UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG

The directors of the French New Wave occupied two fairly distinct branches: those who rejected and re-defined conventions (Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, Chris Marker) and those who loved the traditions of classical Hollywood cinema and sought to revitalize the form (Franois Truffaut, Claude Chabrol, Louis Malle). Jacques Demy belongs firmly with the latter group, and his 1964 musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg serves as a fine manifesto for that school of filmmaking. Demy, like many of his French colleagues, had a longtime affection for the musicals of Vincent Minelli, and the completion of this film marked the realization of a very old dream. But Umbrellas is very far from being Hollywooden fluff: Demy used the form that was so special to him to meditate on the nature of love, loyalty, class and beauty. The way that he mixes idealism (singing, dancing, pledges of eternal love) with cold realism (the downturn of the French economy, the war in Algeria, the fleeting nature of love) is truly heartbreaking. Formally the film is a wonder: Demy's camera is constantly moving, encompassing remarkable amounts in a single shot, and the richness of the colors is unlike anything being done anywhere else, even in the glory days of technicolor, the stock on which the film is shot (be sure to see it in the theaters, which are showing a recently restored 35mm print). The entire film is sung, creating a completely new, magical world that nonetheless feels completely familiar. Demy never equalled the emotional force and visual splendor of this film, and it is truly one of the high points in the cinema of the 1960s.

— Jerry White

(Ritz Five)