You know that time before you go to sleep, when your mind is caught up in that relationship, and you rework it, and remember it, but half-dream keeps slipping in, and you try to hold on to what you remember, and the other person in the relationship responds, but only as you to yourself, so you try to evade sentimental endings, pathos, romantic stories everyone's familiar with but don't stand to reality, but holding it all in your grasp, with your mind muddled at sleep's edge, you have conversations with words semantically correct but nonsense, but they express all the meaning you wanted to express, except they depend on the exact right position, the exact right circumstance, and you fall into revisionism, and you fall into delusions of grandeur, and you fall into loneliness, and behind it all you are disturbed because of the maze you've made out of fixation, the myth you've made out of fixation, you are disturbed because you're afraid of fixation, and the myth you've made is of romance, and the maze you've made is out of your feelings for the relationship, and you know, behind it all, that the only reason you feel this way is because you don't actually have the relationship, and in your dream state you accidentally think of taking the relationship, of losing the relationship, of ending the relationship, of being strong without the relationship, of showing up strong because of being strong without the relationship, and in your dream state you snap awake moments when you lose track of the consciousness, which doesn't differ too far from the relationship, and you slowly fall asleep rewriting and rewriting the ending, until you settle on the most ambiguous one you can offer, because that is the status of the relationship, or non-relationship as it could be, because it is you remembering and dreaming, and thus the ending is certainly on your side?

Yeah.

That's Last Year at Marienbad.

--PolarisDiB

Years come and go, but "Marienbad" seems to remain the same--intriguing, challenging, stimulating, and moving. Alain Resnais' classic emerges as a timeless work, with a memorable score (utilizing unique pipe organ music) by Francis Seyrig and striking photography by Sacha Vierny. Delphine Seyrig and Giorgio Albertazzi play out their "roles" amidst dark corridors, empty halls, baroque statuary and geometric gardens. Time seems to stand still in the world of Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet, as our rapt attention is focused on its distinctive unfoldment. The meaning seems to be in the work and the solution in the problem. We simply take it in and allow it to speak for itself.

"Marienbad" is one of those films which requires a full- size widescreen and an excellent print to weave its haunting magic. It's a one-of-a-kind film experience, and one to which one can return again and again to enjoy as a mystery, romance or meditation.

"Last Year at Marienbad" (1961) Dir.: Alain Resnais

When it comes to cinema, I'm neither a philistine nor a scholar. I'm happy to read into a film's artistic context in preparation for watching it, but it must be self-evident, and not reliant upon anything but its own merit and communicability to be considered a success. In practice, this means I will certainly read the hype, but I won't necessarily believe it. And it's a good job, because "Last Year at Marienbad" remains one of the most hyped, discussed and debated movies of all time. People disagree over virtually everything about it - the pace, the narrative structure, the individual performances, the pretense, even the plot points. Yes, that's right, after forty-eight years people still argue over what actually happens in this film, let alone what it all means and how successfully it is presented to us. So I decided to ignore the minefields of audience opinion (which is largely positive anyway, if wildly diverse) and dive in without fuss, volunteering to watch this movie from the 'philistine' end of the spectrum and if I didn't like it, screw it. It's only one film anyway.

When it became clear what I was watching, and how many traditional storytelling criteria were obviously not going to be fulfilled by "...Marienbad", I felt like I had burst in to the film's aristocratic country retreat wearing torn jeans and waving a bottle of tequila around, but ended up having an awesome time in a completely unexpected way. Make no mistake, I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. It is a near-perfect realisation of a very, very dense and ambitious concept, and Resnais should be proud that he and his film-making team were able to make it. It is stately, baffling, elegant, sinister and brilliant.

Not that I could tell you what it's actually about, of course. Most people seem to think it's about the tricks and subjective nature of the memory, and the inherent flaws in how we cross-reference events with other events over time. These broad, elemental themes are the only ones I feel sure enough about to include in this review, which is illustrative of "Last Year at Marienbad"s disorienting effect. We are taken on an endless stroll through the rooms and corridors of a cold, strange country manor where the upper classes take their holidays and engage in card games and theatre. Their discussions are empty and meaningless, yet they go on forever. Time is not present in a recognisable form as the unnamed narrator loses track of how long he has been there, and how long he has attempted to persuade the unnamed woman that they met before, and that she had promised to run away with him. "Wait for one year," she'd supposedly said. "Next year I will leave with you." But the woman has no memory of him or her promise. She appears to be married to another man, who is tall, dour and imposing. Despite this, she keeps the unnamed narrator at arm's length, drawing him in and then pushing him back as if she does indeed remember something of him but is unwilling to accept it. His struggle to awaken some kind of acknowledgement of their shared past is the premise of the film.

"Last Year at Marienbad" is a bizarre maze of half-recollections and inaccuracies, where words and events are repeated several times in different situations and everything we see is very possibly on an endless loop, eventually folding in on itself and collapsing into a kind of incomprehensible singularity. We have no frames of reference for what we are seeing other than what has already been seen, and we are never to know what's 'now' and what's a memory because the characters cross over between the two. As a result I found myself trying to draw a line between reality and false memory up to about half way through the film, after which I abandoned it as a futile exercise. This is one of its key strengths - it demands so much of the viewer that we are forced to build a structure for it in our own heads, and our efforts are routinely dashed.

This all sounds terribly oblique and ridiculous, and in a sense it is; its detractors have regularly labelled it as such and that's a valid conclusion to reach. But it is spectacular on the eye, and this carried my attention right through the difficulties and to the end of the movie without so much as a pause. The camera sweeps down hallways and bursts out across garden terraces without even a jolt, it literally dances its way through the film as if it were another character. There are odd touches, too, that contribute to the striking atmosphere of the film, like Resnais' decision to have his supporting actors and extras remain completely static until they are speaking or in the company of the main three characters. He also skillfully breaks the pace by accelerating towards several shuddering climaxes in the last half of the film, which renew the viewer's attention and string us further along towards an ending that we hope will allow us something more definite to grasp.

Whether it does or not, I will withhold. It's one of the many reasons to watch this film. But beware, it is genuinely challenging viewing – and in fact, its esotericism is the only reason I won't rate this higher than I have.