Cleo - Mittwoch zwischen 5 und 7

This film is a perfect example of why I love French film. In a word, realism. In many words, the desire to capture life's most important, daring, fanciful, yet haphazard moments with the faith that by doing so you are illustrating a timeless notion. Cleo from 5 to 7 plucks a single string from a singer's life and by pulling at it, illustrates the fabric of the beautiful and unique, but predetermined world that it is woven into. What illustrates this best is the third scene of the movie when the heroine flits about a local shop browsing hats. The camera shows her shopping but also captures many reflections that expose the larger world around her. The window pane showcases soldiers marching by, foreshadowing the war in Algiers. The mirrors take snapshots of Cleo with different head-dresses all be-speaking a future she won't choose. In the background, her maid sits disapprovingly. Small details like these, that are often neglected in other movies, are the backbone of this work of art. Cleo from 5 to 7 is a movie about much more than two hours in the lead character's life. It is about the character's whole life as illustrated by two hours. Like Joyce's Uylsses, it finds parallels between the struggles of a day with the struggles of a life.

To me, this is a movie about looking on the bright side of life... from the point of view of someone who isn't. We follow Cleo, a beautiful singer, through a day of her life (from 5:00 to 7:00) as she waits to find out if she has cancer. It's a very simple plot, and I think this simplicity is what allows the film to show Cleo's inner turmoil so well. This movie has strong existential undertones. In the beginning of the film, Cleo believes her fate is just that: fate. She is superstitious to the point of paranoia. Through the course of the film, she discovers that she is in control of her own life, and even in something that seems out of her control -- like cancer -- she has the freedom to decide how she will look at it and whether or not she will let it ruin her life.

I took a walk after seeing this and felt cleansed like always after a great film, the night fresh. More so than womanhood or death, this is about having lived a life. She believes she's dying from cancer as the film begins, but of course we have to wait until the end to get the hospital results.

The Tarot cards of the opening are an entry; artifice, images in place of the real thing, and yet the old woman is spontaneous enough (or contriving) to improvise a story they supposedly tell, some of it vaguely correct, some not, but a story that just so happens to hit on the problem of her suffering and unlock personal truth.

The problem is desire, something we think is wrong with life. The filmmaker unveils in the early stages a marvelous space of desire, as poignant as any of Resnais' spaces on memory (the other debilitating facet of mind); the girl in a precious hat shop, safe on this side of the shop glass, gliding among and admiring trinkets we have come up with to dress life, make it more beautiful than it is.

Yet of course life has an ugliness we can't dress, but that's not out there, no hat will fix it. It's the constant vexation with things not being just perfect (which is desire for them to be other than they are), a lover who is not always there, a piano player who doesn't fawn over her singing talent. It's not just her of course, at a cafe we hear people complaining about all sorts of things.

What underpins this is ego, that self who must be at the center of things, the filmmaker playfully sketches this in a rehearsal scene, where as she sings, with a small pan of the camera we find her singing directly to us as if center stage for an imaginary audience, the center of attention.

But there's also, along the way, a bubbly friend who is open enough about things to pose naked for a sculpting class. Another marvelous image here, a naked body which does not have to overthink its place in the room, which can freely let others take away a glimpse that they can chisel into shape, something she can give of her that she doesn't lose.

It's all about the view we bring to life, the air of realization through which we see, the appearances we cultivate. This is beautifully rendered in a film-within the two girls see, a silent where a man throws away his dark glasses that obscured the way things really were to find his girl alive and well, she had just tripped, no one died. It's this easy.

But how can it be easy when she's dying?

The film doesn't clearly reveal, the doctor's unworried look can mean either of the two things. But of course that day will come just the same, it could be months or decades away. What's left then? Having lived a day just like this, having taken walks like these with a soldier in the park, bus rides like these through the first day of summer.

This is beautiful stuff, more simple but as deep about the life of appearances and consciousness as Hiroshima mon amour. It reminds me of the cheeky Buddhist saying that explains how there has never been anything wrong from the start.

Something to meditate upon.

First scene (shot in color):Cleo visits the fortune-teller:ignorance,confusion.Last scene:Cleo is a responsible woman now,she's ready to cope with a not-so-rose future:enlightenment. Between the scenes ,one hour and a half (the title is a misnomer).Historically,it's not the first film whose story unfolds in real time (see Robert Wise:the set up).But the concept is here totally mastered. At the beginning of the movie,Cleo is a precious,soft ,selfish young girl.The fortune-teller epitomizes naïvete,a non-scientific attitude.And however,the lady says something important when Cleo draws a skeleton from the tarot pack:"do not panic,the arms and the legs are still covered with flesh.Your own being is about to change deeply." The fortune tells that to comfort Cleo -later she'll tell her husband "cards say "death!",and as for me I've seen cancer"-and the end would prove she was right though. After leaving the fortune-teller,Cleo meets some people ,most of them indifferent,she cannot communicate her anguish to any of them.Everybody' s busy about himself.They listen to her,but they can't hear her. Then she takes her black glasses off!It's a symbol,now she's ready to see the world as it is.She meets Antoine ,he's a soldier about to return to Algeria to fight in a dirty war.Both are afraid,both have found the comfort they needed so!Now Cleo has opened up,she can face the terrible illness."I'm not afraid anymore,she says,I think that I'm happy"

A film about living life in the shadow of death, about how viewing the world without sunglasses lets in the light, and shows us the truth. This beautful movie is made with surging energy and a lightness of touch by Agnes Varda, the immortal poet of French cinema. It is superbly constructed while feeling as if it were being made up as it goes along. The camera captures a Paris that in some ways has disappeared but in others is still with us and which I hope will remain forever.

Corinne Marchand is forever Cleo, a singer waiting for the result of a recent medical test. When she sings her "Sans Toi", your eyes will fill with tears; when she vamps her way down the steps in Montsouris Park, you'll smile your broadest smile. Around her, life teems -- friends, colleagues, strangers and their children, animals, trees, overheard conversations, momentary remarks -- all observed with a keen eye and endless compassion by Varda and her team.

Ten stars for this? No. A thousand. It's beyond rating. For me, this sits among the highest achievements of cinema. CLEO will live forever.