Agnes Varda's 'Cleo from 5 to 7' is the story of Cleo, a relatively unknown pop artist, with a few songs on the radio to her credit, who now faces the very real possibility that she might be suffering from terminal cancer. We follow Cleo in real time, wandering around Paris, waiting for the results of medical tests that will inform her (and the viewer) of her physician's fateful diagnosis.
Varda condenses Cleo's journey of anxiety from the two hours of the title (5 to 7) to an actual hour and a half. We learn from the documentary "Remembrances" (which can be found as part of the DVD extras in the Criterion Collection) that anytime a clock was shown during the film, it would accurately reflect the time elapsed in Cleo's journey.
The film begins with Cleo's visit to a Tarot Card reader who reinforces her belief that indeed the diagnosis will turn out to be cancer. Cleo's bad mood is made even worse when two songwriters (one played by a very young Michel LeGrand) come over and tease her as if she's a ten year old child. Cleo stalks out of her apartment and grows more self-absorbed (she plays one of her own songs on a jukebox in a café, expecting to get noticed by the patrons only to find herself ignored by them).
Varda focuses on Cleo's internal strife as opposed to developing any kind of compelling conflict between the quirky characters she encounters. For most of the film, Cleo is presented as shallow and narcissistic—it's hard to like her at all. Instead, Varda is content to draw us into the sights and sounds of a bustling urban landscape. The film is full of snippets of conversation including long forgotten news items (a gift from Khurschev to JFK is mentioned over the car radio) along with non-actors filmed eating their lunch as the fictional story unfolds before our eyes.
Despite a plethora of vignettes, there's very little story arc in 'Cleo'. For me, the ending was a bit of a cop out. After all the self-hatred, Cleo's mood changes from positively dour to semi-exuberant. All it takes is the companionship of sweet-talking Antoine, the soldier just back from Algeria, who knows how to 'treat her like a lady' coupled with her oncologist's terse pronouncement that two months of chemotherapy will make her into a new woman! How many people do you know who are positively giddy after being told that they're facing two months of chemo? Varda clearly wants all of us to give 'Cleo' a 'pass'. All the shallowness, the self-absorption of this character is nothing more than a portrait of a woman under extreme stress. Cleo is to be forgiven since she's 'not in her right mind'. Wouldn't you be having a 'bad hair day' if you were facing a cancer diagnosis? Varda doesn't want us to judge Cleo's book by its unhinged cover (remember, it's not REALLY her!).
More interesting than the film itself is the documentary "Remembrances". I found it fascinating seeing what the actors look like after all these years. It's hard to believe that the film's stars, Marchand and Bourseiller, had not seen each other since the making of the film back in 1961. You'll also get to see how much has changed (and how much as remained the same) in terms of the Parisian landscape over the years.
Cleo from 5 to 7 often feels more like a documentary than a fictional narrative. I marvel at the cinematography which appears to be way ahead of its time. But clearly 'Cleo' has been placed on an undeserved pedestal in the pantheon of art house fare. Without compelling conflict, Cleo falls back on the internal arc of a stressed out, petulant pop singer. And despite all the nice visuals, I keep asking, why should anyone care?
Varda condenses Cleo's journey of anxiety from the two hours of the title (5 to 7) to an actual hour and a half. We learn from the documentary "Remembrances" (which can be found as part of the DVD extras in the Criterion Collection) that anytime a clock was shown during the film, it would accurately reflect the time elapsed in Cleo's journey.
The film begins with Cleo's visit to a Tarot Card reader who reinforces her belief that indeed the diagnosis will turn out to be cancer. Cleo's bad mood is made even worse when two songwriters (one played by a very young Michel LeGrand) come over and tease her as if she's a ten year old child. Cleo stalks out of her apartment and grows more self-absorbed (she plays one of her own songs on a jukebox in a café, expecting to get noticed by the patrons only to find herself ignored by them).
Varda focuses on Cleo's internal strife as opposed to developing any kind of compelling conflict between the quirky characters she encounters. For most of the film, Cleo is presented as shallow and narcissistic—it's hard to like her at all. Instead, Varda is content to draw us into the sights and sounds of a bustling urban landscape. The film is full of snippets of conversation including long forgotten news items (a gift from Khurschev to JFK is mentioned over the car radio) along with non-actors filmed eating their lunch as the fictional story unfolds before our eyes.
Despite a plethora of vignettes, there's very little story arc in 'Cleo'. For me, the ending was a bit of a cop out. After all the self-hatred, Cleo's mood changes from positively dour to semi-exuberant. All it takes is the companionship of sweet-talking Antoine, the soldier just back from Algeria, who knows how to 'treat her like a lady' coupled with her oncologist's terse pronouncement that two months of chemotherapy will make her into a new woman! How many people do you know who are positively giddy after being told that they're facing two months of chemo? Varda clearly wants all of us to give 'Cleo' a 'pass'. All the shallowness, the self-absorption of this character is nothing more than a portrait of a woman under extreme stress. Cleo is to be forgiven since she's 'not in her right mind'. Wouldn't you be having a 'bad hair day' if you were facing a cancer diagnosis? Varda doesn't want us to judge Cleo's book by its unhinged cover (remember, it's not REALLY her!).
More interesting than the film itself is the documentary "Remembrances". I found it fascinating seeing what the actors look like after all these years. It's hard to believe that the film's stars, Marchand and Bourseiller, had not seen each other since the making of the film back in 1961. You'll also get to see how much has changed (and how much as remained the same) in terms of the Parisian landscape over the years.
Cleo from 5 to 7 often feels more like a documentary than a fictional narrative. I marvel at the cinematography which appears to be way ahead of its time. But clearly 'Cleo' has been placed on an undeserved pedestal in the pantheon of art house fare. Without compelling conflict, Cleo falls back on the internal arc of a stressed out, petulant pop singer. And despite all the nice visuals, I keep asking, why should anyone care?