Cléo de 5 à 7

I loved this film. I wasn't expecting to, but from the very beginning you are drawn into Cleo's world. You understand a woman whom nobody understands, something that is extremely hard to do but Agnes Varda carries it off beautifully. Her coworkers don't care for her, her lover isn't really in-tune with her life, and her best friend likes her, but is busy with her own life. It isn't until she meets the someone new, someone who like herself is about to face a real danger, that she not only faces her problem, but can in a sense conquer it. It's not an easy film to explain, but it's beautifully done and a true winner. I heard that they want to remake it with Madonna. It would be nice for it to be in English, but a remake isn't necessary. They certainly got it right the first time.

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.

"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.

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.