By Jonathan Monovich.
I think going into anything with a deep respect for what came before is the best you can do.”
–Durga Chew-Bose
“Whatever happened to the teenage dream?” It’s a question attributed to a Marc Bolan song, though its sentiment remains eternal. Time fleets, as does youth, and with age comes an acknowledgment of doubt. Teenage years are defined by an inevitable skepticism that arises from witnessing preconceived expectations crumble. There comes a day when what was thought to be isn’t, and what was thought would happen doesn’t. Naturally, one at first dwells on the perceived unfairness of life but then eventually comes to accept that c’est la vie. Goodbye, innocence; hello, sadness. Discerningly, at the age of eighteen, Françoise Sagan expressed these universal concepts of the dichotomy of youth in her 1954 novel Bonjour Tristesse. There is a mature recognition in Sagan’s story that at any given moment, your happiest days are left to fate and may already be behind you. Soon after the novel’s release, Otto Preminger brought Bonjour Tristesse (1958) to the screen in glorious technicolor. Jean Seberg’s portrayal of Cécile has an undeniable charm. Her smile, singsong delivery, and pixie hairdo offers a believable nonchalance and an existence free of worry. The interactions of Seberg’s Cécile with her father, Raymond (David Niven), are like a childlike friendship that has extended its welcome. Cécile has an obvious admiration for her father, though there is also a dependency and a longing for attention that stems from a fear of growing up. The grinning, laughing, dancing, and overall Billy Wilderness of Preminger’s Bonjour Tristesse is upended with the arrival of Anne (Deborah Kerr). The film’s idyllic French Riviera setting remains, but the colors begin to become more harsh as do Cécile’s emotions with the unwelcomed motherly presence of Anne. The uninvited parenting brings about an exchange in which Seberg decries “seventeen now isn’t what it was when you were seventeen.” She’s absolutely right, though her naivety is in failing to recognize wisdom comes with age and that sometimes it’s best to just sit back and listen.
Durga Chew-Bose, writer of Too Much and the Not Mood, understands that seventeen now still isn’t what it was, and the truism justifies her modern adaptation of Bonjour Tristesse. Equipped with a rare authorial voice and a clear love for cinema, Chew-Bose delivers a very strong debut feature film. Like Preminger, Chew-Bose romanticizes France, the culture, the conversations, the landscapes, the meals, and the look of it all. Few films look as beautiful as Chew-Bose’s Bonjour Tristesse, and she is very much fixated on mood. Bonjour Tristesse is a bildungsroman about self-awareness, development, regret, and introspection. It’s also a film about a child’s relationship with her parents. Chew-Bose is a perfect choice for Bonjour Tristesse as much of her own writing thoughtfully reflects on her childhood and the importance of family. Whereas Preminger’s version could be compared to Stanley Donen and Godard before Godard, Chew-Bose’s vision is more similar to the likes of Luca Guadagnino, Éric Rohmer, and Maurice Pialat. There is also very little camera movement in Chew-Bose’s film in the vein of Yûharu Atsuta’s work with Ozu on films like Early Summer (1951). Bonjour Tristesse is exquisitely crafted and a true cinematic treat. Certain shots in the summer setting of the French Riviera are so skillfully framed that something as simple as a bowl of fruit on a table becomes reminiscent of a still life painting. True to the source, you will see Cécile “sit and watch as tears go by” in a Marianne Faithfull fashion, though Chew-Bose has extended the finale in a refreshing way. Lily McInerny’s take on Cécile is more muted and less happy-go-lucky than Seberg, which matches the film’s overall pastel color palette. She is an actress with great talent and a promising future. Here, Cécile’s relationship with her father, Raymond (Claes Bang), feels more realistic and more age appropriate. There is also an elegance to Chloë Sevigny’s performance as Anne, which is an excellent casting choice. The interactions between Bonjour Tristesse’s ensemble, which also includes Aliocha Schneider as Cécile’s boyfriend, Cyril, and Nailia Harzoune as Raymond’s ex, Elsa, feel far more intimate than Preminger’s film. With her namesake being the character Durga from Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955) and recognizing in her beloved essay “Heart Museum” that she aspires to “write in harmony with the rhythm of human breathing”1 like Ray, it is a full circle for Chew-Bose to have achieved the same on the big screen. I hope that she continues to explore these filmic possibilities on screen. Just as Preminger’s film influenced the French New Wave, Chew-Bose’s version of Bonjour Tristesse will hopefully influence those brave enough to keep meaningful arthouse cinema live.
