“Ugliness is a kind of death. As long as I’m beautiful, I’m even more alive than the others”

The importance of Cléo from 5 to 7 (French: Cléo de 5 à 7 ) should not be underestimated in any way. Agnès Varda was a filmmaker whose work has always meant the world to me as a film-lover (as I’ve written about countless times), but other than her glorious quartet of documentaries that she produced later on in her life (The Gleaners and I, The Beaches of Agnès, Faces Places and Varda by Agnès), the film that normally stands out as one of her most personal, and by extent most meaningful, is this one, her second feature-length film, and the one that is arguably her most well-known and often discussed work. An elegant drama that essentially helped pioneer the French New Wave, occurring towards the beginning of the movement’s history, and a definitive piece of cinema, both in the national sense and in looking at it from the perspective of Varda’s feminist leanings and her curiosities about existential issues that are woven into the narrative, Cléo from 5 to 7 is an exceptionally special film, and one of the few works of art that becomes more meaningful and fascinating upon further viewings – revisiting a Varda film is an extraordinary experience because, despite the general message remaining consistent on each viewing, it’s impossible to watch one of her films in the same way twice – each voyage into her world brings new insights into the human condition, exciting representations of life and its many idiosyncrasies, and a sense of profound curiosity that never quite abates. The status of Cléo from 5 to 7 as both a classic of the French New Wave and as a pivotal piece of feminist art is not undeserving – and like all of Varda’s films, despite having been made decades ago, it remains as poignant and invigorating today as it did at the time of its initial production – in short, this is a masterful film that rightly launched one of the most brilliant filmmaking careers in history.

The quote at the start of this piece isn’t merely an arbitrary statement extracted from the film – this line may appear to be inconsequential, and simply an expression of vanity on the part of the main character, but is perhaps the most striking piece of dialogue from the entire film, purely because it encapsulates many of the major themes that Varda infuses into the film, with the two most prominent being beauty (and all its metaphysical associations, such as youth and fame) and the ultimate inevitability, death. These two concepts, which normally are seen as entirely opposites are merged in Cléo from 5 to 7 and are the foundation from which Varda can build her incredible odyssey into the mind of the titular character, a woman who is patiently waiting to hear from her doctor to find out whether or not she has cancer. Over the course of a few hours, she makes her way through Paris, visiting various places and encountering a number of people, some of them her close friends or acquaintances, others strangers who present themselves in her life for a brief moment and either distract her from the challenges that she’s facing or only worsen them through their own varying dispositions. Cléo is a woman searching for meaning – and her status as a singer who is famous enough to be on the radio or played in any of the many cafes and restaurants around the city, but not enough to be recognized – isn’t enough to compensate for the existential dread that only compounds with every silent moment, each minute carrying with it more angst and despair, which seems insatiable. Cléo’s fate is entirely unknown, as she stands in those ambigious moments between life and imminent death, not knowing whether the news will bring her a new lease on life, or the knowledge that she’s living on borrowed time – and more than anything else, she fears that her fate is going to rob her of the fundamental qualities that make her who she is – her voice, her beauty and, more than anything else, her chance at making an impression on a world that is simultaneously beautiful and hostile.

