What is most interesting about the films of Éric Rohmer is that they are simultaneously beautifully simple, but somehow manage to still compress multitudes of ideas and themes into the most straightforward representation of life the viewer is bound to see, derived from his work alongside many other French filmmakers that set out to reflect life accurately. The director made exceptionally profound films that are best described as reality condensed into singular stories, from which anything could be discussed, the audience transported into a particular moment, and witness to some insightful conversations on the nature of life, death and absolutely everything in between. The combination of a series of conversations that are vivid and undeniably compelling and some gorgeous, artistically-resonant portrayals of any of the French locations that took Rohmer’s fancy at a particular moment made for some exquisite storytelling, of which Pauline at the Beach (French: Pauline à la plage)is one of his most brilliant. An inventive, funny little romantic comedy that asks some of the bolder questions relating to how we perceive and engage with the concept of love, as well as the relationships we form along the way, the film is a revelation, populated by some terrific performances, a predictably strong script and some unforgettable imagery that prove how Rohmer was certainly one of the greatest to ever work in the medium – intricate, insightful and composed with a sincerity that defined the director’s career, his work in Pauline at the Beach is certainly some of his best, especially in comparison to his other similarly-themed tales of human existence and the provocation of some particularly unique themes, of which this is yet another magnificent entry.

In its most simple and straightforward description, Pauline at the Beach is a film about love, in its various forms. There are many different narrative strands relating to this central theme, mainly divided between three – the love that exists between family members (as made clear through Pauline’s relationship with her older cousin Marion), the platonic love that exists between friends, and the passionate love between two people falling in love. The main focus is on the latter, which is further divided into young love, exemplified by Pauline and her love interest Sylvain, and a more experienced kind, as shown in Marion’s conflict between her old lover Pierre, and the new and exciting Henri. Like many of Rohmer’s films, we have to take a few minutes to get to know these characters – they’re all introduced to us throughout the course of the first act, which takes the form of a series of loosely connected moments that function almost entirely to establish the tone and guide us gently into this wonderfully warm and comforting world. From here, every discussion can be traced back to these different concepts of love, regardless of which characters appear on screen – and each one seems to contribute some new angle of understanding to the proceedings, covering a range of subjects that all go back to how we as a species embrace the odd sensation of falling in love. Through these discussions, questions of commitment and sexuality are brought into focus, and are subjected to the director’s distinctively keen, critical perspective. Rohmer rarely deviates from the ideas that serve as the foundation for his film, and in Pauline at the Beach, he set out to make a film about the differences between love and lust, and he achieves just that, tied all together in the form of a charming, insightful romantic comedy.

This is the magic of Rohmer’s work – he was such a gifted storyteller, he could compose entire films just out of a few dozen conversations between characters, and still have created something profoundly moving and incredibly effective. Pauline at the Beach is a film that is brimming with life and a peculiar kind of effervescent energy that comes from the director’s steadfast dedication to exploring the simple aspects of life, filtered through his incredibly authentic perspective of human behaviour. What makes this film so unforgettable is how Rohmer manages to create some profoundly human characters, forming them as individuals with clear personalities, rather than thinly-written archetypes that exist only as vessels for his deeply complex musings on love and lust. In this regard, he manages to extract some terrific performances from his cast – the titular Pauline is played magnificently by the lovable Amanda Langlet, who brings such a unique and endearing quality to her performance, and who is sharply contrasted by the wonderful Arielle Dombasle, who is just as good, but plays the experienced adult woman to Langlet’s more innocent and impressionable teenage girl. Pascal Greggory and Féodor Atkine are woven into the narrative as the duelling love interests of Marion, while the late Simon de La Brosse is very good in the smaller but pivotal role of the young man who helps Pauline realize that she is growing into a woman in her own right. Each one of these characters is sincere and constructed with such earnestness, it’s easy to forget we’re seeing actors playing roles, rather than being given voyeuristic access to the inner lives of a group of people ruminating on romance while on holiday.

This is the simplicity that drives Pauline at the Beach at makes it so thoroughly captivating, even when it isn’t overtly energetic in the traditional sense. The film films as if we are being given exclusive access into the private lives of these characters, whose discussions we observe from a distance, but still feel the intimacy of being in the room with them, which is not a quality that is easily found in even the most profoundly moving films. The director’s ability to evoke something so visceral from nothing but meaningful, complex conversations between a bevvy of characters is more than enough to qualify him as a director whose work never becomes outdated or stale, having a timeless quality, since the issues he touches on are certainly incredibly relevant, and will surely resonate with most of the audience, regardless of background. Rohmer strikes an interesting balance – he presents us with a raw, visceral account of love in its various form, rooting it deep within social realism, but without sacrificing the artistic integrity, instead allowing the film to reflect reality in a way that is still beautiful to perceive. The gorgeous beaches and pastoral countryside vistas give us more than enough reason to become intentionally lost in this world, oblivious to our surroundings, since we are so invested in what we’re seeing in front of us. Rohmer’s visual style isn’t often considered to be all that revolutionary, but his world was still inventive enough to warrant some artistic resonance, at least in terms of how he captures the gorgeous spirit of French life, portrayed without the meandering, vaguely pretentious atmosphere that most believe defines it, which could not be further from the director’s absolutely staggering portrayal of everyday existence.

Pauline at the Beach is an absolute delight – but once you’ve seen a few of Rohmer’s films, it’s difficult to be surprised by this fact, since he is an artist who made a career out of beautifully poetic reflections on life and death, and everything in between. This remains one of his most compelling films, a simple but effective parable that dives deep into the heart of romance, and dares to venture beneath the veneer of modern representations of love to showcase the inner experience of falling for someone, and forming an emotional connection. Grounded by some terrific performances, each one authentic and brimming with such peculiar energy, and created with such sensitivity and honesty, Pauline at the Beach is a masterful excursion, a charming and complex romantic comedy with a lot of heart and an even bigger abundance of insightful commentary on its multitudes of themes, which never come across as anything other than deeply authentic and unforgettable from beginning to end. Rohmer continues to be an inspiration in terms of cinematic realism with every new corner of his world that I explore – and through seeing how the director tells these stories with a blend of tenderness and ferocity, we can start to understand why he has held such esteem, not only in his field, but in every artistic medium, since his portrayal of life is simply unprecedented, and he continues to curate staggering exemplifications of the human spirit, filtered through his uniquely poetic gaze – in essence, he reflected life in its most fundamental form better than most filmmakers, which contributes to his status as one of the greatest to ever work in the medium of visual storytelling.