments that skirt the line between homage and rip-off. The other though is the experimental edges of the French New Wave, as Paul -before being assigned this monumental task- is in the process of making his own black-and-white film of meandering self-reflections where outside of his own talking heads it appears to be shot like a knock-off Godard. Paul is not a particularly bright or intuitive filmmaker, and an inadequate man -who fails to appreciate the affections and sacrifices made for him by his flight attendant girlfriend Marlene (Elodie Bouchez). Yet Davies does capture that certain formless drive of the struggling artist well, and has a bit of a naive charm about him, especially the more involved he winds up in the project.
He is not initially made the new director though -that honour goes to an impulsive young hotshot called Felix DeMarco, played by Coppola's cousin Jason Schwartzman of course, who is one of the more entertaining characters of the film, in it all too briefly. He too is a satirical pastiche on the place and the culture. Indeed, much of the movie reads as Coppola’s commentary on filmmaking both past and present -especially blunt in the clashes between the producers wanting action and catharsis and the director wanting something more nebulous -Paul's conceived ending is more audience-friendly than Andrezej's would have been, though it is still a bit mercurial, perhaps symbolic of the artists' compromise in the business of moviemaking.
Paul's new vision for the film is manifested in a blurring of reality the more obsessed he becomes, especially in the vicinity of Valentine -whose interactions with him become sequestered somewhere between reality and fantasy. It is as though Coppola is channeling his inner Fellini, though through an aesthetic that perhaps more resembles Austin Powers. And Valentine is an alluring presence -certainly her alter ego Dragonfly is. Lindvall captures the essence of this character well -specifically her effect on others. She is intentionally shallow and thinly defined, well within the range of the model turned first-time actress.
In merging his main story with that of the film-within-a-film, Coppola gets to indulge in the goofy style of those eccentric old sci-fi movies, down to the appearance of the credits, interspersed within the filmmaking process. It is a fun recreation of the absurdity and cheeky sexuality of movies like Barbarella, with a particularly strong sense of the sets and costumes, which are quirky and colourful. Coppola had not worked with Wes Anderson at this point, but their compatible tastes are apparent here.
It gives the movie something to engage in where the story loses focus in corny car chases and a film saboteur stealing footage. Amidst these things, the romantic side of the plot never materializes -in spite of the cuteness of the title's slang meaning ("seek you"). Paul's attraction to Valentine is nakedly hollow, the movie conferring a kind of artist-muse dynamic to their relationship. Still, the ending to Codename: Dragonfly is unexpected -though perhaps not so gargantuan as the film implies, and Paul is even vindicated a little for his documentary. It is a touch too clean, and that is one of the flaws of CQ, but it is also a charming homage to a particular strain of retro cheese. Perhaps not as incisive as Coppola would like, but a colourful obscurity.

Criterion Recommendation: The Wonder (2022)
This past week, the world of cinema unexpectedly lost the great Chilean filmmaker Sebastián Lelio. None of his movies have yet been inducted into the Criterion Collection so now would be an appropriate time. I already recommended his seminal trans visibility film A Fantastic Woman, now I will suggest Criterion rescue another movie from Netflix -his 2022 adaptation of Emma Donoghue's The Wonder. The film is set in post-famine nineteenth century Ireland and concerns the curious case of a fasting girl who has gone a miraculous four months without eating as a form of extreme religious devotion. Florence Pugh plays a nurse investigating this situation, developing a bond with the girl as faith and rationality do battle before her. Grappling seriously with themes of science and faith, of Catholic dogma and the psychological ramifications of indoctrination it is a gripping and powerful movie, anchored in one of Pugh's more underrated performances and a sharply provocative structural device. The third and final English-language film from Lelio, it is a remarkable piece, exceptionally shot and composed, beautifully human in its discussion of higher themes. Lelio was an artist more than worthy of Criterion's arms and adding some of his films to their ranks would be a wonderful way to honour his legacy.

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