Half great, half boring, this is one of those films where hopes and expectations exceed the actual product. Wonderful passages such as Corinne Marchand as Cleo walking through the streets of Paris, or in a taxi with her maid/companion, or in a car with her friend, alternate with tedious scenes such as a song rehearsal, or the watching of a silly silent comedy. Worst of all are the final scenes, when Cleo meets a man in a park, and they strike up what may become a relationship - if she survives her illness and he survives Algeria. The pick-up and subsequent conversations are unbelievable and wearisome.
'Cleo From 5 to 7' has examples within it of the best and the worst of French New Wave. A focus on the person inside the outward show (when Cleo takes off her wig she becomes a very different person to the recording star); a focus on the moment, when what has gone before and what is to come is left to the viewer to question (if they want to); all this depicted by innovative camerawork. But there is also a predilection for philosophical blather, and the conviction that this blather is important. 'Cleo' doesn't have as much of this as, say, Godard, and is thereby a better film than any of his, but cameo appearances from some big names of the New Wave adds an annoying private party slant to the proceedings.
Marchand glides beautifully through the film, not having to emote much (her worry overshadowing all) - but when she does, it's unconvincing.
The best bits live up to all I hoped for from such an acclaimed film. The worst bits ensure it will not go on the favourites page.
Who is the star of Cleo from 5 to 7 (1961)? On the face of it – and what a face it is -, this is the eponymous singer played by Corrine Marchand who is on screen for most of a film which takes place in something close to real time (there are as many clocks in it as in The Set-Up). While she traverses contemporary Paris, its buildings, cafés, parks, squat automobiles and more form as much a character as she does.
Written and directed by Agnès Varda, it turns around the singer being anxious about going to keep an appointment that afternoon/evening to see whether she has cancer. That might make it sound sombre but there is such a brio to the way in which the film is made – very much nouvelle vague – that one is carried along by it, revelling in the variety of camera angles which capture a city in flux and coming to a halt now and then.
Along the way, she calls in at a songwriter (played by Michel Legrand himself) and visits the studio where a friend (Dominique Davray) who is modelling for a life class; their continuing journey includes the delivery of a film to a cinema whose projectionist invites them to watch it there and then: this is Seine-side pastiche, a few minutes long, of a slapstick silent film which stars, amazingly, Godard in a fine lovelorn rôle.
Unlikely as it might appear, this surreal interlude fits perfectly as the prelude to the onset of evening and the uncertain news which had been heralded by the film's opening section where Tarot cards were turned (mercifully, and fittingly, the only part in colour).
Here, though, is a celebration of all that life can entail (and on disc there is an array of extras well worth watching). All of which leaves one only able to reflect how galling it must be for the Académie française that the French for happy hour is... le happy hour.
The quintessential nouvelle vague film, from a female perspective to boot. So fresh, full of energy and verve. Has great cuts (Godard and his fabled jump cuts are not the only game in town) . Yes, it's a bit verbose, especially in the second half. Good stuff.