The later avant-garde works of renowned French filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard are definitely an acquired taste, which I have yet to acquire.
As a result, "Helas Pour Moi" was as lost on me as any of the other fairly recent films by Godard that have made it to local showcases ("Detective," "Hail Mary," "King Lear").
Based loosely on Greek mythology with a modern-day setting, "Helas Pour Moi," which means "Oh, Woe Is Me," has only a marginal storyline, dealing with Zeus coming to a small French village where he has perhaps taken over the body of a man (Gerard De-par-dieu) to experience mortal pleasures. Meanwhile, a book publisher (who seems more like a '40s film noir detective) is wandering around town asking people if this is actually what has happened.
More engrossing than the film itself, which is full of posturing, posing, overlapping dialogue and amplified sound (especially of birds), is a prologue that has the publisher musing on man's inability to find a sacred place in the woods, to light a fire and, perhaps most significantly, to pray. However, "We still know how to tell the story," he points out.
But I'm not sure Godard knows how to tell the story. While it is true that his films — including this one — are as difficult as they are controversial, it is also true that they are often simply mystifying and incomprehensible.
To some, that may be taken as an intellectual challenge. But to others, it may simply be a waste of time.
There is a scene about a third of the way into "Helas Pour Moi" that acted as the perfect metaphor for my feelings. As we hear dialogue and watch a long shot of people in a park, a man approaches the camera and places his hand over the lens, as if he's telling Godard to just shut up.
I know how he felt.
"Helas Pour Moi" is not rated but would doubtless get an R for female nudity, profanity and vulgarity.