Making its New York debut 40 years after it was made is this film about the daily lives of a rural Burgundy couple. “Cousin Jules” received plenty of festival acclaim when it was originally shown in 1973, but this scoreless, nearly dialogue-free movie did not exactly burst with mainstream potential. And director Dominique Benichetti’s refusal to let his film be screened in anything other than CinemaScope and stereo meant most art houses couldn’t accommodate it.
It’s readily apparent why “Cousin Jules” never found a distributor, but it’s also obvious that this is a uniquely rewarding movie. In long, lovely takes, Benichetti and cinematographers Pierre-William Glenn and Paul Launay show how the blacksmith Jules and his wife, Félicie, go about their daily business on this seemingly remote farm. The film takes in the couple’s silent ways of communication, the unspoiled countryside, the casual way Jules handles red-hot metal and his wife’s hands — one missing an index finger — as she prepares their meals.
It only seems plotless. Momentous things happen, one of them telegraphed in a single heartbreaking shot. The sense of time and place is so intense that Jules’ way of life seems to be disappearing even as we watch him.