Films

«The Things in Life that Remain

3 reading minutes

written by Loris S. Musumeci · May 27, 2020 · 0 comment

Cinema Wednesdays - Special edition: Tribute to Michel Piccoli - Loris S. Musumeci

Two tributes in one film, or even three while we're at it. A tribute to Michel Piccoli, a tribute to Jean-Loup Dabadie, both of whom passed away in recent days, and a tribute to Claude Sautet, who left us twenty years ago. Things in life is all the more significant in honoring the memory of these three men as it had a profound impact on their careers and lives. It made Piccoli popular, gave Dabadie the opportunity to write his first screenplay - and not the least! -and (re)launched Sautet's cinema, who finally found his style with this film, as well as his favorite actress Romy Schneider.

Pierre (Michel Piccoli) est architecte. La quarantaine, la tête un peu dégarnie, mais il se maintient bien. Sa compagne, Hélène (Romy Schneider), est beaucoup plus jeune que lui. La différence d’âge ne semble pas la gêner. Parce qu’elle est folle de Pierre. Elle le désire, le caresse, le touche. Elle cherche sans cesse son regard. Très amoureuse, et donc jalouse. De l’ex-femme de Pierre, Catherine, avec laquelle celui-ci entretient d’excellents rapports. Leur fils, Bernard, les lie. Sa vie de père, sa vie d’homme marié, en somme sa vie d’homme normal a l’air de lui manquer. Hélène, il l’aime, oui, mais ce n’est pas toujours facile de suivre le rythme d’une femme plus jeune, qui rêve encore de voyages et d’aventures.

In fact, Pierre no longer knows what he wants. He no longer knows where he stands. And he has the opportunity to think, to reflect, to look back, and to be moved by his recent past, by the little things in life, just as life is slipping away. The entire plot of the film unfolds between his car accident and his peaceful death in the hospital. In his long inner monologue, he tells himself that he is tired—very tired—but that he’s okay; he opens his eyes just a crack until he can make out the light. Until his gaze fades into the light.

Le temps n’a plus d’importance. On ne sait combien de temps aura duré l’agonie de Pierre, parce que tout est perçu, rythmé et raconté à travers lui, ses souvenirs et ses rêves. La photographie est régie par des effets de flou, sous les gouttes d’eau, sous la lumière qui envahit l’écran, par des gros plans où Pierre se regarde lui-même lors de ses joies, sourire aux lèvres, lors de ses angoisses, en sueur. Des gros plans aussi, sur ce qui a vraiment compté pour lui: un «Je t’aime» tapé à la machine, une invention mécanique de son fils, la compagnie de son ami François, le visage de Catherine, le corps d’Hélène. Le rythme est aussi soumis à la phase entre la mort et la vie: la scène de l’accident en lui-même entrecoupe les scènes de souvenirs, elle ponctue le récit. Alternance entre la violence de l’accident et la douceur des pensées. Enfin, c’est Hélène's Song by Philippe Sarde, which overshadows everything else: the rhythm is drowned out by the water along with Pierre’s voice, the loved ones are told of his death, and the entire image becomes blurred.

As I walked with Pierre, I wondered what the things in life the things we thought of as we were about to die. I believe that, like Peter, we think of what was beautiful. Of what might have been—or might not have been. We think of our friends. Of loves that were always grand, never fulfilled; always fantasized about in all their glory, never experienced except in simplicity. We think of the little habits: the morning cigarette, the coffee, the drinks shared with others. The details. We think of our doubts; we think of our regrets. Of our heartaches. And we see that what really mattered, in the end, is very little compared to everything else. But everything else fades away. Very little remains. The little things in life remain. In the light. In the absence. In the end. Today we’re here; tomorrow, we don’t know.