Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)

Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman could be considered the ultimate film about voyeurism. Through the course of three days, we watch; nay, we peek, into the world of a widowed woman and her now-iconic daily rituals. Wake up, take care of Sylvain (her son), clean up, do groceries, babysit, have sex with regular "john", have dinner ready for Sylvain, go to sleep. Rinse, wash, repeat. For countless number of years, this has been the ritual for our title character, now Akerman gives us three-defining days to witness how one random instant can change the course of one woman. Combining feminism, sexuality, domesticity, and pioneering reality-television-esque cinematography, Akerman keeps us on the edge of our couches with nothing more than the drop of a brush, the burning of potatoes, and leaving the lid off the money-jar (ok, throw in a shaking baby scene for fun). Think this sounds boring? Then you have never quite experienced the power of this movie, and I cannot wait to involve myself with another Akerman triumph. She took a genre; French and over three-hours; and crafted a story that is everyday, and made it riveting.

Having such a long break between films and less-Criterion based cinema, I was nervous walking into this. Understanding the twist, reading the reviews, preparing for the mundane, Jeanne Dielman on all accounts, should have been a slice of difficult cinema to swallow - but Akerman's use of camera, the minutes-over-minutes of "my life" happening on screen, I was captured from the first frame. This is one of those rare films that is so monotonous, that when something - like overcooking the potatoes - happens ... well, it becomes nerving. The character, Jeanne, that you once knew and understood transforms into something less comfortable. The cracks in this normal life begin to show, and it is spookier than any modern horror movie. Akerman creates passion in the dispassionate. She creates comfort in the mundane, and within three hours, when it begins to break - you feel it. Tension rises, you feel like screaming at Jeanne when she can't write a letter - the passion erupts in this film. It, continuing the same lines, was refreshing and intrinsic all at the same time.

Is this the power of an orgasm? Had Jeanne never felt that pleasure before? Two things stand out after watching this film. First, she must have semi-felt it with her second "john", as that was when the walls began to crumble. Why was her result violence? Did her final "john" remind her of her husband, or was there something less passionate about their relationship? The final scene, in the dark, bloodied hands, just stands out - and remains that moment where I questioned everything I just watched. Who was this woman? Also, my second feeling upon watching this was ... why was there no conversation between any characters in this film? Jeanne and Sylvain don't even speak, they just mutter thoughts at each other - creating no conflict or resolution. Even the woman who has the baby she drops off, there are words spoken, but we never see here. There is no connection between anyone in this film, and it creates this stark, void environment where we are forced to see all of Jeanne. Again, the fear is always there - lurking in the background, haunting you both visually and psychologically.

Found in my "Defining Moments in Movies" book - this was a return to seeing things that had not been viewed before. I had not seen Akerman's work prior, so this was a bold, exciting entry. I cannot, oddly, wait to see this again - but it would be a bit before I can sit through the entirety. This film was engaging, important, and a surreal story of the unknown. Can I suggest it? You betcha. Is it for everyone? I'll let you decide. In my book, it gets a green highlight with blue star. Mesmerizing.