While his career may have been cut short due to his tragic death at a very young age (leaving him with a very small body of work), Jean Vigo produced some of the most important films in the history of French cinema, not only based on what they were and the stories they told, but also the extent to which they inspired entire movements that would change the way many artists in the country produced art. His first and only feature-length film is also possibly his most impressive achievement, with L’Atalante being quite simply one of the most stunning films ever made – a well-constructed blend of romance, comedy and melodrama, with healthy doses of action and adventure thrown in for good measure, the film is both an intimate character study and sprawling existential odyssey, all of which takes place on a small barge that traverses the French canals, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling world on either side of it. Vigo’s impact on cinema should not ever be underestimated, especially when we consider the extent to which he influenced the French New Wave movement, with L’Atalante in particular being a point of reference for some of the most prominent names in that field. When the likes of François Truffaut refer to seeing a film as being one of their most cherished memories, then there is something quite remarkable about the work one has done. However, we don’t even need to look at the wealth of adoration this film has received over the years – instead, we can easily see why L’Atalante is so beloved simply by experiencing it for ourselves, which is undoubtedly a worthy endeavour for anyone who wants to see incredible filmmaking in its finest, most intricately-woven form, since what it lacks in spectacle, it makes up for in sheer ambition, leading a rivetting and beautifully poetic romantic comedy that dares to venture where few films at the time were willing to go.

From its first gorgeous moment, L’Atalante easily establishes itself as a work of immense importance – it takes place within the working-class society, one where economic prosperity meant one had to seek out new opportunities wherever they could be found, even if it meant combining one’s honeymoon with a professional voyage. The film mainly takes place on the titular barge, which is occupied by a newly-wed couple, and their eccentric first-mate, who does not mean to meddle in their affairs, but finds it increasingly difficult to not become involved in a marriage that starts out exceptionally well, but gradually begins to deteriorate as time goes on, which forces them to redefine the terms of their marriage as something much more complex than the spark of raw passion. Vigo does not waste any time – from the outset, L’Atalante makes its primary themes incredibly clear, leaving very little up to the viewer’s own interpretation, which makes a profound difference that ultimately helps the film be far more than the one-dimensional romance that it would seem to be based on a surface-level reading of the premise. There are layers to this film that only become clear as we allow ourselves to surrender to the lives of these characters, who are beautifully written by a director who fashioned the entire film around his actor’s skills, with Michel Simon, Dita Parlo and Jean Dasté carrying this film with characters that may not be necessarily complex for them, but rather showcase the reasons they are considered pioneers in the industry. L’Atalante is designed as a character study of three distinct individuals, and the film ultimately does well in prioritizing their involvement, shaping each scene to be analogous with their particular skills in a process that can only be considered the work of a profoundly respectful and symbiotic connection between the director and his actors, without whose beautiful and measured approach to this story would’ve made L’Atalante a far more dour and prosaic piece of filmmaking, especially in the more conventional moments.

Like most French films produced in the 1930s, L’Atalante was a work of defiance – a series of social conversations that take the form of a well-constructed comedy. Vigo was a director who did not have experience in long-term filmmaking, but certainly had mastered the form of short-subject storytelling in terms of both narrative and non-fiction short films, which ultimately informed much of this project, especially in how he presents us with a film that has dual purposes, being drawn from both an attempt to tell a coherent story of a marriage that begins to decline the moment after it happens, and a poignant portrait of France at a particular moment in history. Like many of his contemporaries, Vigo was heavily invested in portraying his native country in a way that was realistic but still enchanting, and while one may not normally consider a squalid barge as the ideal place for a love story, the romance that simmers beneath the surface of this film is simply unprecedented. The director is telling a story that breaks every known rule – this is a film that starts with a happy ending, and then gradually begins to question whether finally finding the right partner and pledging your life to them is actually the ideal, or if it’s just another socially-mediated convention that actually doesn’t mean as much when we focus on the intricate details, and how such themes are mandated by a broader agenda. Vigo is frequently and mercilessly questioning these ideas, while not venturing too far beyond what is considered acceptable, instead choosing to tell a story that is beautifully poetic on the surface, but is layered with a barbed sense of humour that keeps us from becoming complacent, much like these characters, who are frequently reminded by the circumstances in which they find themselves that even the most predictable pleasures of life can be subjected to radical change under the right circumstances.

The alternative French title of this film was “le chaland qui passe”, which roughly translates as “the barge that passed” – formally and in terms of the story, L’Atalante is a film about characters in perpetual motion. There doesn’t seem to be a single moment where any of these individuals at the heart of the story stops moving, whether it be physically or mentally. This is reflected in the form the film takes – it is a very fast-paced story, so much that even the slightest loss of attention would be somewhat disastrous, as Vigo layers so much meaning into a single scene, any distraction would cause us to lose our firm grasp on the thread that ties this film together. On a purely formal level, we can easily see how the director was influencing entire generations of filmmakers with his experimental approach to looking at romance through the inverse lens. Not many love stories made at the time can attest to starting with the ideal, which gradually erodes until we’re left with nothing but a bleak, wintery film about how volatile even the most committed romances can be. Perhaps not the definitive text on any of the discussions it evokes, but rather the one that kickstarts many of the conversations, L’Atalante feels like a major work, not only on a narrative level, but in how it gradually challenges everything that the viewer held to be true about the seemingly sacred bond of marriage, taking a range of complex themes in the hopes of eventually deconstructing something that was seen as untouchable Every shot is a masterpiece, but the film doesn’t depend on these stunning compositions to find meaning, instead frequently using them as the foundation for a more in-depth analysis of these primary issues, which lead to an absolutely brilliant narrative account of romance in a changing world, and in one fell swoop, Vigo manages to make one of the most heart-wrenching, detailed accounts of the pleasures and frustrations of romance ever produced.

It’s difficult to deny that L’Atalante is a film far ahead of its time. Vigo was clearly taking on a more progressive approach to the narrative process, so much so that it almost seemed as if he was pitching this to the future generations, which has allowed the film to remain relevant and insightful for nearly a century. His view of marriage being more than just falling in love, but rather maintaining a level of mutual respect, is an idea that was quite revolutionary for this era, which was defined more by the binary process of each individual seeking out the most desirable person, and striving to meet them at the altar, after which nothing can shake their supposedly unimpeachable relationship. Vigo not only questions this, he outright defies it throughout the film, taking the story in a number of unexpected directions, filtering the steadily declining passion that exists between the two main characters through a number of genres, which keeps the film engaging and captivating, which is even more impressive considering it runs at a mere 87 minutes, which is not a great deal of time to explore the roots of romance, and a range of other subjects that have to do with the process of falling in love, and more importantly actually staying in love through evolving one’s perception of not only their relationship, but themselves. It’s a simple but beautiful film, one that is made up of a seemingly endless stream of gorgeous visual cues and heartfelt narrative nuances that make for a deeply sentimental and often quite funny portrait of love in its various forms, handcrafted by a director whose firm commitment to the craft over his short life has made him something of a folkloric figure in cinematic history, and whose work we continue to celebrate, not only for its own individual strengths, but also its ability to inspire entire generations of filmmakers to tell stories that push both narrative and structural boundaries, all the while being effortlessly entertaining and beautifully poetic.