The Bakery Girl of Monceau (1963)
Directed by: Eric
Rohmer.
Written by: Eric
Rohmer.
Starring: Barbet Schroeder (Young
Man/Narrator), Claudine Soubrier (Jacqueline), Michele Giardon (Sylvie), Fred
Junk (Schmidt).
The first
of Eric Rohmer’s so called Six Moral Tales films – the most celebrated of his
career – The Bakery Girl of Monceau is a 23 minute short, that is basically the
perfect encapsulation of what Rohmer would go onto do with the other films –
just in a much shorter period of time, and a much simpler narrative. Still, the
ideas and themes here feel fully formed. Already, he is making us identify with
a wealthy, privileged male character, who behaves somewhat cruelly towards
others. The style is also fully formed – his use of amusing, ironic voiceovers,
etc. As a dry run for what was to come next, The Bakery Girl of Monceau is
wonderful. And it works on its own terms as well. While it isn’t Rohmer’s first
film – it’s the one that showed just what he was capable of.
The film
stars future director Barbet Schroeder as a Young Man – a law student – who
becomes enchanted with Sylvie – a beautiful, sophisticated blonde woman he
literally bumps into on the street. He arranges his usual walks to bump into
her, and then eventually asks her out. She says she is busy that night, but
another time – they’re sure to bump into each other again. So it’s clear that
she’s noticed him as well.
But then, Sophie is seemingly gone. He walks around the
neighborhood day after day looking for her, hoping to bump into her, but never
does. He starts going to a local bakery and buying cookies for his walk. He
starts flirting with the young baking assistant – Jacqueline – behind the
counter there. She is everything that Sylvie is not – she is shorter, plumper,
has short, dark hair. She is also younger, and clearly less sophisticated –
especially to the young man, who tells usR in voiceover “What offended me is
not that she liked me, but that she thought I may like her back”. He clearly
sees himself as above her. And yet, he keeps going back to that bakery, keeps
flirting with her. Even talks her into a date – even though she knows she’ll
get in trouble for it. And then, of course, Sylvie reappears right before the
date.
By the
time Rohmer made The Bakery Girl of Monceau, he was already in his 40s – he was
older than the other filmmakers in the French New Wave by a decade so perhaps
that gave him slightly more insight into characters like the young man here.
That he is cruel to the Bakery Girl is undeniable – he basically bats her
around like a plaything, and then discards her. Rohmer explained his moral
tales as films in which a man falls for one woman, gets obsessed with another
until the first reappears, and that is this whole film in a nutshell. Rohmer is
extremely interested in the young man here – we hear his thoughts throughout
the film, and hence everything he is thinking. The two women in the film are,
like most Rohmer women, unknowable because the characters narrating don’t
understand them. We learn that Sylvie lived across the street from the bakery
the whole time – and saw the Young Man on his daily rounds (she wasn’t around
because a broken leg confined her to the apartment). We don’t know if she knows
what he has been doing with the Bakery Girl – and if so, if she thought it was
cruel, or funny, or something in between. Likewise, we have no idea what the
Bakery Girl’s reaction to being left was. The Young Man leaves her behind
without a thought (at least once he got off that street unseen).
In total,
The Bakery Girl of Monceau is probably more lightweight than the other films in
the series – a symptom of being just 23 minutes long more than anything. But
it’s very much in line with what he would go onto do – a film about privileged
young man, who tells us what he’s thinking in great detail as he’s thinking it,
and still opting for the safer, blander choice. Rohmer doesn’t critique the
Young Man the way he would his other heroes as the series progresses - he
doesn’t have the time really, but that criticism is implied. This is a perfect
little encapsulation of what made Rohmer a special filmmaker.
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