Review of Pauline at the Beach (1983) by Sergio R — 05 Jan 2008

From Rohmer's series of "Comedies and Proverbs", this is a delightful gossamer of a summer story, concentrating on an even younger couple than usual. Like nearly all Rohmer films, this might appear episodic and rather uneventful to begin with (especially if you're not used to his style), but in time the tightness and the intricacy of the plot become evident - this is as structured as any Feydeau farce.

Ostensibly a reflection on the dangers of scheming and talking too much, it playfully examines the ways in which people try to interfere with and control the lives of those around them in the name of friendship.

Lighthearted as it is, it examines issues of authority, convention, independent thinking (not to mention the obvious, love and relationships) and could even work as a political parable of sorts, all in that inimitable Rohmer way of pretending it's saying nothing at all.

This is one the most endearing of Rohmer's trademark little tricks: no one else manages to wrench such unpretentiously profound films out of such pretentious, shallow characters. (In this, as in so much, Rohmer seems at times more like a novelist who writes with his camera than the usual idea of a "filmmaker".

) As usual, acting and dialogues are impeccable. Nestor Almendros's photography is never less than luscious, and yet could at times almost pass for found footage, which fits in perfectly with the air of precise informality that marks Rohmer's work.

This is one of the ways through which Rohmer manages to go deep into his subjects without weighing us down, and "Pauline" contains one of the best examples of this approach, the moment when Rosette and Pascal Greggory have a revelatory conversation while a dog is giving close attention to something just outside the frame.

It would be easy to believe that the dog had just wandered in unnoticed and was left in out of carelessness, as it could distract us from a key scene; however, in doing so, it reminds us of the existence of other stories besides the one we're supposed to follow, and therefore underlines one of the key differences between fiction and real life, working also as a sharp comment on the nature of the dialogue we are hearing.

So there you are: surprisingly profound reflections, carefully constructed out of what seems like gossamer, and presented in such a throwaway manner that they might almost not have been there: ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Eric Rohmer.