Nelly et Mr. Arnaud

How many film-makers make their greatest masterpiece as their last film? Not many, but to that select list, add Claude Sautet. Nelly & M. Arnaud is exquisite.

It is cinema.

This is to say that, in common with most truly and unquestionably great films, it could not exist with such power in any other art. The most difficult and also the most wonderful films are the films that take place, primarily in their character's hearts. It was not important what Charles Foster Kane *did*, but what he felt. In this film too, we experience the primacy of human feelings.

We do this through two luminous performances that reveal just how coarse is the acting that we habitually see in block-buster movies. One of the many deep emotions that overcame me when I first saw this film was that sheer privilege to see such acting.

To see the very gradual, subtle and beautiful love that develops between the two central characters is to get a glimpse of heaven. A film, then, not of love, but the possibility of love, and a warning without didacticism that we all should grasp love if we are given the opportunity.

Perhaps the greatest joy of cinema is its ability to allow us to experience rare emotion. This wonderful, wonderful film does that in an effortless way, without sentimentality, and for that we should be eternally grateful. Thank you M. Sautet, wherever you may be.

I came across this film, purely by chance, when it was shown on terrestrial TV a couple of years ago. It's a beautiful study of a complex relationship between an older man - the urbane, world-weary Monsieur Arnaud (Michel Serrault) - and the beautiful young woman (Emmanuelle Béart) he hires to assist him in the writing of his memoirs. Initially, they are dependent on each other for different reasons - Nelly financially and Arnaud on the direction Nelly brings to his work - but as the film progresses they become more emotionally attached and the implications of this is the film's main theme. The depth of feeling that develops between the two characters comes across very strongly, thanks mainly to the quality of the two lead performances, while the sexual aspect is merely hinted at and is all the more erotic for it. If subtlety and suggestion are what you look for in a film, "Nelly and Monsieur Arnaud" should be high on your list of 'must see' movies.

In the 1995 film, Nelly and Monsieur Arnaud, director Claude Sautet depicts the relationship between an attractive young woman of 25 (Emmanuelle Beart) and wealthy retired judge (Michel Serrault). The setting is in upper middle-class Paris, replete with cognac, 1961 Chateau d"Yquem, stacks of books on the shelf and comfortable looking apartments. As in another Sautet film, Un Coeur en Hiver, the subject is the fear of being involved. "We all want love, but when we find it, we pull back. It scares us," states Monsieur Arnaud.

At the opening, Nelly is having marital problems with her husband Jerome (Charles Berling) who has not worked in a year. At a café one afternoon she is introduced by a friend to M. Arnaud and, after only a brief conversation about the state of her affairs, he surprisingly offers to give her 30,000 francs to help her get out of debt. She first refuses, then later agrees and also accepts his offer to type his memoirs on his computer. As she transcribes his verbally-dictated notes several hours a day, it becomes clear that he is paying her to be not only his assistant but his companion and personal confidant as well. The talk starts out with book-related matters but soon veers off into the personal. Though there is an unspoken yearning for closeness, their relationship develops into a power struggle over who can get the other to reveal their secrets.

Arnaud is attracted to the younger woman but does not pursue it for fear of rejection. He is reluctant to take risks and is content with the companionship he looks forward to every few days. Neither is comfortable with fully expressing their feelings. Nelly holds people at a distance, seeming to notice their needs but ultimately rejecting their advances with small but hurtful lies. She begins a relationship with M. Arnaud's book publisher Vincent (Jean-Hugues Anglade) but when she suspects that Arnaud is becoming possessive, she lies and tells him that she has slept with Vincent. Having made Arnaud jealous, she then callously dismisses Vincent when he asks her to move in with him. Some changes do seem to open up, however. Nelly leaves her husband and rents a studio apartment. Arnaud opens up and begins to share more of his life. There is a gallantry about the older man as he begins to communicate the pain of his divorce, his estranged relationship with his son, his financial dealings that turned bad, and his unfulfilled longings.

Nelly and Monsieur Arnaud is the type of film that comes to mind when we think of French cinema: thoughtful, restrained, and sensitive; a delicately nuanced character study performed by accomplished actors. The film is "talky" but the conversation is so thoughtful and civilized that we can just sit back and drink it up like a glass of vintage Sauterne. While the characters are not without flaws, they are nonetheless very human and Sautet makes us care about them, revealing their subtleties to us in a way that evokes our compassion. The film conveys the characters' deep longing for connection but, like many of us, they are more comfortable with maintaining the status quo. At the end, nothing much seems to have changed but when Arnaud's ex-wife (Francoise Brion) comes to visit, a hint that passion may have entered the picture in an unforeseen manner is unmistakable.

Michel Serrault, of whom I have the highest regard for his great talent, hits yet another home run with this role. He portrays a wealthy widower, who per chance, meets a sweet young woman, many years his junior. Nellie needs a job and Mr. Arnaud needs an editor. The wonderful friendship that these two engage in, is so sweet and affecting; it'll remind even the most independent person that friends are as real and precious as gold. Mr. Serrault's character has a humor drier than sherry. A very good film.

This comment, in the form of a poem, is dedicated to the late Claude Sautet, one of France's premier directors...

NELLY ET M. ARNAUD

Empty shelves: his library divested. Nothing written, except memory, invests this moment, this immediacy. In the dim light his worn hand almost caresses her young body, but we, in the dark, must estimate the camera's intent. What he had held in abeyance too long shadows his face.

And the rain, the hard Parisian rain. Cognac at tables for two. Another man, a younger man. These scenes will lead us to believe in temporary convenience... the "stolen moments." Vivid beauty flashed on the computer screen, four centuries preserved. Manipulated, changed, "seared with trade." What remains, embraced, has no passport, has no traveling bags. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thank you and farewell, M. Sautet