Quiet on the Set

REVOLUTIONARY INNOVATIONS are always somewhat risky, and experimental films are no exception to the rule. While those that are successful tend to be very successful, those that are bad are usually unredeemable. Consequently, movie producers often approach such potentially controversial films cautiously, and moviegoers with a degree of skepticism.

In the case of Le Bal, Italian director Ettore Scola's latest film, skepticism is unfortunately somewhat justified. For though the film is, in many respects, both an ingenious work of art and a profoundly telling social commentary, it is not without flaws--flaws which intermittently cause the audience to question whether the sum of the parts is ultimately worth the whole.

Although the film has many uniquely creative sections, as evidenced by its Academy Award nomination for "Best Foreign Film," several words of caution should be offered to prospective audiences. Principally, while the film is billed as a French movie--and in many senses lives up to its classification--one crucial ingredient is missing dialogue. Admittedly, this concept is hardly novel, and from an experimental point of view, can be highly appealing. However, such a striking departure from cinematic norms unavoidably poses certain problems. For one, since most audiences are accustomed to verbal interaction, the film demands its viewers display a heightened level of attention and sensitivity. More importantly, to compensate for the absence of dialogue, both case and director must maintain a continuous level of intensity and variety--a level which, in this film, is often inadequate to keep the audience captivated.

In the abstract, Le Bal has the potential to be a successful film. Instead of recounting history through the conventional means of one family or a set of individuals, Scola charts the cultural transformations of France by observing attitudinal changes in the patrons of a ballroom from 1936 to 1983. The film opens with a random group of men and women entering the ballroom, and through an innovative and rather stylized flashback technique, comes full circle at the film's conclusion.

More than a tale of attitudes and events, however, the movie is also the tale of individuals: of the elderly professorial gentlemen who finds romance, of the neurotic, domineering female who forcibly selects her partners, and of the homely, near-sighted spinster who reads gossip magazines while waiting in vain to be propositioned. What happens between events in this film is often more intriguing than the action itself.

Director Scola deserves credit for clearly differentiating each decade. From the selection of songs which range in nationality to the careful costuming and attention to detail, the film creates a sense of authenticity that captures the flavor of the era. More importantly, though the actors remain nameless throughout the film, they have little difficulty establishing and altering identities as time progresses. And while the lack of dialogue unavoidably causes the cast to overact, in virtually every case the actors have no trouble striking the proper balance between character and caricature.

BECAUSE NO CHARACTER in the film can verbalize his thoughts or emotions, the cast relies extensively on token gestures and allusions to convey its message. Sometimes, in the case of the blasting air-raid siren, the allusions are subtle: other times, as in the case of the returning paraplegic soldier from war, the statements are more blunt. In virtually every instance, however, the director weaves this type of commentary skillfully and creatively into the central dance scenes, enabling the film to maintain an artistic symmetry. Even the scenes fraught with tension--potentially sore appendages to an otherwised highly synchronized and well-choreographed production--have an almost rhythmical quality to them.

Yet it is the film's very sense of artistic symmetry that prevents it from truly involving the audience. While the scenes in the bomb shelter and the brawl in the mens' room offer welcome relief from the repetitious scenes of man meets women there are simply not enough deviations from the dance floor. And even with particularly strong performances by Monica Scattini and Etienne Guichard, there is simply not enough material to justify two hours of flitrations and rebuffs. By the time we reach the 1950s and the invasion of the "doo-wop" thugs in leather jackets, the end is long overdue.

Moreover, the film often seems overly pretentious, as if existing solely to call attention to the director's innovative genius. And while it can hardly be considered an esoteric creation, its obsession with experimentation and style over content detracts from its quality as a political and social commentary.

Because of Le Bal's unusual nature, generalizations about its overall quality are difficult to make. While the experimental technique of omitting dialogue is both intriguing and at points highly effective, it often makes the film seem nothing more than a piece of art for art's sake. That Le Bal is, both conceptually and visually, a work of art is unquestionable. That its artistic value alone merits two hours of screen time for what ought to have been a 30-minute production is something only each individual can determine.