In every review of “Au Hasard Balthazar,” it’s clarified that Robert Bresson’s masterpiece is NOT about a donkey. The donkey that shares the film’s name and is followed from birth to death is not a cartoon character, he does not get reaction shots and he does not have thoughts or feelings; he is a donkey. In this fashion, the film is a haunting portrait of life, an often solemn depiction of reality and a religious parable in numerous ways. It is again not a fantasy in the way a movie about a donkey might imply.
And yet Bresson’s film is something of a fantasy. The donkey itself is not merely alive but is baptized at the beginning, presumably bestowing it a soul. One of the main characters Gerard (Francois Lafarge) is hardly a teenager but a sadistic monster. The town drunk Arnold (Jean-Claude Guilbert) happens to come into a large inheritance. And the way in which Balthazar the donkey changes hands and finds its way back to the protagonist Marie (Anne Wiazemsky) time and again bares a resemblance to Steven Spielberg’s “War Horse.”
When looked at in this way, “Au Hasard Balthazar” doesn’t always seem so grim. Its initial set up is something of a paradise for the young animal and the young children, and that along with the use of Schubert in the score makes the whole thing feel ethereal and spiritual, as though life can be dour and rough, but it is still a life.
The film has so much emotion because Bresson found the perfect medium upon which we can project our empathy and feelings. Balthazar does not feel or react when Gerard sets his tail on fire or beats him or is tied to a shoddy harness giving him sores, and yet his presumed pain is ours. His blankness suggests wonders.
The common observations about all of Bresson’s films is that they lack one of the most crucial components of cinema: acting. The performers here, all of them ordinary people and non-actors, are often so dry and monotonous that one might grasp why a donkey would be an equivalent alternative. But removing that aspect minimizes on the melodrama; Bresson never embellishes, and the minimalism contains deep emotion as a result.
One scene as Balthazar is becoming a circus performer sees him exchanging glances with other animals in cages. It serves no narrative purpose, it does not involve humans or tangible emotions, and yet it feels to be one of the most emotive and human moments in the film. What are their thoughts? What are their feelings? Do their stares trade loneliness, understanding or both?
Apply that same sensation to a scene between Gerard and Marie in which she reluctantly gives in to him in a car. Free of words, Bresson touches on extremely scandalous subject matter, least of all for a girl so young, and he does so with an elegant, feather touch that leaves a lasting impression.
“Au Hasard Balthazar” achieves an understanding of a complete life with more complexity and understanding than most movies combined… and it’s about a donkey.