A chance encounter on weekend at their children’s boarding school introduces Jean-Louis (Jean-Louis Trintignant), a daredevil racecar driver and Anne (Anouk Aimée), a script supervisor, to each other, and begins a fascinating friendship that sees them becoming quite close over the course of a few weeks. Both of them had been widowed not long prior to their meeting, with Anne’s husband dying in a disastrous accident on a film-set that he was working on, and Jean-Louis’ wife taking her own life after he was admitted to hospital after suffering injuries acquired during the 24 Hours of Le Mans event. The two find themselves striking up a strong connection, sharing memories and anecdotes from their life, and finding a kindred companionship in each other that helps them work through their trauma, which is still relatively fresh in their minds. Lunches with their children, late-evening drives through the French countryside and visits to the seaside confirm that there is something much deeper to their friendship, with the seeds of romance being sown into their interactions from the outset. Against their better judgment, Jean-Louis and Anne find themselves gradually falling in love, finding the solace in one another that they have been so desperately craving, filling the void in the other’s heart with each passing interaction that only bolsters their passion. However, they soon discover that this isn’t particularly easy when the past continues to follow them, haunting them and causing them to constantly be reminded of the tragedy that has put them in this melancholy frame of mind. Over the course of a few weeks, Jean-Louis and Anne fight against these forces of memory in the hopes of recapturing the vivacity they had not felt for an extremely long time, finding something in the other that represents a lost quality that they have been hopelessly searching for since their respective tragedies impacted their lives.

Whether it was intentional or not, Claude Lelouch made one of the most romantic movies ever put onto film with A Man and a Woman (French: Un homme et une femme), a gorgeous love story that traverses the very nature of existence to comment on a deeper set of issues that normally impact those who find themselves undergoing some kind of romance. An undeniably influential film, both for the period in which it was made (occurring during the French New Wave, and thus featuring many of the elements that characterized that era of filmmaking, as well as deviating from it in surprisingly brilliant ways) and for future films, where it established the standard for this kind of metaphysical romance, becoming an inspiration to countless works that are indebted to Lelouch and his two stars in how they pioneered a form of storytelling that didn’t need to preoccupy itself with lucidity or a logical flow, but rather focused on the experience of passion, which the film explores with an immense sincerity that overcomes the more scattershot nature of the narrative, which occasionally falters in attempting to portray the depths of romance and how it is apparently limitless. A Man and a Woman is a soaringly beautiful exploration, not only of love, but of the human condition, where our own individual quandaries, whether those of very intimate matters, or more complex problems that everyone faces, are investigated through the quietly intense perspective of a director, whose interest in the subject bolsters the film as a whole, and leaves an indelible impression that establishes a fundamental baseline of what cinematic romance should be.

A Man and a Woman is a film that serves to provide a radically different perspective on romance in a number of ways. As a character-driven drama, it focuses entirely on how the two main characters interact and gradually find themselves falling in love. This is not a foreign concept – virtually every romantic comedy has this premise (the only difference being that their “meet-cute” is not characterized by an initial reluctance or hostility, with the moralizing coming much later on, which is slightly more of an authentic approach), but Lelouch avoids making this film predictable by dismantling the very nature of expectations. Instead of a single narrative that follows them on their journey towards their eventual love, A Man and a Woman is a series of disjointed vignettes that eventually dovetail into this gorgeous story of two individuals finding each other almost by accident, and discovering that their compatibility is the key to overcoming their past challenges. The director certainly doesn’t avoid adding nuance to this story, especially in how he weaves together scenes, each one representing a small fragment of love, which ultimately form a complex portrait of the lives of these individuals. Lelouch oscillates between their shifting perspectives, giving insights into their individual pasts (often manifesting in black-and-white or sepia-tone, which he also uses as a tool to indicate the boundary between reality and fantasy, another fascinating element of the film) and how it intersects with their current romance. These are not individuals who are entirely dependent on another to feel a sense of belonging – they’re complex characters with their own personal quandaries, which Lelouch explores with an earnest sincerity, showing the roots of their trauma, and demonstrating how this romance is not only about carnal satiation, but also the need to move forward after tragic events left them feeling entirely lost and without much purpose in life, and where their only joy comes in the form of their offspring, who will eventually deviate into their own lives.

In bringing these characters to life, Lelouch casts two of the era’s most magnetic stars, collaborating with Jean-Louis Trintignant, who had already been in an impressive amount of incredible films, and Anouk Aimée, who was mostly recognizable from her collaborations with an astounding roster of acclaimed auteurs, such as Federico Fellini, Jacques Demy and Georges Franju, amongst others. A Man and a Woman is driven entirely by the two central characters, and with the exception of the two children (played with remarkable ease by young actors Antoine Sire and Souad Amidou), the film focuses on the growing romance between Jean-Louis and Anne and follows them as they become emotionally and physically invested in venturing towards the kind of love they had not felt since the deaths of their spouses. Both actors are remarkable – what has always been most striking about both Trintignant and Aimée is that, when the material is willing to work alongside their unique talents, they appear entirely natural and undeniably compelling on screen. Trintignant in particular has been an actor who shows immense ease in any role, from the dashing lead in a romantic drama to the frazzled supporting player in a more subversive work, and A Man and a Woman is just one of many films that position him in such a way that the viewer cannot help but be thoroughly enveloped by his extraordinary screen presence. The film also does very well to ground Aimée, who has often been seen as more of an ethereal concept, a representation of the European arthouse during this period, than an actress capable of this simple level of characterization, giving her the role of a woman who is mourning the death of her husband (to the point where it is emotionally crippling to her), while still yearning for the embrace of someone else who can help her overcome it, which gives both leads a poignant level of chemistry that overcomes the more implausible (and slightly overwrought) scenarios in which Lelouch sometimes places them.

Both actors run the gamut of emotion, bringing out the humour and pathos in a pair of ordinary characters who are defined not only by their specific actions but in what they represent in terms of being related to a form of mid-century European malaise which Lelouch was clearly committed to investigating in the form of this beautifully poetic story of a romance. The director tells a very simple story with extraordinarily deep themes, such as the effects of a traumatic event, and the aftermath that compels some to seek out some form of comfort, especially after the intensity of the loss has subsided, but the pain still lingers. Working with two of the most interesting actors in France at the time, Lelouch engages in a deep exploration of the human condition by presenting us with an intimate look into an ordinary romance that is rendered fascinating through the performances, and the story that evokes some insightful commentary into complex questions of modern existence. Blending sentimental, good-natured humour with heartwrenching melancholy, A Man and a Woman is a mesmerizing, beautifully-composed film about a unique romance that is neither implausible nor far-fetched, thriving on its tender approach to sensitive issues, remaining authentic and true to itself without becoming overwrought in any way. A wonderfully poetic film that distils the chaotic experience of falling in love into a single gorgeous package, A Man and a Woman is a truly exceptional entry into an era of filmmaking that was remarkable in its ability to calibrate reality and fiction in unexpectedly moving ways.