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From a dash of Melville (Cadillac, stetson, shades, stogie), Jacques Demy fully formed (Beethoven, widescreen, the gay tristesse of chance). Nantes is the port of dreams, the bistro is a confessional for yearning youngsters and histrionic dames, church is a theater playing Gary Cooper flicks. "I do dream a bit," the aspiring musician (Marc Michel) admits shyly, frustrated with earthbound jobs. After quitting, he bumps into the heartbreaker from his childhood (Anouk Aimée), who now dons top hat, fur boa and foot-long cigarette holderholder as Lola the chanteuse. Despite her Sternbergian moniker and fling with an American sailor (Alan Scott), she's really a marshmallow—Marilyn-breathy, scattered, generous, forever faithful to the beau who disappeared years ago (Jacques Harden). Elsewhere, a 14-year-old mini-Lola (Annie Duperoux) experiences her own novice heart pangs, the kind that make the camera turn slow-mo at the fairgrounds. First love, rekindled love, lost love. "There's happiness in simply wanting happiness." Budgetary realities intruded upon the original vision of a color musical, though the filmmaker wasn't deterred: Raoul Coutard gives the blanched tones a radioactive glow, the Michel Legrand score has the actors sliding and swooning on the verge of a choreographed lilt. The imperialist Yanks in this Nouvelle Vague landscape are courtly mementos from MGM extravaganzas, the mom concerned about "good morals" (Elina Labourdette) isn't just a former dancer but also the same swan from Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne. The Ophüls question ("Quelle heure est-il?") is always in the air, along with tracking shots that connect and sever emotions. A Hollywood ending for the heroine, spiked by Demy's awareness that one character's bliss might be another's melancholia. Une Femme est une femme is the purposefully scratchy B-side track. With Margo Lion, Catherine Lutz, Corinne Marchand, and Yvette Anziani. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |