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Least favorite Bresson film so far; simply far too one-note and dull. Look to Balthazar instead, which says the same things but with much more subtlety and depth.

The darkest Bresson I've seen, which says plenty. Few characters lead lives of such destitution and misery as Mouchette does, and yet her stoic demeanor scarcely betrays her suffering, with only the tears that run down her unblinking face as evidence. (Plus the occasional mild act of defiance, rare by Bresson standards.) Bresson's nighttime photography in the woods is really incredible.

A testament to Bresson's mastery of silence. He shoots in whispers and draws the viewer in close to the bleak title character, walled in as she is by a host of Gazes. Watch it, just not while you're in a bad mood.

More like Mou-shit.

poor little mouchette ;.;

transcendent

Direction masterclass.

Pretty decent. Bresson's method of underacting is particularly apparent here, and creates a very interesting effect against the backdrop of a bleak script. Bernanos is not a great writer - Diary of a Country Priest was kind of banter - but here he's more restrained and focused.

There's something vaguely unnerving about Bresson's minimalistic style. There's very little dialogue, the characters act like robots, and his approach to the story is marked by such austerity and detachment that the end result is at times almost surreal. Contrary to what is often said about Bresson's fairness to the audience, I think Mouchette is somewhat manipulative in the way it piles on the misery and suffering for its protagonist, but the movie is good enough for me to forgive that.

I have trouble connecting with many of Bresson's films. Although I often feel like I don't really get what he's going for, I continue to explore his filmography, drawn back to it by his unique style. Content-wise, I found this one sort of dull.

Very good, creating a palpable feeling of desperation, but I find myself having a lot of trouble connecting with Bresson's films as much as I'd like to. Hopefully one day I shall...

Bresson is attentive and almost as immobile as the sorrow itself, in his depiction of (indefinable, but intelligible) human grief.

Bresson is a master, and this is the film I regard as his most perfect. I love the way he makes his characters seem dead-pan and worn out (by actually wearing them out, doing hundreds of takes) and at the same time causing the audience to invest in them.

Short and really depressing. Much like Mouchette's life.

An emotional sledgehammer. The use of fake tears and the ending scene seem however a little over the top.

Gestures, aggressive gestures. From a friendly whiplash contest to hostile exposure. If you give it out you're going to get it, if you don't you'll get it more. Everyone wanting compassion in return for abuse. It's a sad film, possibly the saddest damn thing I've every seen, but it's honest and dark. Mouchette's perception seems to rely on you're own understanding, and it's enthralling. She's angry, but what can she do. Empathy seems a slight, and a slight cuts deep against misery. Hope is dead.

I greatly enjoy Bresson's minimalist approach and it works especially well here. The sparsity of the text helps keep our focus on the mood and atmosphere. That mood is, of course, relentlessly downbeat. That's to be expected from Bresson, but unlike with his other features, here it come across as somewhat forced and unnatural. It's still a damn fine movie with a very sympathetic lead.

Using little dialogue and relying heavily on his typically elliptical editing and intrusive sound, Bresson creates yet another stunning portrait of a life in turmoil. The tragedy of her life is heavy, yet in Mouchette we cannot escape the reality of grace: the ending music, along with a couple of brief glimmers during the film, complicate the tragedy in a productive, and even hopeful, fashion. When nothing good is left in her life, mercy still finds Mouchette.

Very good, creating a palpable feeling of desperation, but I find myself having a lot of trouble connecting with Bresson's films as much as I'd like to. Hopefully one day I shall...

Bresson is one of the masters when it comes to highlighting the horrors of the mundane, joyless, unobserved life.

There's still a couple of Bressons I haven't seen yet, but this one is definitely the darkest so far. Even darker than Une Femme Douce, with which it shares certain themes (also Balthazar, and I got kind of a 400 Blows vibe from it as well). The common Bresson elements are all here: under-acting, attention to physicality, careful framing. I liked it, but it was mighty depressing. Like L'Argent, I think it will grow on me more if I watch it again.