Natalia Valentina As deodorant becomes ever more crucial, parks become more picnic blanket than grass, and grass becomes watered with chicken wine, it is clear that summer has come early. The rational response to summer and sun would be to pack your stripy towel and head to the beach. But for those with jobs, vendettas against GWR, or skin more fragile than an Irish infant’s undereyes, other options will have to suffice. So, whilst I can appreciate the seduction of UCL Surf Society (a.k.a. sexy people social club), this year I am interested in another kind of wave… two words: French, New.
See, my friend has one of those fridge poetry sets. They empower the creation of some terrible poems– a la ‘dogtooth flower soaks in moony despair’. Sometimes, though, there’s a gem. Sitting on the floor, trying (and failing) to casually produce a masterpiece, I saw one of her little sister’s drunken compositions: ‘Summer lust is sad and happy.’ Well, isn’t that the truth. I have this notion that the French New Wave, a film movement running from the late fifties to mid-sixties, might well be the artistic embodiment of this summer precept…lusty and happy and sad. I have no evidence for this at all because I have never watched any of its films, despite namedropping Cleo 5 to 7 every so often to flirt with a film bro (effective; use at your peril). Maybe I think these films are lusty because they’re French. Same with sad. Maybe I think they’re happy because they seem to always involve a clip of young people running in a frolicking kind of way which ends up being reposted by aesthetic film instagram accounts with yellow subtitles. The truth is I have no idea what French New Wave films are actually like, but I have a summer to test this vibes-alone judgement once and for all, fuck around and find out.
Figuring out the French New Wave.
Ground Rules:
1) No dubs (come on).
2) One film a day.
3) One director a week. (If they don’t have seven films in the period, then have the day off. Go climb a tree or whatever.)
4) A lot of these directors were pretty prolific but we’ll cap films after 1970 for my sanity.
5) Watch with a baguette in hand. (This one is a joke. Or an innuendo. Ooh la la. Anyway…)
Findings and field notes for the fellow French-curious will be posted on Fridays (for alliterative aims alone). I’ve been told that ‘chui exciteé’ does not mean what I think it means, so let’s just say that I’m excited for this endeavour, and on y va.
