In my last review a couple weeks ago, I wrote of Bernard Bertolucci’s more obscure love letter to the French New Wave, The Dreamers. I look at this as a sort of ‘part II’ to that review. To many film lovers and film makers everywhere, The French New Wave is well-known for being the defining moment in cinematic history that opened the floodgates for independent film makers to fight against the studio-led products and provide something deeply personal. It started in the late fifties, with films like Le Beau Serge and The 400 Blows. Directors such as Francois Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard were able to find a place within the echelon of the French film makers that very much inspired them, and would go on to inspire others.
This Wave would continue on into the late sixties, though no-one can determine when it petered out. Much of modern cinema all across the world has continued the traditions of The French New Wave, from the storytelling to the editing to the poetic narration. Much of what we see in films today are only the way they are because of this movement. It’s why we saw so much experimentation during the seventies, and why, when watching these older films, there’s a constant sense of familiarity, even if you haven’t seen anything else from this era.
I had briefly explored this movement during my college years some ten years ago, but outside of some very iconic imagery, I was never given the chance to watch anything from this seminal point in time. It’s only in the last year or so that I’ve become absolutely obsessed with this pocket-space of cinematic poetry. I still have a lot of exploring to do, but I wanted to highlight just a handful of my favourites so far. French cinema is something so utterly unique from what we Brits and Americans are used to, and feel far more timeless than our own contemporaries of the time.
For those who have never experienced the French cinema of this era, I can only hope that my poured adoration can convince you to seek these out. Beauty and class coincide with one another in these very distinct pieces of artistry. laissez-vous guider par le cinéma.
The 400 Blows (1959)
I spoke of two major films that marked the beginning of this era. I have yet to watch Le Beau Serge, as it has been very difficult to find legitimately, but I’ve had Truffaut’s directorial debut sitting upon my shelf for more than few months before I finally decided to watch it. Even before I started this wave of French New Wave appreciation, The 400 Blows was always one of those films that I simply knew about by its title alone. It’s no wonder why this film became such a seminal moment in film history: it’s as independent and personal as one of these films has ever been.
Truffaut gives us an near-perfect autobiographical recount of his childhood through the guise of a young pre-adolescent by the name of Antoine, who finds himself subject to ridicule from both his parents and his teachers. He’s like any child: one who enjoys the good in his life, but often ends up in trouble. HIs mother seems to detest him, and his stepfather begins to take his own frustrations out on him. The film is very melancholy, but it does have those moments of sunlight buried within, occasionally shining through the antics of Antoine and his friend.
There’s a unique voice to this film that could never be matched by anyone else. Truffaut is putting his troubled childhood to the screen, shamelessly criticising his parents for their, frankly, terrible parenting. There’s a sense of bitterness that Truffaut is personifying on screen. You’ll hardly find a film from that era that was so willing to speak out against the obligatory respect we’re expecting to give our parents, no matter how incompetent some of their choices can be. You feel every hardship that the young Antoine goes through. We’re subject to cold, seeded spite from his mother, and none of it is truly warranted.
This film is a coming-of-age story. It isn’t necessarily excusing rebellious behaviour, but it is trying to give other parents a little more perspective. Antoine is not perfect, and he does misbehave, steal and come up with excuses; some more terrible than others. But it’s far more harmless than what his parents perceive. Children can cause trouble, and to immediately label them as a delinquent can be emotionally damaging for them. What we see portrayed here is a raw and honest recounting of a single person’s experience, but it can apply to anyone. It’s only fitting that one of the first major films of The French New Wave would be something that stands up to authority. It would set the tone for the coming years.
Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959)
Speaking so fondly of directorial debuts, here’s a more recent watch for myself. The title immediately provides a culture shock. We mix together a famed Japanese city with the alluring class of the French language and it creates this whirlwind of questionable emotion. Director, Alain Resnais ventures into lands so foreign to Westerners that there is hardly anything to match it from the time. His first film reflects on the aftershock left behind by World War II, and especially on how the Japanese had been effected. This culture clash is more an entangling of different societies united in sorrow.
