The question, "Who is Leos Carax?" was put on the French filmmaker by a museum - the exhibition that didn't happen - explains Carax in the beginning of this 39 minute self-portraiture, ironically titled, C'est Pas Moi. Like many artists, Carax has ups and downs in his 50 year career. Once touted as Godard's heir apparent and an enfant terrible of French cinema, his grand, blurring vision of young love and cinema got him into trouble. His passionate affair with Juliette Binoche, and stormy relationship with the late Katerina Golubeva (whom he had a daughter, Nastya Golubeva Carax), are often reflected in his films.
In C'est pas moi, Carax pays not too subtle homage to the late mentor, Godard in many ways than one. JLG's signature wordplay displays on the center of the screen in C'est pas moi, same size, same pont - linking cinema, history and ghosts. His gravelly voice narration also reminds me of the old master. Here comes the full circle: his earlier films heavily influenced by French New Wave, started his career as a JLG's pupil, garnered acclaim with imitating JLG style without the weight of the subjects of his mentor but with youthful longing and whimsy that attracted many admirers like me. After his resurrection with Holy Motors and Annette, two very self-reflexive films, Carax is embracing Godard again more openly, for the benefit of composing a dense, visually sumptuous self-portrait.
All of Carax's past films are present. So is his past loves. His penchant for controversy (or bad French humor) is there too - in the form of Hitler and Polanski. Carax is not a visual essayist, commenting and reflecting on the state of the chaotic world we live in - he delves in that a little bit. But the film is still all about him. And it's beautiful and glorious. It builds up to a stormy solo piano session of the theme from The Young Girls of Rochefort, played by his daughter, Nastya - perfectly capturing the essence of Carax's career, his sentimentality, his art and beauty. One of the year's best.
