We’d all be privileged to know exactly what resided in the mind of Jacques Demy – I don’t think there are many filmmakers who placed as significant emphasis on both style and substance as him, with his films always being marvellous examples of both beautiful form and incredibly-compelling stories that traverse genres and conventions to be thoroughly enthralling affairs, with all allegations of being slight or insubstantial being rendered entirely untrue during the period of being immersed into his beautifully optimistic world. Two of his most revered works are The Young Girls of Rochefort and the subject of this review, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (French: Les Parapluies de Cherbourg), both of which have been entered into the canon of beloved works of cinematic artistry. Demy’s style is so beautifully accessible, and the stories he weaves through his films exceed all expectations, flourishing into tender, heart-wrenchingly beautiful portrayals of humanity, taken from someone whose vision always tended to give our species the benefit of the doubt, especially in something like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which takes on a set of intimidating themes such as forbidden romance, war and parenthood, themes that are not uncommon to cinema, but rarely find their way into films that take such an endearing approach to looking at the world around it, particularly at the time in which it was made. What Demy did with The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is nothing short of a dazzling achievement that dares to be simple, while quietly becoming one of the most charming films of its period, an utter delight in every way, and further proof that Demy was an artist in every sense of the word, cinematically and otherwise, and that very few filmmakers could ever achieve his level of profundity on both a narrative and creative level.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg tells the story of two star-crossed lovers. Geneviève (Catherine Deneuve) is a young woman who works in an umbrella shop ran by her mother, Madame Emery (Anne Vernon), who does not approve when she learns of her relationship with Guy (Nino Castelnuovo), a local mechanic who has much broader ambitions. Madame Emery, when faced with bankruptcy, tries to convince her daughter to marry Roland (Marc Michel), a wealthy businessman and jeweller who she encounters while trying to find a way to pay off her debts. Geneviève is truly ambivalent to the idea of marrying this well-meaning but dull man, instead choosing to continue pursuing her romance with Guy. However, he is soon drafted to serve in the Algerian War, and both he and Geneviève promise to reunite when he returns, despite the protestations of nearly everyone around them. However, time waits for no one, and Geneviève is coerced into marrying Roland, which she comes to realize is simply a marriage of convenience and a way for her family to be secure for the rest of their lives. This is all complicated with the realization that she’s also married, which only prompts Madame Emery to force Geneviève to accept Roland’s proposition and planning the rest of her life along the ideals he envisions for them. Guy has his own challenges that he faces when he returns to Cherbourg – not only does he discover that he’s lost Geneviève to a relative stranger, his godmother and lifelong caretaker (Mireille Perrey) has died, blessing him with a comfortable inheritance, but leaving him relatively alone, with only her nurse, Madeleine (Ellen Farner) to keep him company – and he eventually finds himself falling for Madeleine, who is charming and beautiful, but their love being only a pale imitation of his passionate relationship with Geneviève, which he accepts has been lost forever, now residing only in memory.

As is often the case with many of Demy’s most notable films, it’s necessary to divide them into two major threads of discussion – as we’ve mentioned already, his films are the perfect coupling of style and substance, to the point where it is almost impossible to choose one over the other. They’re married together in inextricable ways, and ultimately become symbiotic, unable to exist without the other flourishing beautifully. Stylistically, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is a remarkable achievement – executed with a dedication to evoking a kind of sumptuous satisfaction, the film is an absolute marvel, a sight to behold like no other. Demy’s creativity clear knew very few bounds, as he puts together one of the most visually stunning works of 1960s cinema, an explosion of bright colours that demonstrate a kind of underlying artistry that not many filmmakers have been able to capture with such sincerity. What makes a film like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg stand out, especially in comparison to many of the films that were produced both before it (which are often cited as inspirations) and after it (which are claimed to have used this film as an influence) is that Demy is not intent on trying too hard – he put so much effort into his work, but it never appeared like his work was borne out of desperation – he wasn’t attempting to make something stylistically bold for the sake of it, but rather because this seemed like the most natural channel for the story he evokes. The result is a stunning film that hearkens back to a previous era while defining an entirely new form of filmmaking. It is almost unbelievable how far he is able to take this film in terms of the visual scope of it – and through meticulous detail and an insatiable desire to construct something memorable, all the while avoiding many of the unnecessary tropes and cliches that come with such films, Demy constructs an almost perfect musical that finds its way to the very peak of mid-century musical and romantic filmmaking, rivalling any of the notable entries into the genre that inspired it.

Lush and grandiose without being excessive, the way in which Demy and his collaborators make use of colour and space throughout The Umbrellas of Cherbourg are enough to warrant the acclaim it has received since its release, with its simple but effective appearance being the result of an obsessively ingenious approach to storytelling. As tempting as it is to reduce The Umbrellas of Cherbourg to just its visual scope (which is not necessarily a bad approach, since that aspect of it is indeed very interesting), that would mean ignoring the narrative idiosyncracies employed in telling this story, which would do the film a great disservice, as this aspect is just as important to the film’s success as the creative elements. The concept of a sung-through musical film was not uncommon in filmmaking, but it was certainly far from a preferred method of telling a story. Normally flourishing better on stage than it did on screen, this sub-category of musicals is difficult to put together cinematically – but if anyone was capable of doing it, it would be Demy. At the core, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg has a very simple story that is effortlessly easy to follow – two young people are deeply in love but are forced apart due to various circumstances. Divided into three chapters, the film weaves through a few years in the lives of these characters, allowing us to get to know them through their various interactions, all taking place through song. The musical aspect of the film is where it truly succeeds – had it not taken this approach, the film would not have been nearly as effective as it was, since the story itself isn’t particularly revolutionary, nor is the idea of a sung-through musical. Yet, when combined, the result is nothing short of enchanting, a beautifully poetic tale of forbidden love that exceeds the confines of its elementary (but incredibly effective) narrative by taking some intrepid risks, while never purporting to be all that revolutionary, but somehow manages to do just that.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is an absolute delight, which is almost expected for a film that not only hails from the wonderful mind of Jacques Demy but one that has entered into the canon of great cinema, being a perfect exemplification of the artistry that many filmmakers should strive to achieve. It isn’t a film that conceals its intentions – in fact, it openly embraces every aspect, acknowledging the limitations that come with the genre, and overcoming them with tact, humour and unquestionable beauty. Demy’s work reflects a keen understanding of the world around him and normally channelled his perspective into incredibly palatable, extraordinary mesmerizing works that tended to be almost ethereal, even when touching on the bleaker subject matter. Ultimately, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is an effervescent work of metafictional musical filmmaking, a sweet, charming romance that blends beautiful music (Michel Legrand is an unheralded master), incredible performances from a small but brilliant cast, and a general sense of narrative cohesion that buttresses its bold visual style, forming a poignant love story that looks at both sides of romance without being either slight or overwrought, instead being an opulent foray into the genre, commenting on many of its more charming quirks, and managing to help define it. Some may argue that Demy’s style is an acquired taste, but the experience of witnessing his work in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg should be enough to convince those agnostic to his talents and prove that he is one of the most fascinating filmmakers to ever work in the medium – and someone whose film may be indicative one of the defining careers of the French New Wave.