Cleo's got a secret so deep that she hides it even from herself: She could be dying soon.
Filmed just about in real time with a steady hand and observant eye by director Agnès Varda, "Cleo From 5 to 7" follows the title character, a singer in her mid-20s who fears she has terminal cancer, as she goes about her day in fear and sorrow.
The film catches Cleo (Corinne Marchand) in two hours of reflection and contemplation as she waits for news of her diagnosis from the doctor, whom she plans to meet at 7 p.m. The film picks up with Cleo at 5.
Varda, who also penned the script, divides the film into chapters titled with the name of a character in the scene and the time of day. Cleo emerges as a self-absorbed diva who's always gotten by on her looks and frolicked obliviously in day-to-day minutiae of shopping, lunches and social gatherings. A singer who's become a small-time success, Cleo is forced to examine herself, stripping away the illusion of mortality to face her imminent demise.
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Marchand is easily relatable while tantalizingly distant in her role. Cleo seems like the kind of girl who's always looking over the shoulder of the one talking for someone more important.
The film starts with Cleo visiting a fortuneteller, who pulls out a tarot card representing death but cheers up her reading, unwilling to sadden a paying customer. Cleo, used to being intellectually underestimated for her prettiness, allows the fortuneteller to go along with her ruse, but once alone Cleo is visibly crushed. She tries to salve her wounds and console her fear with the creature comforts of daily life.
Cleo buys a hat, takes taxis around town, gets brushed aside by her aloof boyfriend, dallies with her songwriters, meets her nude-model pal for a chat session, watches a short film and finally makes a potential romantic connection with a young soldier.
It's intriguing to watch Cleo go through various stages of dealing with her trauma. At first she's freaked out, then angry, before accepting her presumed fate with a resignation that seems much like depression. She reasons "ugliness is a kind of death," and "as long as I'm pretty, I'm alive."
Then one moment she reaches an existential epiphany; an awakening. Her superficiality fades away and she accepts life for what it is — a series of moments to be embraced and relished. The prospect of no longer having a tomorrow proves liberating. She must seize the present. Faced with dying, Cleo experiences a rebirth.
Interesting symbolism has Cleo buying a black hat early in the film, then wearing it, as if recognizing subconsciously that she's her own enemy — the old villain in a black hat. When Cleo decides to do away with the hat, giving it away to a materialistic friend, it's as though Cleo is taking off her black hat and owning her existence.
Varda, a member of the French New Wave who at age 78 has shifted into documentaries, is still prolific behind the camera, averaging a film a year. The last one to generate a measure of success in America was "The Gleaners and I" (2000), a thoughtful analysis of a dying, poverty-plagued French subculture.
Varda could have stopped after "Cleo From 5 to 7" with the assurance that she'd contributed more to cinema than most directors. That she endures as an artist proves that she lives in the spirit her early film advocates. As long as Varda makes beautiful films, she's still young.
Cleo From 5 to 7 (1961). Not rated. Starring Corinne Marchand. Directed by Agnès Varda. 90 minutes. In French, with subtitles. Available on DVD. For links to other reviews in the series, go to www.azstarnet. com/sn/review.