Having read Too Much and Not the Mood, I was quick to notice there are a lot of similarities between your book and Bonjour Tristesse. For example, you note that you have nightmares when you take naps. Anne also says this in the film. It’s also said that laying in piles of coats in bedrooms at parties was something that Anne and Cécile’s mother shared. Memorably, that is also something you noted that the girls that you compared yourself to in “Part of a Greater Pattern” did while growing up in Montreal. We also see Cécile, Anne, and Elsa eating a lot of fruit throughout the film and you note that you’re happiest when you’re eating fruit at your parents’ house in “At My Least and Most Aware.” Your writing is very personal, which is what makes you have such a distinct voice. Even though your filmis an adaptation of Françoise Sagan’s novel, can you speak about why it was important for you to maintain this level of personalization in the film?
I’m very moved by your question. I personally hadn’t made those connections. Thank you for doing that for me. To be able to make those connections, you’re clearly a really close reader. I’ve always written from a place of what I know, so it doesn’t surprise me that these specific details are mirrored in my book of essays and my script. I feel like I have only one voice, and I actually think this translates to how I talk to people. I’m kind of always the same. It’s interesting because we’re just meeting each other now for the first time, but my friends who’ve seen the film always say “this is so you.” I recoil a little when I hear that. It makes me worry that I have a level of solipsism or an inability to evolve as an artist. As I grow older, I’m learning that there’s actually something really beautiful about this. You grow with yourself, and you really do only have one voice. To have my voice be brought into the world of film, which I love and respect so deeply, and have it layered with Francoise Sagan, there’s just a lot happening there. Bonjour Tristesse was adapted very soon by Otto Preminger after it was published, and his film is so beloved. There was a lot of electricity around the project. I didn’t want those pressures to overwhelm me and this adaptation to feel weak because of it.
You mentioned how you have a great respect for film, and you can really see that in your writing. I’d like to ask about your background in writing about film specifically. I really like your Metrograph essay “Moments of Impact.” You’re obviously very passionate about film and you incorporate a lot of different film references throughout Too Much and Not the Mood. Many filmmakers like Peter Bogdanovich, Olivier Assayas, Éric Rohmer, Jean-Luc Godard, and François Truffaut started off as critics/writers before becoming filmmakers. I think all of those writers turned filmmakers have a unique understanding of cinema as a language. You’re writing has a very visual quality, so it seems like a natural transition for you. Did you always have a desire to make films of your own?
I didn’t. It wasn’t something aspirational that I was barreling towards. There is a tradition there, so it’s not a completely alien pursuit. I wouldn’t put myself in the same category as Bogdanovich or the Cahiers du Cinéma gang, though. Recently, I read a Screen Slate interview with Axelle Ropert. Her films are now having a resurgence on the Criterion Channel. She talks about how she was also a critic and feels it’s a natural progression. In some ways, the bedrock for finding your voice is in knowing what you like and don’t like and you spend your career doing that as a critic. It doesn’t necessarily mean all critics make great filmmakers or that it’s a natural progression for all critics to become filmmakers. I put myself in that category, and maybe this is the first and last film I’ll ever make. I will say, though, you become equipped with something that comes with a deep appreciation and understanding of how movies are made. You also become exposed to the intricacies of filmmaking like pacing, rhythm, color, and all the different heads of department that go into it. When you swim in the waters of studying auteurs, their voices, and the choices that they make for such a long time, it does begin to feel like a natural progression. When I read film criticism now, I wonder if some of these people even like movies [laughs]. Critics love film. They love movies, and that’s something that I think is misunderstood about critics. For me, love is such a huge part of why you would want to make anything. Personally, it was an honor to be able to make Bonjour Tristesse. I felt very geeky and excited to be on the set, even though it was my set [laughs].
I feel very similarly and consider my writing to be a labor of love. I wanted to talk a little bit about Preminger’s version of Bonjour Tristesse. There’s so much to like about that film whether it be Juliette Gréco’s song, the gorgeous technicolor, the sleek black and white scenes, Jean Seberg’s performance, or the Saul Bass opening credits.
That film is just a tally of iconic choices [laughs].
I’m sure it felt like a big undertaking to take on this project given that people love Preminger’s film so much, but your adaptation really turned out quite stunning. Your film is also very much its own and a much different interpretation. I would compare it to be in the vein of what Luca Guadagnino did in modernizing La Piscine (1969) for A Bigger Splash (2015). Did you want to keep a degree of distance from Preminger’s film or how did you navigate that?
