text: 17/02/09 "More" (1969) Dir: Barbet Schroeder <br /><br />For a film that most viewers have agreed is pretty average, I'm impressed by quite how many differing interpretations have been offered of it. I've only scoured the web quite briefly and I've already been informed that "More" is: a 19th Century-style romance, an allusion to the story of Icarus, a plain film full of dull people, and of interest only to Pink Floyd completists. It's fair to say, then, that critical reception is mixed. I would argue that these wildly disparate readings of Barbet Schroeder's 1969 directorial debut are proof enough that "More" is anything but a pretty average film.<br /><br />Neither is it a masterpiece, of course. I approached "More" as I did "Easy Rider" and Antonioni's "Blowup" - as a 'time-capsule' film, a snapshot of an era - despite the differences in pace, style and content between these movies. They all have similar flaws - either vague or downright unlikeable characters, acting that seems slightly adrift from reality, relaxed editing, and abrupt endings that have left viewers indignant. These movies never try to be persuasive or meet the audience half way - they are what they are, man. This in itself is not a problem as long as we are left with a souvenir of the experience. Thankfully, "More" offers several truly memorable images, sounds and suggestions to the viewer, and this is what saves it.<br /><br />Stefan is a young man who arrives in Paris fresh from his studies in Germany. The first part of the film follows him as he falls in with a group of French hipsters, accompanies them to devastatingly cool and self-conscious parties and bars before meeting Estelle. The two characters become sexually and romantically involved and he promises to follow her to Ibiza, against the advice of his friend Charlie. This is where the Icarus thing comes into play - she is the Sun, he is pursuing her. You may now be able to guess how this all ends.<br /><br />Ibiza is an idyll so far away from the bustling urgency of the over-populated Paris that the naive Stefan knows he must be on to a good thing. Estelle remains elusive and erratic, and the island has a less desirable underbelly. Up until now I had cared little for either of these characters and their unfocused pursuit of somewhere to be really free, but once the action is pared down to just these two the film becomes poignant quite suddenly. During just one single wistful exchange of dialogue in the remote villa they inhabit, the place where their volatile love crystallises, I went from watching with a fading optimism to being utterly enraptured. I can't think of many other films that have done this.<br /><br />The relationship between Stefan and Estelle is real and human in that we can see it go from life-defining intimacy to disillusionment and cruel coldness. They take a lot of drugs and cavort naked on the terraces, the rocks and beaches. Their lives revolve around nothing but each other and the beautiful Mediterranean surroundings. For a while, their situation is the very essence of freedom, emotional openness and experience for its own sake. But Stefan is not in control, and this is the downfall of more than just his future on Ibiza.<br /><br />Pink Floyd's score is a perfect fit for the exoticism, the intimacy, and the foreboding of "More". It is one of the most memorable inclusions, along with the mosquito netting around Estelle's bed, and their hallucinogenic exuberance around the windmill (which appears on the soundtrack album's front cover). A scene in which they take acid to escape from heroin withdrawal is illustrative of the fundamental flaws of the couple - they cannot 'land' without a crash. Maybe they've come too close to what they wanted.<br /><br />Stefan never makes contact with any family or friends from before his arrival in Paris. We are left to presume they have no idea where he is. While other 1960s Counterculture movies dwell on debauchery, excess, the media and voyeurism, Schroeder has instead presented us with a story focused upon one man, who backs himself into a little corner somewhere in the world and quietly disappears.