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Saturday, Feb 21, 2004 11:34 PM UTC2004-02-21T23:34:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

William Safire, minister of disinformation

The New York Times runs corrections when reporters get a middle initial wrong. So why does its conservative columnist get away with glaring errors that shape world affairs?

With daily revelations of how the White House made use of faulty intelligence to bolster its political agenda, the media is also beginning to examine its own role in the affair. There’s plenty to examine: Take, for instance, William Safire and the New York Times, frequently cited as a conduit for official disinformation.

A recent example was his trumpeting of the sensational charges published last November in the Weekly Standard, a conservative magazine. The article proved, according to Safire, “that Saddam Hussein’s spy agency and top al-Qaida operatives certainly were in frequent contact for a decade, and that there is renewed reason to suspect an Iraqi spymaster in Prague may have helped finance the 9/11 attacks.” Those charges were based on the leak of a secret memorandum from Douglas Feith, a senior Pentagon official, to the U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee.

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Barry Lando, a former producer for CBS's "60 Minutes," lives in Paris. The documentary "The Trial of Saddam Hussein -- The Trial You'll Never See," which he co-produced with Michel Despratx, was broadcast Oct. 26 on Canal Plus, a cable TV station in France.  More Barry Lando

Friday, Jan 27, 2012 1:00 AM UTC2012-01-27T01:00:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

Pick of the week: Surviving a parents’ nightmare, with wine and sex

Pick of the week: A young couple faces their son's deadly illness, with Parisian flair, in "Declaration of War"

Valérie Donzelli  and Jérémie Elkaïm in "Declaration of War"

Valérie Donzelli and Jérémie Elkaïm in "Declaration of War"

Channeling personal trauma into creative work is pretty much what artists do, as Dr. Freud and Vincent van Gogh could have told you. In the case of French actress and director Valérie Donzelli’s striking and imaginative film “Declaration of War,” the autobiographical element is so strong that the movie’s virtually a docudrama – but a dazzlingly strange docudrama with musical numbers, choreographed interludes and prodigious cinematic verve. What could have been a wrenching family tear-jerker, in which a young couple discovers that their infant son is dangerously ill, becomes a bittersweet tragicomedy in the classic French style, suggestive of Jacques Demy, Christophe Honoré or François Ozon. (“Declaration of War” opened the Critic’s Week at Cannes this year, and now reaches theaters just after its United States premiere at Sundance.)

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Andrew O

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Friday, Jan 6, 2012 1:15 AM UTC2012-01-06T01:15:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

Pick of the week: Take the Robert Bresson challenge

Pick of the week: Exploring the spiritual vision and radical technique of an often-overlooked French genius

Anne Wiazemsky in "Au Hasard Balthazar"

Anne Wiazemsky in "Au Hasard Balthazar"

Watching any movie always involves getting used to a particular director’s narrative rhythms — that is, how he or she is telling the story, as well as what kind of story it is. Watching the films of Robert Bresson, the ascetic French director who made only 13 features in a 40-year career, reminds us that most of the movies we watch, from Steven Spielberg to the Coen brothers to Pedro Almodóvar, share an essentially similar set of narrative principles. Bresson’s best-known pictures simply don’t. This winter and spring, North American viewers get an exceedingly rare opportunity to see Bresson’s films projected on the big screen, in a near-complete retrospective that opens this week in New York and will move on to many other cities. (For more details, see below.)

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Andrew O

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Friday, Dec 16, 2011 5:30 PM UTC2011-12-16T17:30:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

3. Bernard-Henri Levy

The philosopher is a living parody of a blowhard foreign intellectual

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One upside to America’s frothing populist hatred of intellectuals is that we don’t produce many Bernard-Henri Lévys. Unfortunately, we tend to take other nations’ tedious, fame-seeking big thinkers far too seriously. I think our magazine editors are seduced by accents — it’s the only explanation for why they keep trying to sell us “BHL” and Niall Ferguson.

So BHL, the famous and wealthy French philosopher, gets assigned to travel across America for the Atlantic, and produces the laundry list of clichés you’d expect: We’re all fat and religious and we worship the flag and baseball.

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Alex Pareene

Alex Pareene writes about politics for Salon. Email him at apareene@salon.com and follow him on Twitter @pareene  More Alex Pareene

Friday, Nov 25, 2011 1:00 AM UTC2011-11-25T01:00:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

“The Artist”: Silent, black-and-white and totally irresistible

A star you've never heard of in a fake 1920s movie -- can this really be Oscar bait? See it and find out

Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo in "The Artist"

Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo in "The Artist"

When French director Michel Hazanavicius’ new film “The Artist” premiered last spring at Cannes, Harvey Weinstein snatched up the United States rights and a handful of prognosticators pronounced it an Oscar candidate. That sounded far-fetched at the time, and maybe still does. But save your derision until after you see the movie, a project so idiosyncratic, so unlikely, so simultaneously innocent and sophisticated that it could only have been devised by the French. Furthermore, “The Artist” is also an outrageous and nearly impossible amount of fun, which is not a concept Americans much associate with French films — and that’s the factor that may put the movie and its lantern-jawed, meta-handsome leading man, Jean Dujardin, in this winter’s awards race.

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Andrew O

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Friday, Nov 4, 2011 9:25 PM UTC2011-11-04T21:25:00Zl, M j, Y g:i A T

“The Bride Wore Black”: Truffaut’s delicious homage to Hitchcock

Jeanne Moreau plays the ultimate femme fatale in a summery, deceptive fable of a woman's murderous revenge

Jeanne Moreau in "The Bride Wore Black"

Jeanne Moreau in "The Bride Wore Black"

What begins as a French cinephile’s almost obsessive tribute to Alfred Hitchcock becomes progressively weirder, wittier and more Continental in François Truffaut’s 1968 “The Bride Wore Black,” which begins a New York run this week and will then play in many other cities. Truffaut is sometimes viewed as a relative lightweight among the company of big-name ’60s and ’70s European directors, and there’s no doubt his work is uneven. But I find myself appreciating his double-edged, seductive films more and more on repeat viewings. With its summery, Mediterranean surface, Jeanne Moreau as the ultimate femme fatale heroine and a knife-twisting tale of murderous revenge and unexpected romance, “The Bride Wore Black” is well worth rediscovering.

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Andrew O

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