Ne Change Rien (2010): B

Creative inspiration springs forth from endless repetition in Ne Change Rien, Pedro Costa’s non-fiction portrait of French singer/actress Jeanne Balibar. Shooting in luscious black and white and long, static takes, Costa opens on Balibar singing a sultry version of Kris Jensen’s “Torture” on stage before segueing to the recording studio, where endless rehearsals of the same few bars of a single song capture the artistic process in all its mundanity. Balibar’s vocal preparations for a forthcoming opera also fill out this reverential, non-chronological tribute to the toil that lies behind great performance, with the film interested in little more than intently gazing upon its deeply engaged subject. Ne Change Rien deliberately flirts with sleep-inducing sluggishness, trying its audience’s patience – and their interest in Balibar and her work – by fixating on the chanteuse’s over-and-over-again practices perfecting the ins and outs of a chorus or melody with her accompanying musicians. Nonetheless, the doc’s rigorousness can also be enthralling, thanks not only to Balibar's sumptuously smoky voice and sultry performances (her focused, passionate, exhausted countenance half-hidden in striking chiaroscuro), but also to accompanying visuals that have a dreamy, nightclub-inviting gorgeousness. Beautiful and somnambulistic, electric and enervating, it’s a film dreamily in love with the equally inspiring and tedious work of art.