Summary: an illuminating exploration of legendary actress Jean Seberg. Mary Beth Hurt portrays Seberg, who reflects on her life as illustrated through her work. It follows her as she is plucked from obscurity to star in Otto Preminger's Saint Joan (1957), to the critical drubbing that followed, her resurrection as a star in Godard's Breathless (1960), the mostly mediocre movies that followed in the 1960s and 1970s, through to her death, probably by suicide, in 1979. A revelatory interrogation of film history, and women's place in it, that examines Seberg’s involvement with the Black Panther Movement and her targeting by the FBI, while also touching on the careers of Jane Fonda, Vanessa Redgrave, and Clint Eastwood.
Only vaguely do I remember first hearing about Jean Seberg. A long time ago it was, four decades or so to be exact. As I recall my source was a news item around the time of her death. I didn’t know who she was but the story said she was an actress and there was some kind of connection to the FBI, or was it the CIA? Immediately my curiosity kicked in. Not so surprising given the historical context: these were the immediate post-Watergate years, when anything even resembling conspiracies got hot press. In any case a whiff of skulduggery floated in the ether. Later I learned she was an American actress who spent much of her career in France, and that her signal contribution to the movies was being an important figure in the Nouvelle Vague movement that was all the rage in the early Sixties, and still is with some critics and connoisseurs. Still, I knew I had to learn more about this lady, and what’s more, investigate her signature movie, Breathless (more about Breathless later).
But as the fellow said, I begin to digress. I’m not sure what there is about Jean Seberg that haunts the memory and makes her such a cult figure [1]. Certainly there have been movie stars and famous persons in other walks of life who died young and haven’t cast anywhere near as long a shadow or have such a mystique. But, and for whatever reason, Seberg is special. Indeed she is nudging for a place in the pop culture pantheon of brief candles, alongside the likes of James Dean, Jean Harlow, Jim Morrison, Marilyn, those whose untimely demise, combined with their dramatic private lives (and sometimes dramatic deaths), stir the imagination. To be sure, in comparison with the above-mentioned luminaries, Seberg is still more of a niche cult figure, if I may be forgiven the redundancy of using ‘niche’ and ‘cult’ in the same sentence.
And yet, much as I’m an admirer of Seberg’s acting and her courageous stands on issues, not at all fashionable at the time (at least with certain official sources), I count myself a bit of a contrarian, i.e. a (non)admirer of her most famous role, that of the gamine journalist and Jean-Paul Belmondo girlfriend in Breathless. Or to be more precise, not an admirer of the film itself. Actually I think she’s pretty good in it. Historically important, check. Hand-held camera, check. Made Seberg, Belmondo and Godard international stars, check. Heralded the New Wave movement, check. But far more to the point, is it any good? Maybe I’m just not hip enough to appreciate Breathless’s apparent charms, but I’m with those who don’t see a lot of intrinsic value in the movie. Euro arthouse films that came out at about the same time and are much superior, in my opinion, include: La Dolce Vita, Last Year at Marienbad, La Notte, 81/2, Elevator to the Gallows, and L’Avventura, to cite just a few notable examples. For me Breathless simply hasn’t held up very well over time. Revered as a classic today, who can predict how Breathless will be viewed in, say, thirty years? As is always the case, history will be the final judge.
With her edgy, matter-of-fact delivery of director Mark Rappaport’s brittle script for From the Journals, Mary Beth Hurt eloquently captures the nuances of an older, wiser Seberg. Her incisive portrayal indeed rings true. By the way, a curious coincidence is that, like Seberg herself, Mary Beth Hurt grew up in Marshalltown, Iowa.
A word about the title: actually there aren’t any ‘journals of Jean Seberg.’ This is strictly a fictionalized memoir. But like mythology, the basic message is based on a kernel, sometimes a large kernel, of truth. Still, the reality is that Jean Seberg kept no diary, left us no scandalous autobiography, and didn’t live long enough to star in horror films in the twilight of her career, or appear at fan conventions to hand out autographed glossies. However, in fairness it seems she was, relatively speaking, a willing and forthcoming interview subject.
In summary, From the Journals of Jean Seberg is a fascinating, illuminating, occasionally frustrating exploration of one of the most tragically compelling figures in cinema’s checkered history, and probably captures the real woman as well as any depiction is likely to do [2]. On balance a sympathetic portrait of its subject, From the Journals nonetheless has a sharp edge that pulls few punches: the film industry, the culture of celebrity, and political persecution all receive their share of criticism. Considering Jean Seberg was hounded to suicide by her own government [3], seldom given the roles to showcase her talent [4], and had a knack for picking the wrong husbands, both onscreen and off, she had a right to be cranky, even from beyond the grave.
[1] At last count there were eight biographies, as well as various online tributes, fan pages and exposés. And, for the moment anyway, Breathless's place in the cinematic pantheon seems secure.
[2] I confess I haven’t seen the much more recent and much praised straight on documentary Jean Seberg: Actress, Activist, Icon, or the recent feature Seberg starring Kristen Stewart.
[3] Her death was officially ruled a probable suicide but there remain lingering suspicions of the possibility of foul play.
[4] It’s a further measure of the existential unfairness of the universe that Jean Seberg’s best performance was as the schizophrenic mental patient in Lilith, a film that bombed at the box office and languishes in obscurity today, while the aesthetically dubious (to put it generously) Airport was her biggest hit, though hers was a small part. The final icing on the cake insult is that Birds in Peru, probably her worst film, today enjoys minor cult status, in large part because of its continuing lack of availability, in any format.
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