I have heard many times from many people that you will always remember your first love with wistful affection and I suppose I did for a while...
I first fell in love with French Cinema while studying for my A levels. There was a Louis Malle season on Channel 4 in the late 80s (when Channel 4 used to be good) and as a misfit, working class girl from the depths of Tipton I was utterly captivated by the beauty of the photography, the beauty of Moreau and the beauty of stillness. It was like manna for my soul. French cinema and it's heroines also had a certain je ne sais quoi which I attempted to encapsulate in my first year at Sheffield University, probably without much luck for I was born in Tipton, but not in a barn, (for those of you who remember Viz).
For a while, I gorged on French cinema. Lots of days were spent with my uni cinema-loving honcho shut away in a curtained room on a bright sunny summer's day watching Truffeau films. 'Shoot the Piano Player' astonished me and made me laugh. 'Four Hundred Blows' made me cry and reminded me why I was glad I was no longer a child. There was a thoughtful intelligence behind the French Cinema I indulged in then, even in Chabrol's murderous 'Le Boucher'. Could anybody have done it better?
I left university, got my degree and began work for the Ministry of Agriculture in Leicester. Understandably, my disassociation with life around me continued. And it was perfectly captured by a French film I saw three times in one week - 'Un Coeur en Hiver' by Claude Sautet. This produced a couple of French actors for me to follow for a while, namely Daniel Auteuil and Emmanuelle Beart. I fancied him and wanted to be her, not only because she was amazingly good looking and mad, but because she was married to him! I still find it quite a difficult film to watch today because the main focus is on the Auteuil's character's inability to be nothing more than a cynical observer of relationships and I felt like that for such a long time.
And so I continued for a few years watching what I could until I began to feel ever so slightly disappointed and unfulfilled. I wasn't mad keen on Jeunet and Luc Bresson didn't turn me on at all. So, I suppose as with most love affairs, they so often come to an end. And like most love affairs it happens over a period of years rather than an abrupt closing of the door. In search of that earlier fulfillment experienced in my youth, I would borrow any old French film from friends, or Blockbusters, of the latest French offering, in the desperate hope that the earlier magic could be rekindled. But I increasingly felt like I was wasting my time. After 'Nathalie' I realised Emmanuelle Beart had completely lost it and on Saturday I watched 'The Singer' with Gerard Depardieu with some typical mad totty and realised that French cinema had completely lost it. It had become a sad pastiche of itself. Or am I just getting old? I cannot lose myself in the idea of a beautiful young woman falling for a sad, fat, old, failing git, no matter how positive he may be about life.
Along with Woody Allen films, I have decided that I can no longer submit myself to the latest offerings just because of earlier glories. It is time to say goodbye.
