Bergsonian Critique

• Book: A Confederacy of Dunes by John Kennedy Toole

“A Confederacy of Dunces” is an unusual novel that follows the exploits of the rotund, indolent Ignatius J. Reilly, who lives with his indomitable mother, Mrs. Reilly, in New Orleans. For years, Ignatius has lived off of his mother and her welfare checks. Then it happened: Mrs. Reilly plowed her car into a building, and to pay for the damages, she demands that the supercilious Ignatius should get a job, several in fact. Before he knows what has happened, Ignatius finds himself at the center of a worker’s revolt and the common share of several ingenious characters. It is here that John Kennedy Toole‘s sense of humor flourishes, which is either side-splittingly funny or merely quaint, usually exhibited by his keen ability to write in various dialects and recreating witty caricatures of popular stereotypes that comprise the individuals that populate this story. Yet, it is Ignatius that proves to be the most fascinating. He lives in his own egocentrically warped world, and he constantly strives, and fails, to force those he meets to confirm to his worldview. Ignatius is not a likable character, but it is hard to ignore him. He is so obnoxious, arrogant, and self-righteous that he becomes a walking farce that it is impossible to take your eyes off of him. “A Confederacy of Dunces” is not your typical novel; what it lacks in plot is more than made up in farcical vignettes, intriguing characters, vivid imagery, and unforgettable dialog. I ardently place it as one of the most important books in Southern literature.

• Film: La Moustache (2005) by Emmanuel Carrère

The premise of Emmanuel Carrère’s film – which also happens to be a novel he authored – is delicately simple. A middle-aged, ruggedly handsome Parisian (Vincent Lindon) decides to shave his long-lasting signature mustache on a whim, even though his beautiful wife, Agnes (Emmanuelle Devos), shrugs the idea off when he asks her prior, confessing that she’s never seen him without it. Marc, however, commits his big shave regardless, plugging him unexpectedly to a journey of self-discovery and lost of identity. Indeed, as Marc waits for other people to comment on his sudden makeover, almost anyone who has known him for long acts nonchalantly to his missing mustache, and later admitting that he had never had one. Marc believes he hasn’t lost his mind but is engulfed into tormented perplexity, particularly after he discovers snapshots of him and his wife vacationing two years ago with him definitely sporting one. At first “La Moustache” seems to be a darkly witty commentary on what we notice or don’t notice about one another; we’re so lulled by the obvious and the ordinary, it implies, that we fail to recognize change. Then it widens into a reflection on marriage and the notion that two people – no matter how intimately connected – inhabit separate worlds. The film’s refusal to tie everything up in ribbons and bows is one of its strengths, even after it seemingly exits the rabbit hole. The discovery of a tentative peace alludes to many unanswered questions and contradictions that hover over the couple’s cozy rapprochement, resembling the anxious spirits and forgotten souls that we ourselves inevitably become.