The Long Dance Of The Mundane

Yale Film Archive goes French.

· 5 min read
The Long Dance Of The Mundane
A still from "Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles."

Voulez-vous French 75? No, I’m not asking about the gin-based cocktail, but rather the latest series from the Yale Film Archive, which celebrates a trio of French films made in 1975 that are in turn celebrating their 50th anniversary this year.

The first of the series was shown Friday night in all of its three-hour and 22-minute glory. Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles brought forth cinephiles who filled nearly every seat of the theater in the Humanities Quadrangle on York Street to experience the film Sight & Sound magazine ranked number one in their ​“Greatest Films of All Time” poll in 2022. 

Adding to the excitement for the evening was the fact that this film was being shown in 35 mm — 11 reels worth, in fact. According to YFA managing archivist Brian Meacham, this particular print was one of two made from a digital print and was screened ​“exactly once” for him, alone in the exact theater we were all in that night.

“It was an exceptional experience,” said Meacham with a smile. ​“I’m a changed man because of it.”

At this point you may be asking yourself, ​“What makes this film so exceptional besides its run time?”

The YFA calendar entry for the event described the film as being about ​“a widowed Belgian housewife whose predictable routine starts to shatter.” Does that sound exceptional to you? I am here to say yes, it is indeed that and more. In the hands of director Chantal Ackerman — who made this film before she was even 25 years old — and star Delphine Seyrig, it is a slow burn tour de force. It at times plays like a gentle rain shower that only hints at the flood it will later cause. Three days in the life of a woman that include chores, errands, solitude, interactions, and, eventually, reactions. 

From a technical standpoint the film is masterful with its stationary single camera perspective taking in all of Jeanne’s daily activities in long lingering shots from a ​“safe” distance. We pretty much never see a close-up of her or her face or anyone else’s for that matter (not that she has a ton of interaction with others, for the most part).

As the film begins, the viewer sees Jeanne in her kitchen getting potatoes ready to boil when the doorbell rings. A man comes in and they go to her bedroom. Day becomes night, and he leaves, paying her before he exits and making a date to return. She deposits the money in the soup tureen on the dining room table, takes a bath, and proceeds with the preparation of dinner for her and her son Sylvain.

Does this all sound boring to you? To some it might be, and to many it is, but let’s not forget: the seemingly mundane and repetitious chores and errands have their own beauty and rhythm. Ackerman makes sure we feel and see that in the muted pastels of Jeanne’s kitchen, in the clanging of the lids on the pots, in the striking of the match to light the stove. This film has no soundtrack, but the activities of Jeanne’s day become its music and Jeanne its musician.

Seyrig is almost never not on screen for this film’s entire runtime, and she is mesmerizing to watch. The way she makes her daily carafe of coffee, the laying out of the tablecloth for dinner, the brushing of her hair: It is all a dance she has created for herself. Even her daily encounters with the men who visit her have their own specific steps. There is barely any dialogue, save for a few sentences traded with store clerks and three very specific conversations: One with a woman who leaves her baby with Jeanne for a portion of each day and two with her son. Both involve Jeanne more listening than in an exchange, but they all lend themselves to her role as the constant, the caretaker, the one whom others count on. Seyrig excels at making you care about her so much that when her routine is disrupted in even the slightest way, it seems shocking. I’m pretty sure I even heard someone gasp when she dropped a butter knife. 

You still might not be so sure as to why this film is so revered. Meacham said to the audience before it began, ​“Get into the moment, the house, the street, the kitchen.” This was the second time I had seen this film, but the first time I had seen it with an audience. While I was more than well aware that I was in a theater with other people, I also felt like I was personally spying on Jeanne and her life, becoming immediately invested in everything she did and everyone she encountered. And even though I knew what was going to happen I still found myself wondering, ​“Why didn’t she tell that kid to pick up his own clothes?” and ​“If I was her, I would have cleaned the tub later.”

The thing is, I was quite like Jeanne for a portion of my adult life, taking care of my home and family in a mostly repetitious way, often with minimal interaction with others except whom I was caring for. You can make it into a dance, but it can also grind you down. I applaud Ackerman’s prowess at making the viewer look at this life long and hard in all of its detail for such a significant period of time. I have always been a big believer in the telling of a wide variety of stories. This story is one that needed to be told in this very specific way: experimental, yet poignant and purposeful.

I am not going to spoil it for you. I am going to recommend that you watch it yourself and see what you think. I saw a couple of people leave the theater while the film was still on. I saw a couple of heads nod down as if starting to fall asleep. But more so I saw people rise up from their seats at the end and chat feverishly about the film, one person clutching their chest and sighing deeply, others smiling and exclaiming ​“Oh my God!” while making their way back on to York Street. The best cinema isn’t necessarily easy or safe or universally loved, but it does challenge us to pay attention and stays with us long after the lights go back on.

The second film in the French 75 series, The Story of Adele H., will be screened Thursday, April 3 at 7 p.m., and the third film, India Song, will be screened on Thursday, April 17 at 7 p.m. All screenings are at 320 York St. unless otherwise indicated and are free and open to the public. Please check the YFA website for further details as well as the rest of their Spring film schedule.