Détective marks the end of an era for Jean-Luc Godard, in that it is the final piece of his oeuvre that bears the hallmarks, or is at least a recognizable form of narrative drama. That’s not to say that Détective is in anyway generic of the genre from which it takes it title.

Throughout the film’s 95 minute running time we follow the activity that goes on inside the Hotel Concorde St. Lazare in Paris over the course of several days; a couple break up, having been dragged apart through money issues led by a boxing promotor, who is under the thumb of a gangster. A pair of detectives investigating a two-year old murder oversee these interweaving scenarios. The events collide together in a finale worthy of the genre to which Godard pays homage.

“We’re not in some little French film where actors belive that talking is thinking.”

The cast of the film is exquisite, with Godard knowingly referring to the pedigree of each relevant actor by splitting their names into one of two categories in the films opening credits; actor and star. As a result we see the likes of Nathalie Baye and Johnny Hallyday deemed “stars”, with the rest of the cast, led by Jean-Pierre Leaud having to make do with the title of “acteur”. These shifts in “importance” are marked by the first strains of the imposing score that soundtracks Détective, which is made up of familiar overtures courtesy of Wagner and Debussy. It’s a striking use of music, and one that works incredibly well. This jarring of video and sound would go on to become the norm with Godard’s later work.

With Détective Godard plays with many of the conventions of the medium of film. The most obvious of these manipulations comes with the handling of the concept of the detective story. The way in which the material is handled and projected to the audience, whereby minute pieces of the story are revealed irreverently, or the way in which the typical ending comes out of nowhere in the eleventh hour, sees Godard turning the conventions on their head. As does the manner in which the eponymous hero (or heroes) of the title are presented. They are incompetent and bruised characters, with Leaud’s Inspector Neveu downright slapstick at points. The hotel genre itself is a familiar one to film in general, with Edmund Goulding’s Grand Hotel and F.W. Murnau’s The Last Laugh being just a few examples of early film restricted to the locale. Let’s not forget Godard’s own foray into the world of the airport, with his Une Femme Mariee being set largely in one, and its use dictating a heavy amount of the story.

“We don’t have to rush, just because we’re mortal.”

As a piece of work within a body of work, Détective straddles the line between early and late Godard nicely. The manipulating and slowing down of the video in the early scenes reminds heavily of Godard’s trademark stylistic tick that he brought to the fore in Scénario du film ‘Passion’ and perfected with Histoire(s) du Cinema. The manner in which the god-like narration of the off screen detectives accompanies the scene brings to mind the opening section of the earlier Tout Va Bien, with its analytical tone echoing the ultimate “feel” of the detective movie, which in turn brings to mind Godard’s earliest work. I’ve already mentioned how the use of sound was a sign of things to come with regards to Godard’s later work. Speaking of signs Godard’s traditional adoption of the colours of the French flag are evident within the neon AGFA sign that adorns the roof of the hotel.

The as to be expected references towards cinema are highly evident, with the most overt being that of the name of the character played by Johnny Hallyday, Jim Fox-Warner. Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et La Bete is seen on a television screen, with the actions of the film eerily reminiscent of the film we are viewing (with Belle’s cries of “let me go home”), as is the use of George Archainbaud’s The Lost Squadron, in which the actions of the on screen director portrayed by Erich Von Stroheim said to mirror that of Godard’s own attitude on the set of Détective. The film is dedicated to John Cassavetes, Clint Eastwood and Edgar Ulmer, the production designer for many Murnau and Fritz Lang films (including the hotel ground The Last Laugh), and while the similarities between the three men are coincidental at best, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Godard had chosen the three names for that very reason. Cassavetes’ human dramas are reminiscent in the story of Emile and Francoise, the married couple at the end of their relationship, Eastwood’s detective roles share obvious parallels with that of the intended core narrative of Détective, and one must presume that the Ulmer dedication is in reference to The Last Laugh, although it is probably something much different.

I found the film to be much more interesting as a technical exercise, as opposed to actually enjoying it as a narrative piece. The manner in which much of the on screen action was shot with obstruction worked really well, which was complimented well by the manner in which many characters were left unexposed onscreen, with their backs to the camera for the most part. Indeed the character of William Prospero isn’t actually seen face on until around 27 minutes into the film. All manner of other obstructions appear, be it a window frame, a staircase banister or even the hair of a pianist. This avoidance of the facts is somewhat representative of the onscreen tone, with the most memorable point being that of the way the camera focuses solely on Baye’s Françoise in the scene where Fox-Warner bares his heart to her. The film was shot in the decidedly un-cinematic ratio of 1.33:1, lending a claustrophobic accent that compliments that of the locale nicely.

While Détective won’t be remembered as one of Godard’s masterpieces, as an exercise in his culpability as a filmmaker it is an interesting foray.