PAGE 4

It is well worth looking up, if only for the psychoanalytical purple patch in which he makes much of the Oedipal tensions and death wish underlying Peter's compulsion to explore Mr McGregor's garden, despite his mother's express order never to go near it - the very same garden where his father met his fate, ending up, incidentally, in a pie. (The disappointing conclusion, however, is not worth a pet de lapin .) Puffing up Peter Rabbit into a powder-puffed Kirilov was thus the first step towards Godin's more expeditious literary criticism : the flinging of flans at writers he did not appreciate (not that Lowry ranked among them).



   RAPSCALLION AGITPROP

These custard-pie scandals have revived interest in Godin's three courts métrages which, in some circles, are now considered as celluloid classics in the "Dada-punk" vein. Incredibly enough, Godin seasons have already been organized in Paris, Geneva, Berlin and Moscow, as well as in other lesser cultural centres. A compilation video is even in the offing. Of course, one could argue that these short films have all the insolence of Duchamp's bearded and mustachioed Mona Lisa but, in the final analysis, cheekiness is their only redeeming feature. As works of art, they are irredeemable. Godin himself claims that their only merit is to have established a new genre , which he defines as "la polissonnerie d'agitation" ("rapscallion agitprop").



   PROPER GANDER

The Danish artist Asger Jorn used to doodle on daubs he found at the flea market : Godin did something similar with his first movie. He took, or rather stole, a pre-existing artefact (an army-training film aimed at national-service conscripts), but instead of doctoring it - in keeping with the Situationist tenet of détournement - left it exactly as it was, apart from the inconsequential title ( Les Cahiers du Cinéma ) and wacky credits. Convinced that the army's self-praise was self-defeating, he let the public take a proper gander at the propaganda itself. Godin's artless approach was vindicated by the spectators' reactions. Stupefied by the stupendous stupidity of the voice-over, none of them were prepared to believe that they were actually listening to the genuine article - quod erat demonstrandum .



   PPRRPFFRRPPFF

Prout, prout, tralala , Godin's second film, was a denunciation of what is now known as ageism; a sort of video-nasty reading of Arsenic and Old Lace . The title is untranslatable literally, and literally untranslatable. "Prout," an onomatopoeia mimicking the sound of flatulence, could be rendered by James Joyce's celebrated "Pprrpffrrppff." "Gone with the Wind" would also do the trick had it not been used before, as well as "I'm For Ever Blowing Raspberries" (the musical reference standing in for "tralala"). However, in all three cases one loses the wind-up windbag element; the childish, polymorphously-perverse delight in verbal diarrhoea (the "Pprrpffrrppff" coda is far too sophisticated). Something along the lines of "pooh," "weewee" rather than the less juvenile "wee" ("pee" is positively grown-up) or even "knicky-knacky-noos" would do justice to the coprophilious spirit of the title, but not to its committed substance. There is more to "Prout, prout, tralala" than meets the nose. It is not all playful passing of wind, and the subsequent wallowing in the smell thereof, you know. That would be plain old "Prout, prout" without the "tralala" as in faire du tralala (to make a lot of fuss) or avec tout le tralala (with all the trimmings). The full phrase expresses contempt for snobbish airs and graces, it is an up-your-nostril raspberry blown in the face of social pretensions ("la-di-da pprrpffrrppff," that kind of shit). In view of the plot - which centres on a grandmother who refuses to grow old gracefully - I would plump for "Boring Old Fart Tralalalala Lala La La." Behind a benign, shrivelled and dishevelled exterior lurks an OTT OAP who blows up police stations, burns down churches, loots supermarkets, horsewhips bailiffs, stones soldiers, kills judges with poisoned gobstoppers, throws custard pies at her children, sleeps with her granddaughter and urinates in the street - a dear old dear !

Noël Godin was in a pickle when his celluloid prank landed a prize for Best Short Film in Belgium. "I had a dilemma there," he explained to The Observer . "The award was presented by a mayor - the personification of every value I found distasteful. But the prize was two movie cameras. In the end I went up on the podium and threw my arms round him. I said Thank you thank you my mayor' and kissed him and licked him all over. I pushed him over and with our limbs intertwined, we rolled around the stage while I covered him with kisses. . . . Every time he tried to get up, I hauled him back by the buttocks."



   LONE LOIN PURLOINER

Grève et pets ("Strike and Farts"), with its homophonic echo of Guerre et paix (War and Peace), was Godin's final foray into filmmaking. Although it was not a radical departure from his previous effort, the film caused quite a stir because it had been subsidized by the Belgian government.

TOP OF PAGE

COVER