The film is largely focused on two star-crossed lovers: a French actress who has travelled to Hiroshima for a small role in an important piece about the city, and a Japanese man who has fallen madly in love with her. They have what the woman wants to be a brief affair, but this soon turns into a story of opening up to a new life of self-reflection and the ability to confront the past. Working as both a poignant apology letter to Japan and a greater message of moving past trauma, this film will give you something to reflect no matter the context.
I’ve spoken quite frequently of my love for Japanese cinema in the past. It’s also quite funny that we as a culture know more of this side of the world more than that of the French today. It’s interesting to look at this film from the perspective of years and years of hatred that was earned through the second war. Resnais finally looks back on the terrible Hiroshima bombing with a sense of sadness and accountability, even if France had little effect on such an event. There’s a constant sadness and eloquence to the film, where the two coincide just as much as our two protagonists. We’re given the facts of the event up front, with uncomfortable real-life imagery, post-explosion. One can’t help but feel the deepest of emotions. With Brits and Americans refusing to acknowledge the harm and tragedy they caused, Hiroshima Mon Amour kicks it into us.
Even aside from the blatant criticism of such an awful act, the film has this understanding of tragedy. One of the earliest criticisms I’ve seen of the war, it makes a point that everyone is affected no matter what side you stood on. Intercut with this beautiful, yet struggling romance of cultural inception, we are made witness to two different mentalities trying to win each over. I loved the progressive exploration Elle’s trauma, and her evasiveness for another romantic connection. It’s gorgeous and serene and intermit in ways that only that French sensibility can muster.
This is perhaps one of the more “artistic” films in the list, and I understand it won’t be for everybody. But if you’re in to dialogue-driven romance pieces, it does provide something distinct from many others in the genre. I spoke in the past of Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, and this film is similar to those. It’s a stunning display of human fragility.
Breathless (1960)
Probably the most recognisable film in The French New Wave, Jean-Luc Godard gave his own debut with this poignant story of self-criticism. That’s not to say that Godard is criticising himself, but opening others to the possibility of looking at themselves more objectively. Godard has easily become my favourite director from this era, as he’s often very critical and honest about many of the things I myself have been. In the case of this film, I was able to relate much to that struggle to make changes and correct the mistakes I have made; obviously not to this exact extent.
It’s a story centred on criminal, Lazlo Kovacs (though this is merely an alias) as he finds himself wrapped in various petty crimes involving gangs. He lives his life rather haphazardly, but he does have a deep-seeded love of an American woman, Patricia. Patricia has her life quite set, and while she loves Lazlo, she can’t envision a future with him. Lazlo continues to run from his responsibilities, preferring to live in immaturity. But this path he leads causes him a great downfall.
I will say that amongst the other films I’ve chosen to list, Breathless may be my least favourite. I still very much enjoy it, but it feels a little half-realised. That said, there are some very strong themes that make this film stand above your typical character study. I loved that exploration of Lazlo’s personality. While he tries to tote this tough guy image, aggressive and nonchalant towards the advancements of Patricia, he’s really a very insecure person. He stops himself from ever truly growing, refusing to look at himself from the perspective of others. I think this is such an important lesson for anyone to learn. Regardless of whether you see yourself as an objectively good person, there’s always some sort of flaw that bares improving.
Godard is different from the two directors I mentioned before. His more recognisable style has yet to come into realisation, and he would revisit these same themes later with more ferocity. For me, it isn’t quite an immediate swing-and-a-hit. There is still much to admire about the film, and it still stands as something quite unique, but there’s so much more artistry in his later works, as you will inevitably see.
Jules and Jim (1962)
Francois Truffaut started off an extremely high note, but he would continue to deliver countless art works across the proceeding years. His second most notable film in my eyes in Jules and Jim. The title is a tad misleading, as it’s more of a three-piece story; a love triangle of disproportionate colours with characters that are dictated by a singular entity. It’s a surprisingly nuanced view of love and this how idea of chasing somebody who is so different to you can often lead to some great downfall. A country known for its romance, this is more about mutual and unconditional love outside of romance.
The title refers to two friends. Jules is an Austrian that has lived in France most of his life. Jim is natural-born Frenchman. The two have a seemingly unbreakable bond, but that is soon tested with the introduction of the free-spirited Catherine. Both are drawn to her, beginning a three-way friendship that will inevitably lead them into a complicated love triangle. Both men are sent to war, fighting on opposite sides, but they still ultimately find themselves dedicated to one another. Jules marries Catherine, but the romance isn’t as perfect as they make it seem, and Jim can’t help but fall in love with her. What continues is a strangely symbiotic relationship.
