'There is no greater solitude than the Samurai's, unless it be that of the tiger in the jungle.'
So reads a title-card from the credit sequence of Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï (1967). This quotation, purporting to be from the Japanese Book of Bushido, (actually it was written by Melville) has a dual purpose. Firstly, it likens the film's eponymous hero, a hired killer, to the ancient Japanese warriors. Secondly, it is a clear metaphor for Jeff's relationship to his environment. He is the tiger, Paris the jungle. This metaphor is only one aspect of the film's representation of Paris, itself only one of a number of films of the Nouvelle Vague in French cinema.
In this essay I will discuss some of the various New Wave visions of Paris, and will argue that while a single view of the city is hard to find, the representation in key films tends to revolve around a limited number of themes, thus allowing comparisons to be drawn. I will argue that in each instance the representation derives primarily from the portrayal of the main character and is intended to convey the central aspect of his or her psyche. That this is usually the notion of solitude morale implies that Paris tends to be a solitary space, representative of modernity in general, in which the individual drifts in isolation, trying to establish contact with external reality.
New Wave directors were intrigued by the theme of solitude morale, of an individual neither in touch with his or her lowest human depths, nor with others, nor the spiritual dimension of life. The films they praised all dealt with this theme, beginning with a character in complete isolation, who, during the film, is forced to discover his or her lowest depths, finally reaching a stage where his or her relationship to others and the external world is made clear. In other words they undergo a transition from solitude morale to self-revelation, wherein lies salvation.1 That the New Wave directors adopted this principal as their world-view is evident from their earliest features.
Prison/Solitude
In Le Samouraï, the opening "quotation" testifies to its hero's profound isolation, while the visual image reinforces this: Jeff's flat is a veritable prison of solitude. The focus of the room is the far wall with its two, seemingly barred, windows. A birdcage is visible, indicating a carceral space. The cinematography and dim lighting invest the flat with a monochromatic gloom; a stark greyness which even applies to the bird, chosen for its black and white feathers.2 The sound also contains a note of solitude. During the initial shot (over which the credits appear) there is a prolonged silence. This is emphasised, rather than undermined, by the bird's infrequent chirping and the distant sounds of traffic. The cars passing below are something external and alien. They signify that the city (at this point it could be any modern city, and should therefore be termed "modernity") exists beyond Jeff's world and is completely indifferent to him. The effect is one of a cell, suggesting that Jeff's solitude is so great that it has acquired the dimensions and tangibility of a prison.
A bout de souffle adopts the theme of lack of communication to illustrate Michel Poiccard's solitude. The narrative revolves around Michel's attempts to overcome his solitude morale by connecting with Patricia and persuading her to accompany him to Rome. His failures, and the obstacles encountered, are presented as the difficulties of two individuals in overcoming the anonymous environment of modernity. This barrier is highlighted by frequent misunderstandings in their dialogue. Michel repeatedly uses slang terms that Patricia's phrase book French doesn't include. The most obvious example occurs in the final scene: throughout the film Patricia has been trying to discover who Michel really is by analyzing his character, and thus connect with him. The ultimate futility of this is evident when she doesn't even understand something as fundamental as his reaction to her betrayal. The implied alienating effect of modernity lingers in the literal ambiguity of her question, "Qu" est-ce que c'est déguelasse?'
The failure of communication is presented as a symptom of life in Paris by the use of dialogue which, as Michel Marie has noted, is reminiscent of Louis-Ferdinand Céline.3 This novelist wrote in a similar elliptical style of Parisian argot to Michel's monologues, while Michel's surname, Poiccard, maintains the association. It is derived from poissard - the name given to the slang of the lower classes.4 Céline also used such constructed names, and the association with his technique gives Michel's slang a particularly Parisian tone.
In A bout de souffle Paris represents modernity: if Paris is a realm of moral solitude then moral solitude is an inevitable condition of modernity and applies to Patricia just as significantly as to Michel. She is first ignored, then patronized by the Parisian intellectual Parvulesco. She appears to know few people in Paris, and hardly any real Parisians (her editor is American.) Her journalistic ambitions are attempts to become part of Parisian life; the fact that she merely sells the New York Herald Tribune indicates the difficulty of achieving this.
