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This one's tough even by Godards standards. He's never been Hawks, but 1967's La Chinoise makes Breathless look like Casablanca. Godard even pulls a neat trick; while satirizing the radicalism of the characters contained herein, he manages to enter the ranks of the "filmic radicals" by forsaking conventional narrative structure in favor of fragmented dialogues.

Thus a conventional plot summary's a bit misleading. Indeed, the film concerns the activities of a group of five French students who, among other somewhat inscrutable notions, plot to overthrow the Russian government for its supposed failure to live up to the standards of Lenin, Marx, and, most notably, Mao. And yes, there is a bit of something going on here in terms of plot;  Véronique (Anne Wiazemsky) ends up leaving the apartment the group (called "Aden Arabie" after the book by Paul Nizan) has taken as their hideout on a (botched) attempt to assassinate the Soviet Minister of Culture during his visit to France.  And Véronique's relationship with co-conspirator Guillaume (Jean-Pierre Léaud) falls apart before our eyes. Godard likes his relationships fickle, though, so we're never quite sure why. And the group kicks out Henri (a squirrely Michel Semeniako) for his lack of faith in the cause.

But nothing seems to happen. Godard chops the story up into a series of conversations with the five students, who expound upon their Maoist designs in excruciatingly earnest polemic ("Exams", says Véronique, "are a form of racism and create anxiety and sexual frustration). We're informed of plot advancement via exposition (followed sometimes by footage of the event itself, often shot from an angle which obscures the majority of the pertinent action), and even those seem mysterious; Henri's abovementioned expulsion from the group is shadowy, as are the group's motivations for doing so. The film cuts from mostly static shots of interviews to seemingly arbitrary images culled from pop culture. The soundtrack's no help, either. Like in Contempt, a lush symphonic figure floats in and out, indicating the inability of traditional filmic devices to capture the essence of life; a few violins, Godard might say, won't make you understand any better what's going on onscreen.

What to make of this opaque piece of film-cum-video art? It seems that Godard has fashioned a film that's meant to be engaged with actively; though I'd shy away from arguing that the film really has a message (it says some stuff, about activism and youth and fickle relationships), we're driven to some kind of higher conclusion by arguing with and responding to the film (a process known in philosophy as dialectic).

The film seems incomplete chiefly because it is. The poor framing, soundtracking anomalies, and lack of narrative flow distance us from the film as a piece of melodrama (i.e., one that sutures us into the story) and force us to argue with the film in order to take anything away from it. Godard satirizes radicalism (Lex de Bruijin's Kirilov, his name actually taken from the corresponding character in Demons, kills himself over his failure to reach enlightenment), but sympathizes with it, too. And the left, Godard seems to say, is best served by vigorous exploration of fundamental questions: what of violence as a means of achieving political progress? Does endless study really suit the needs of the revolution? Is radicalism just a new variety of theater? The brilliance of Godard's tract is that the answer is in the debate.

Click the following video to see the trailer (Windows Media required):

Click here to download "La Chinoise."

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