Jules and Jim is not one of those conventional romance films. This isn’t your typical love triangle, and is guaranteed to cause some confusion. In a way, it strips apart our perception of relationships and what exactly defines ‘romance.’ It destroys this idea that opposites attract due to how different Catherine is from the other two. Both are more committed to a more idealistic family, but Catherine is far more lucid. You do sort of feel sorry for her as she is pressured into a love life she never asked for. But her manipulative behaviour soon dismantles whatever sympathy you may have left.
It’s difficult to separate Truffaut’s own experiences with this film, the same way we look at The 400 Blows. That lack of loving support Truffaut had when he was younger probably effected his own ideas of romance and relationships. Seeing as his parents had a very miserable and dishonest life together, I can understand this slight cynicism. Above all, the film is pushing the reality that a unconditional bond will always be far stronger, and that no romantic partner should ever get in the way of that. It’s a film that will have you questioning a lot of your own outlook on life. With my own experiences of losing friends (not to any woman), I understand completely the value of having these types of people in your life.
Pierrot Le Fou (1965)
Returning to the works of the great Jean-Luc Godard, we see an open critique of American culture in a way that personifies the almost-protesting movement of The French New Wave. Godard also used the backdrop of the newly started Vietnam War as the basis for America’s obsession with patriotism and blood-hungry violence. Unlike Breathless, this film better displays Godard’s eye for the uncanny: the oddly grounded surrealism that has no doubt had an impact on later surrealist films from other directors. Not the least of which can be seen in Godard’s amazing Weekend.
The titular character if Pierrot tries to reinvent himself as a man named Ferdinand. He’s had enough of being surrounded by people obsessed with shallow film making and wants to live the life of a creative spirit. He abandons his family in favour of an old love. The two take to the road, committing crimes while Marianne’s (the girlfriend) past begins to catch up with her. Gangsters and murderers have some sort of score to settle with Marianne, and Pierrot gets caught up in the middle of it all. Pierrot soon realises that he and Marianne are far more different than he would’ve liked. He enjoys the beauty of the naturalness of life, while she is far more interested in simple and exciting things.
I started this entire article explaining what The French New Wave was even started on. It was the basis of counter-culture fighting off against the typical studio-led narrative and film making techniques in favour of a more independent voice. Pierrot Le Fou is an open criticism of that very studio sentimentality. The film is packed with a lot of excitement, with thrilling chases and suspense and mystery, but it’s all shadowed by a satirical edge. Pierrot acts as the one, true artist amongst these thrill-chasing figures, where even this source of his fascination, Marianne, is the very epitome of that system he despises.
The film also takes more than a several few shots at American culture. There’s plenty of humour that’s derived from this point, like the scene where the two leads re-enact a confrontation between and American soldier and a Vietnamese woman. It’s done in a purposely offensive way as to highlight the audacity that America derives pleasure from such actions. American cinema had always been obsessed with entertaining their audience up to this point, with the smaller, independent films being pushed to the wayside. Godard is essentially venting his frustrations at this. If Godard was alive today, no doubt that he would furiously object to the state of modern cinema.
Pierrot Le Fou is an essential film for those who are tired of the cynical studio films that dominate movie theatres everywhere. It’s something I entirely relate to, even if I still get a good kick out of those mindless action films. But for the struggling audience that wants something more artistic, this film still speaks volumes today. It also helps that the film has a very entertaining a slightly surreal atmosphere.
Belle de Jour (1967)
Luis Bunuel is a notable director for this article due to his Italian background. Many Italian directors were some of the first cross-continental film makers to take inspiration from The French New Wave. Bunuel had been directing films for many years before the sixties, but this decade saw him reinvented in the world of the New Wave artist. Living in France at the time, Bunuel wished to explore the romanticism of the country, while also looking at the eroticism of romance in a way that prevented older films from doing so. I’m a big fan of Bunuel’s work, and one film that stood above many of his others was the erotic, surrealist drama of Belle de Jour.
