The cool cats

The cool cats 

Some time ago I watched Melville's Le Samouraï again after a long time. I enjoyed as much as the first, second, third or ... time (how many, actually?) but probably with more detachment than when I was young. At that time, the atmosphere had a different meaning; the tragic heroism of the story permeated every aspect of the film. The magical, then unknown environment of Paris was as strong as the hero's character; it had a charm that attracted and inspired. Now I smile when I realise how Melville made everything look cool. The people are cool; their dress is cool; they listen to cool kaxx; they drove cool cars (Jeff only steals cools Citroën DSs - one of the reasons why I love the film); the criminals are not miserable low-lifes but cool, silent types; even Jeff's filthy apartment looks cool in the film's dark photography.

That was what they were selling to us back then: cool. Delon was cool, McQueen was cool, Newman was cool. That weren't the strongest or invincible or whatever they have been selling to us before or after. They were just cool - as detached, as ironic as I feel now watching them. Reality was a game to them but a game with principles - their own, eclectic and idiosyncratic principles, as Jeff's pointless death illustrates: what was he trying to achieve? And so we tried to be as cool as that by putting on similarly cool clothes, listening to cool music, watching these cool films, feeling cool by proxy. We didn't have to achieve much, be or become something. All we had to do was adopt the style. Easy.