Love in the Afternoon

It’s been awhile, so I thought I’d get back into posting with a tribute to my second favorite Eric Rohmer film, Love in the Afternoon (sometimes called Chloe in the Afternoon in the English-speaking world).

I love so many things about Rohmer’s Six Moral Tales series, and it’s fitting that the series ends with this film, because it’s the most fully formed, and flawlessly executed — the cinematography, dialogue, acting, script — everything.

I’ve transcribed the opening monologue below. It might be the highlight of the film.

On the train, I much prefer a book to a newspaper, and not only because it’s less cumbersome. The paper does not absorb my attention enough and, above all, doesn’t take me sufficiently out of the present. The ride allows me the does of uninterrupted reading I like to take in at one time.

I like to read at home at night too, but other things. I like to read several books at once, each with its own time and place, each taking me out of the time and place in which I live. But I could never read all alone in a bare cell. I need a physical presence there with me. As a student, unless I had to study, I couldn’t stay in my room after dinner. Now Helene and I rarely go out.

Why, among all the possible beauties, was it her beauty that struck me? I’m no longer sure of the answer.

Now, when I see a woman, I’m no longer able to classify her as easily among the chosen or the outcasts. I’m not only less sure of my taste, but I can’t recall on what criteria I based my judgment. What was that “something” that a woman had to have to attract me and that I could detect at first glance? Since my marriage, I find all women attractive. In their most mundane tasks, I accord them that mystery I once denied almost all of them. I’m curious about their lives, even if they teach me nothing new. What if I met this young woman three years ago? Would she have caught my eye? Would I have fallen in love with her, wanted to have a child with her?

I love the city. The suburbs and provinces depress me. Despite the crush and the noise, I never tire of plunging into the crowd. I love the crowd as I love the sea. Not to be engulfed or lost in it, but to sail on it like a solitary pirate, content to be carried by the current yet strike out on my own the moment it breaks or dissipates. Like the sea, a crowd is invigorating to my wandering mind. Almost all my ideas come to me in the street, even those related to my work.