The question at the center of Alexander Sokurov’s rich, meditative Francofonia is a rather complex one: would France be France without the Louvre? Would our civilization, for that matter, be a civilization without museums? Focusing on that existential premise, Sokurov crafts a cinematic essay that deals with the seeming randomness of what art is preserved for posterity, the question of fate when it comes to the Louvre’s existence, and even a chronicle of France during the Occupation. Those looking for a plot to follow beware, for the film not only makes do without one, it also invites us to explore it with the open mindedness with which we would wander inside a museum.
Sokurov is no stranger to institutions like the Louvre, his astonishing Russian Ark treaded similar territory by taking viewers on a journey across the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg. Where that film was an astonishing achievement in choreography and technical bravura (its 96 minute Steadicam sequence shot is a marvel worthy of being shown in a museum for all of eternity) in Francofonia he approaches the Louvre with similar wonder, but even more questions. Even though the film is not necessarily a historical document, one of the most fascinating aspects is when Sokurov goes back in time to discuss the grounds where the Louvre was built, and how it went from being a fort, to a palace, and eventually becoming the cultural epicenter of Europe (and the world perhaps?)
Another section of the film dramatizes the relationship between the Louvre’s wartime director Jacques Jaujard (Louis-Do de Lencquesaing) and Count Franziskus Wolff Metternich (Benjamin Utzerath) the Nazi officer in charge of looking after France’s art during the Occupation. Even though most of the art had been removed from the Louvre before the invasion, Sokurov portrays the unusual “friendship” less as a dramatic device and more as a philosophical discussion brought to life: for how were these people who were annihilating Jews all over Europe, also interested in the arts? How can the human soul have room for both an appreciation of beauty and the total disdain of the lives of others?
Traveling back and forth between the dramatizations, history tidbits, and a Skype conversation Sokurov is having with a ship captain who is transporting art, Francofonia has moments that achieve a dreamlike quality. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel does a marvelous work in creating a steady visual flow that allows the film to go back and forth in time and mood, without ever feeling incoherent or disjointed. Compared to Sokurov’s contemporary oeuvre, this film might not be as dazzling as Russian Ark, or as strangely appealing as Faust, but Francofonia is definitely the work of a master at the peak of his powers.