Jacques Demy had always been a very distinct kind of filmmaker, and his efforts within the French New Wave were always fascinating, even when they were not consistent with the values set by the more familiar names within the movement (as in those who are considered most synonymous with this era of French filmmaking), which often meant that he was challenging conventions before they were even consolidated into tenets of the movement as a whole. Yet, he was still incredibly creative and one of the more impactful filmmakers to have worked during this period, with his distinctive style and fascination with certain concepts and themes being the hallmark of many of his masterpieces. Usually associated with the colourful, exuberant expressions of human emotion, which often blurred the boundaries between comedy and melodrama, Demy had a firm niche carved out for himself within this movement, and one that is frequently (although not always) indicative of his very notable style. Whether we are talking about his unimpeachable masterpieces like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg or The Young Girls of Rochefort (which are both undeniable landmarks of French cinema), or his lesser-known but still widely celebrated works that he made around them, he is always worth discussing. However, he was not immune to a few lesser efforts, as is the case with  Bay of Angels (French: La Baie des Anges), in which he was taking on the traits of the likes of Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut, who were pioneering the movement through intimate, quiet black-and-white drama that was heavily inspired by film noir, which is quite a stark difference from the more upbeat, sensual cinema that Demy would explore more notably in the forthcoming years. Telling the story of two wayward individuals that find themselves falling in love over their shared love of gambling, Bay of Angels is a very different film from everything we have come to expect from Demy, and while it is not at all a bad film, it does show that even the most creative directors could create something slightly less-impactful on occasion.

Bay of Angels is a very stylish film, albeit not in the sense that we have come to expect from Demy. If anything, the more bleak, cold style (which worked for some of his contemporaries, whose greatest films were made by employing this style of more subdued imagery) is something of an impediment to him, since while he had yet to fully commit to the visually striking, colour-filled stories that would define his career, he still had a very particular admiration for this style of aesthetic, and was clamouring to express his work through it, which was not entirely possible with a film like this, which does not lend itself to beauty in any conventional manner. Instead the most effective aspects of Bay of Angels come in how Demy frames the scenes, exploring the lives of these characters, which are perpetually in shades of grey (which was obviously a product of the film being produced in black-and-white, as was the style at the time, rather than an artistic choice), and where their surroundings begin to blur together as they gradually work their way through the confusing and exciting versions of the world that underpin their everyday lives. It’s a very strange film in terms of the visual aesthetic, and Demy is not one who is particularly adept at these kinds of muted, intimate character studies in which the visuals are much more subdued, since we can feel his desire to burst out and make something that is slightly more of a spectacle. It doesn’t disqualify Bay of Angels from having a few moments of striking beauty, but it ultimately is more a case of patiently trying to work our way through the film, which seems to be reaching a point where the bleakness subsides and we can uncover the more interesting components lurking beneath the surface – but that point never comes, and outside of a few gorgeous shots, it is a relatively listless affair, at least artistically.

Much like his contemporaries, Demy’s guidance when making this film came from the narrative more than the aesthetic content, which is logical considering how heavily inspired the French New Wave was by existential philosophy, literature and politics, all of which are seamlessly woven into the fabric of this story, which benefits immensely from the contributions made by all the different collaborators that worked together to bring this story to life. It is Demy’s sophomore effort as both a writer and director, so undeniably some of these elements are slightly more rough around the edges, and he was never a director that particularly prioritized discussion more than he did the experience of delivering ideas through engaging and entertaining ways. The process of watching and understanding a film produced during this time is seeing how it portrays certain ideas, unpacking them in order to find the deeper meaning. Both Godard and Truffaut (and several others) were particularly adept at this, as was Demy’s own personal and professional partner Agnès Varda, who was usually more capable of hard-hitting, poignant examinations of existence. Demy’s style doesn’t lend itself to this kind of narrative, and outside of the very clear statement that gambling is addictive and can be self-destructive, there’s not too much nuance underlying this film. If anything, this supposedly deep, rich philosophical approach was an impediment to Demy, who was so focused on the overall theme of gambling that he neglected the opportunity to explore the more captivating elements, such as the central relationship between the two protagonists, and the theme of falling in love in spite of severe circumstances. Those elements are at the heart of this film, but they never feel like they are being given any real priority, and we eventually find ourselves growing slightly weary, since the film struggles to maintain our attention, never reaching a point where it feels like it is saying or doing anything we have not seen countless times before, at least on the surface.

Ultimately, the one aspect of Bay of Angels that works extremely well is the performances, specifically from Jeanne Moreau. While she was still relatively young, she was still a formidable performer that had already worked with some of the most notable names in cinema at the time, whether acclaimed masters of their craft, or members of the burgeoning French New Wave movement, who were all smitten with both her indescribable beauty and extraordinary talents. Moreau is a revelation in this film – hidden beneath a tuft of platinum blonde hair and perpetually obscured every so slightly by the haze of cigarette smoke, she is an absolute vision, turning in a performance far better than the film that surrounds her. Demy may not have been in his element in terms of the visual aesthetic, but he was certainly able to satiate his craving to work with one of the most impressive performers of her generation, and someone whose portrayal of the tragic Jacqueline is amongst her best work. There is a tendency for French New Wave directors to either treat their female characters as either fodder for their vaguely misogynistic frustrations, or the complete opposite, where they supposedly breathe rarefied air that makes them untouchable, objects of desire that every male character desires to be around. Moreau’s performance is neither – she is a genuine character that feels like she is developed extraordinarily well, so much that we don’t even register Claude Mann, who is the de facto lead of the film, but who does virtually nothing in comparison, playing a meandering young man who is more of a figurehead for the kind of archetypal character that populates these films, rather than a well-crafted individual in his own right. One could argue the entire reason for Bay of Angels to exist was to give Demy the chance to work with Moreau, which is as good a reason as any, and a generally decent explanation for the more lacklustre experience overall, since all the focus is on Moreau, rather than the overall narrative.

Bay of Angels is overall not a bad effort, and we have to understand that Demy was still a relatively young director at this point, having only directed one film previously. What the film lacks in elegance is more than makes up for in raw, unfiltered honesty, which can sometimes feel quite rough around the edges, but at the very least is able to keep us engaged. However, this is mostly a film that doesn’t represent the director’s style or ambition in any significant way, being far too bleak and lifeless in comparison to his vibrant, charming later films, which were the definition of his talents, rather than this meandering, melodramatic drama. There are moments in this film that tend to feel overlong (despite running only 84 minutes), and underwhelming, regardless of how promising the premise may have been. It’s a decent effort, just not one that feels like it is anywhere close to the magnificent work Demy would do in later years. It is understandably an outlier in his career, and a film that even his most ardent supporters either deride or avoid altogether, which is appropriate considering how it is not a solid representation of all he could do as a filmmaker. There are a few moments of visual and narrative brilliance, but they are few and far between, and almost entirely restrict themselves to Moreau’s performance, which is a masterclass in elegance, humour and charm, and would have been excellent regardless of who was at the helm. Bay of Angels is not worth too much of our time, and it mostly just exists to be an experiment for Demy, who thankfully was able to soon realize his more audacious intentions in the form of far superior films, in the shadows of which this project stands, nothing but a chance for the director to tinker with the medium that he would soon come to master in subsequent years.