Warning: contains spoilers.Yesterday, Sunday, I did the following in sequence:
Watched Moderato Cantabile, a film from 1960 with Jeanne Moreau and Jean-Paul Belmondo, based on a novel by Marguerite Duras.
Watched Chloe, a 2009 film by Canadian director Atom Egoyan.
Played Assassin's Creed 2, a Playstation videogame by Ubisoft Montreal from 2009.
And suddenly it struck me how utterly childish videogames are. I have been
enjoying Assassin's Creed 2 quite a bit. I liked walking around in ancient Florence and Venice. And most of the gameplay and story did not get in the way from that enjoyment (though some of it
did, a lot). But after these two films, films clearly made for adults, I couldn't bear to look at Assassin's Creed anymore.
I had enjoyed Duras' novel more than the film. Because I like how her language leaves things more open. And somehow I find that more moving than simply showing two people who fall in (forbidden) love. But still, Peter Brook's
Moderato Cantabile was an enjoyable film. If only because there's not a lot of things in this world that can beat staring at Jeanne Moreau for more than an hour. She has a fascinating presence. There is a murder at the beginning of this story, a
crime passionel. It's what triggers the main characters to meet. Their relationship develops around their fantasies about what drove the man to kill the woman.
I found
Chloe a little bit disappointing. It's a story about a married couple going through a difficult moment in their relationship, as a result of which an awkward half-imaginary love triangle happens. It touches upon very interesting themes like falling in and out of love, prostitution, mid-life crisis, married life, adolescence, parenting, etc. Sadly, the film's resolution doesn't do the rest of it credit. It's one of those films of which you wish it had been made with a smaller budget, so that they didn't feel the need to include a silly Hollywood-type story arc. Still: a mature film, both in content and in form, that touches on many complex themes and leaves one with many memories to ponder. Nobody is murdered in the film but one person dies, in the end, by her own hand.
And then we turned on the Playstation. To continue playing
Assassin's Creed 2. The first thing I noticed was the way the main character walks. He's a young Italian noble man and he walks like a teenage metal fan, or a football player, or something. His head swings left and right and he is sort of bent over, in what's supposed to be a threatening aggressive posture. Then my attention switches to his clothes. What
is he wearing? He has six undefined layers of fabric, covered by separate pieces of shining armour. He's armed to the teeth and hooded like a
gangsta. This is the kind of
dude that every young boy wants to be! His current mission consists of -you guessed it- assassinating some people, after dropping his little gang of helpers off at different locations in town to cause a distraction. So the quarter is turned into a battle field of crossed swords and screams. Which ends with me killing the two evil leaders simultaneously with my hidden blades. After that, there is a cut scene in which Ezzio talks with a young woman who is obviously interested in him. But as soon as there is mention of some enemy entering the harbour, Ezzio runs off again. Which is where I start controlling him again.
Why can't I explore my relationship with this woman? Why can't I wear something more comfortable, more fitting my age? Why do I need to fight and run all the time? Because these are the preferences of young boys.
The main character in
Moderato Cantabile, Anne Debaresdes, the wife of the director of the factory of the small town in which the story takes place, has a son, 6 years old perhaps. She takes him to piano lessons with Madame Giraud. This is where she hears the scream of the murdered woman.
When she visits the café to talk with the working man whom she later falls in love with, she sends her son to play outside. He enjoys watching the boats in the harbour and kicking against rocks, pretending to fence with imaginary enemies, and so on.
When playing Assassin's Creed, I was reminded of him. This is the role I was playing. Not the
bourgeoise who falls in love, not the silent man who rejects her, not even the strict piano teacher or the disapproving bartender. No, I was made to playing the little boy, sent outside so he wouldn't bother the grown-ups, where I could throw rocks at seagulls without every being able to hit them.
And I realized that virtually all videogames are like this.
