Cléo de 5 a 7

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.

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.

As the title reveals, Cléo de 5 à 7 takes place between 5pm and 7pm. In this time, we follow a beautiful young singer, Florence 'Cléo' Victoire, as she walks the busy streets of Paris all the while awaiting a dreaded test result from her doctor.

Director Agnes Varda, nicknamed "Grandmother of the New Wave", combines fluid camera movements with sporadic 'jump cuts' to casually glide us through the streets of Paris, allowing us to delve deep into the scenery. The mobile camera provides a realistic and intimate experience.

Florence 'Cléo' Victoire begins her journey embodying a cliché. She is consumed by materialism and almost hypnotized by her own beauty. She is selfish and ignorant to her surroundings. From 5 to 7, Cléo peers deep within herself and in result experiences a kind of enlightenment. She begins to open her eyes to the outside world, observing the hectic streets of Paris, visiting old friends, and in a twist of fate meets a fascinating young soldier preparing to leave for Algeria. The soldier is a beautifully written character.

With subtext involving serious topics such as classism and more specifically impoverishment of Algerians (1954-62), one would predict that the film's message was multifaceted, and perhaps intended to serve a cause.However, after watching the film, I've come to that conclusion that Cléo de 5 à 7 is meant to be a celebration of life. The film encourages us to appreciate our blessings without the use of any clichés and without being preachy.

Cléo de 5 à 7's black and white Paris is an elegant backdrop to this moving, unique story of self-discovery. If you are a French New Wave lover or just someone who adores Paris, I'd encourage you to watch this film. It is simply stunning.

-Joanna C.T. http://addictivefilm.blogspot.com/

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.

"Cleo from 5 to 7" tells the story of a young French singer, who fears that she may be seriously ill. What could have been maudlin "movie of the week" soap opera, is transformed by Agnes Varda into a unique movie experience.

The film contrasts Cleo's fear of death with the teeming life of the Paris streets, where street entertainers swallow live frogs and puncture their biceps; and the more normal members of the crowd busy themselves with the usual affairs of business and the heart. A large amount of the film takes place outdoors, with Cleo and the people in her life always walking, running or driving. There is a wonderful scene of Cleo-Distraught over an ominous tarot reading by the fortune teller- descending a circular staircase, her shoe heels clicking out a counterpoint to Michel Legrand's pensive music.

Sometimes just watching the way someone moves is very revealing. Director Varda has a fluid camera style which enlivens every scene. As often happens in European art films the story unfolds in a slow undramatic fashion, but their is so much going on in the image and the text, that you don't mind. Essential viewing.