A young, married woman by name of Severine is shown to be living a rather frigid sex life. Struggling to give in to her husbands needs, he patiently allows her to find herself. In need of a new career, the virginal Severine finds herself in the midst of a whorehouse. Suddenly the rather conservative wife begins to open up through her numerous sexual affairs and finds solace in the various sex workers she comes to see as friends. She does all of this with her husband being none the wiser, and still viciously frigid around him. Bit as the opening suggests, her secrecy may not last too long…or maybe it will.
The opening of the film seemingly gives us the finale of Severine’s story, as it opens with the husband torturing her in the woods. But as the film goes on, we begin to understand that Bunuel has a slightly surreal outlook of the world. It’s hard to decipher what’s reality and what’s the mere daydreaming of our lead. One thing does feel certain however, and that’s that Severine is very much intoxicated in the world of sex workers. It becomes an outlet for her promiscuity, one that’s far too supressed within the confines of a normal family life. Bunuel is presenting a sex-positive message, that women don’t have to be tied to matrimony. When a man sleeps around, he’s often congratulated, while a woman is shamed and called a whore. Bunuel is criticising this double-standard.
I think this film carries a lot of weight in modern culture. Any film from the earlier ages of cinema that promotes such a strong feminist message tend to age with a lot of finesse. The film doubles as an encouraging, supportive story as well as a simply erotic tale. There’s an off-kilter surrealism that is not quite to the extent of Godard, but it’s hypnotic enough to leave a strange impression. It’s one I can recommend to just about anybody.
Le Samourai (1967)
The cultural entanglement of Hiroshima Mon Amour would echo through the later ages, but usually through more subtle, genre-bending faucets. Jean-Pierre Melville took this idea of mixing French culture with that of the Japanese and added a sprinkle of American gangster to make this hybrid of distinction: Le Samourai. Not being strictly tied to one genre or culture, the film manages to work in a way where I couldn’t find any suitable comparison. This will be the last film on my list that I talk about, and it’s quite a lot more simple than the previous films I’ve talked about, but there’s still so much to appreciate.
The titular samurai is a mysterious, almost robotic, man by the name of Jef Costello (or at least that’s how we know him). Costello works as a gangster doing odd jobs for different people, building working relationships with his clients. But one job goes too far and Jef is left to deal with the bloodthirsty gangsters coming after him. During this time, it appears he’s falling in love with a jazz musician that works at a gang boss’s club. We don’t know what Costello is feeling, or have inclination of what’s really going on in his head. What we do know is that this man is good at what he does, and we want to see this journey all the way to the end.
The plot summary is rather standard for a lot of gangster-crime thriller, but what fits it nicely into The French New Wave is how delicately it blends together these different cultures. Having the word ‘Samurai’ in the title immediately elicits a desire for some sort of desire for a Kurosawa-style swordsman film, but it more uses the basis of a Samurai’s morals than the obvious visual indicators. There’s a mysticism emanating from Costello, and he toes this fine line of moral greyness. Like the great American gangster films, Costello lives in a darker, yet lustrous world. We’re drawn to these criminal characters more than any other because of their deeply flawed lifestyle. To complete this multicultural dish, we have the French class that radiates the film’s setting.
I look more at this film for its stylish intent. It’s not always the most layered film, but it does give us a unique spin on two very different, yet also very similar, genres. It’s like a modest come-down from the era of deeper, introspective pieces that made up the individual directors’ lives. Le Samourai is memorable as well as stylish, but not in the way that American cinema has tailored us to believe.
The French New Wave has become a deep fascination of mine in the last few months. The country has revolutionised so much in the way of modern cinema that we often take it for granted. I wanted nothing more than to share with you just a few of my favourite films during this period, but there are many more I’d like to talk about in the future. I avoided films like Weekend and Playtime, as I really want them to have their own more extensive reviews.
This Wave brought about the voices of so many repressed and passionate people that it melted over into the protests of ’68. This was like the epilogue to the entire era, when film making became more than a quick source of entertainment and the entirety of France banded together for the sake of independent expression. I implore every single person who reads this to venture outside their comfort zone and look upon the films that inspired so many of our own. amuse-toi bien!
Written by Conor Johnson.