Some of Varda’s most distinctive qualities that she would regularly make use of throughout her career were naturally present in Cléo from 5 to 7, albeit in a manner that shows that she was still in a relatively experimental space with her approach to filmmaking but still very much assured in what she intended to say. In this film, she is forthright and makes a profoundly moving statement about the various aspects of the story, retaining some of the loose narrative style of her debut, La Pointe Courte, but venturing into a more playful kind of storytelling. Varda’s style is distinct and always captivating, and we can easily see the roots of her principle of “cinecriture” in this film, using the camera not as a device to record the world, but as a tool to actively shape it, telling stories with a camera as one would with a pen or typewriter. When talking of Varda’s status as a pioneer of the film industry, it goes far beyond her experimental methods, but also into what this outright defiance of conventions represented – she was one of the only female directors working regularly under the umbrella movement of the French New Wave, and would consistently be standing toe-to-toe with the likes of Jean-Luc Godard (who has a small cameo in this film, and whose entire presence here is quite amusing, particularly in how Varda playfully mocks the esteemed director and his penchant for hiding his eyes), Chris Marker, François Truffaut and countless others. She brought a new perspective to the proceedings, but despite the omnipotence of feminist issues in much of her work, particularly in Cléo from 5 to 7, there was far more to this project than simply an intimate drama about a woman making her way through a hostile world, but rather a simple story that relays some of the most complex questions of our existence, which it does through compounding complexities on a sophisticated, straightforward exploration of identity and other intimidating issues, which are siphoned into a gorgeous, strikingly earnest film by a director so deeply assured by her vision.

We’re presented with a complex protagonist who is coming to terms with her own mortality, and we watch as Varda takes us through her metaphysical journey in the few hours while she awaits her prognosis. This is done almost entirely in real-time, one of the central forms of experimentation Varda employed when making Cléo from 5 to 7, and which essentially made this film memorable. Logically, we’d expect a film about someone being tested for cancer will start with their visit to the doctor, and then immediately cut to the results with only a few moments in between to portray the anxiety of waiting – Varda isn’t interested in eliding these aspects of the story, and it almost appears as if she’s more fascinated by the banal, inconsequential moments, the angst that comes when patiently anticipating something as terrifying as medical results. She extends this sensation over the entire course of the film, giving us a glimpse into ninety minutes in the life of the main character, as she straddles reality and fantasy, working through her inner emotions while putting on a strong facade, so as not to come across as weak or worried. Corinne Marchand is incredible in playing the titular character, working closely with the director to interpret Cléo as a woman caught between worlds – not only is she residing in the ambigious space between perfect health and potential decline, she’s also a semi-famous singer who both wants to be recognized and retain some degree of anonymity, realizing that her privacy is perhaps her most valuable asset, especially when dealing with something so intimidating as life and death. The intimacy of Cléo from 5 to 7 is incredible – Varda allows us to really get to know the main character and the various people she interacts with. There are even a few moments where one of the other characters become the focus for a few moments, which gives us insights into their own personal quandaries. The director was known for her incredible ability to find the truth in character-driven drama, so it’s hardly a surprise that Cléo from 5 to 7 is nothing short of an iconic work of 1960s filmmaking.

Cléo from 5 to 7 is an experimental film that avoids all sense of aimlessness, and has a purpose – it’s not disruptive for the sake of standing out, but rather a genuinely concerted effort to bring new insights into some common existential themes that aren’t often the subject of a great deal of discussion cinematically, especially not at this time – and we can attribute the subsequent work that actively looked into these concepts to Varda and her work in Cléo from 5 to 7, which was a watershed moment for cinema in general, not merely in terms of its feminist leanings, but rather a piece that would go on to influence numerous other forms of storytelling in later years, with Varda herself even developing on many of the same themes in her subsequent work. This film stands as a masterful exploration of some deep themes that aren’t often found in such simple, unassuming forms – credit must go to Varda for actually managing to make something so beautiful out of essentially the banalities of existence, the spaces in between life’s most important moments. Cléo from 5 to 7 is persistent in how it is invigorating and refreshingly complex, being profoundly moving even by today’s more cynical standards. Considering this was the film that we can perhaps claim is the most definitive work of her career, it’s unsurprising that its all due to a sense of curiosity the director brought to the project which bolstered it and made it so fascinating. Whether you view it in isolation or return to it over time (especially when viewing it alongside Varda’s own comments of the film, with the director having provided an endless amount of discussion around her inspirations and what this film means to her), Cléo from 5 to 7 is an unforgettable achievement – defined by its raw brilliance, elevated by its unique approach to some fundamental issues, this is a truly unconventional film – but to be fair, Agnès Varda was a truly unconventional filmmaker, so it only makes sense.