I didn’t rewatch it while I was writing the film. I actually haven’t seen it in years. I saw it a few years prior to starting the outline for the script. I was living in New York at the time and Film Forum was showing it. Obviously, I loved it. I think going into anything with a deep respect for what came before is the best you can do. It’s inevitable that what came before will be absorbed into your version because that’s how life and memory works. I’m such a referential person when it comes to my writing, so why wouldn’t I be in my filmmaking? It’s also such a great source of inspiration. It’s definitely there, but in some ways, I think my film is also a real departure from Preminger’s version. We really tried to focus on the book. We have our own mannered language in our version of Bonjour Tristesse, and some of the choices we make are very heightened. I wanted this feeling of escape to be very real and immediate even if moments felt sort of familiar. I really didn’t think about Preminger’s version that much, though. Some things are just inevitable. Since we also shot by the sea, there’s a lot of blue, brown, and white. There’s also a lot of shorts, skin, bathing suits, and all the elements of a checklist for any summer film. Our cast is so different, though. Also, like you said, I feel the writing in the film seems closer to my own writing than it does to anything else. Preminger’s film was certainly there, but it definitely wasn’t a compass for me.
There’s also a great irony to Preminger’s version as it was deemed to be not French enough by Americans and the French obviously loved the film. Bonjour Tristesse famously became a direct inspiration for Godard’s Breathless (1960). I’m a big fan of French cinema. To me, your film does look and feel much more French than Preminger’s version. In terms of theme and aesthetics, I was particularly reminded of Éric Rohmer’s Pauline at the Beach (1983) and Maurice Pialat’s À nos amours (1983). One of the most obvious instances of homage was the scene with the girl in the epilogue eating spaghetti like Sandrine Bonnaire. As we’ve discussed, you’re work is very referential, so I’m wondering if there were specific French films that you used as reference points?
For sure. I’m now looking closer at your background, and I see a Band of Outsiders (1964) poster and a Cahiers du Cinéma magazine. That scene was definitely stolen from À nos amours. The young woman who we cast to play one of Cécile’s friends actually did that on her own. I immediately yelled “cut,” ran to her with a photo saved on my phone, and said “Saundrine Bonnaire does that and you just did it!” Miyako [Bellizzi], our costume designer, also didn’t know that was my reference. Coincidentally, she had also put her in a striped agnès b. shirt similar to Bonnaire’s in À nos amours. I think that’s just the magic that comes with movies if you’re doing a good job. I don’t mean being good at your job, but if you are communicative and you’re really letting people in on your vision, something happens. If you’re clear and you’re really listening, without even having to vocalize it, people end up doing what you had envisioned. It’s a really interesting shot for you to pinpoint. I literally ran to the actress and said “you did the thing that I imagined in my head,” but I obviously didn’t want to tell her directly what to do.
That’s very special. I suppose great minds think alike.
[Laughs] Exactly! Rohmer and Pialat were definitely influences, though. Strictly speaking French cinema Olivier Assayas, Mia Hansen-Løve, Agnès Varda, and Chantal Ackerman’s films are also very important to me. I definitely had a nice little pool to dip into when it came to helping me find the language of the film.
I also admire many of those filmmakers, so I appreciate that you had that level of thought with your references. In the Preminger version of Bonjour Tristesse there’s that great scene where Jean Seberg says to Deborah Kerr “seventeen now isn’t what it was when you were seventeen.” I think quote helps legitimize the need for a modernized take on the film as that really is more true than ever. This is mostly due to technology. It was clever how you showed generational differences with Cécile using her phone vs. Raymond listening to records. At the same time, it’s funny because there’s been a great resurgence in vinyl in the last decade. I, myself, am a big collector. Overall, there is very little screentime with technology present. I think this helps the film to have a more timeless look. At one point, Raymond even jokes that Cécile should toss her phone in the water. How did you approach this great modern day dilemma of how much technology to include on screen?
Well, I was always just thinking about the characters. To me, Raymond is a father who is very wistful for the past. He’s definitely a “remember when” guy. That’s reflected through the way he listens to music. He’s probably not on his phone much because he treats it as noise and doesn’t want to deal with work. Cécile is also around adults a lot more, so she’s not on her phone as much because she’s observing them. Regardless of when a movie takes place, being a teenager is such an isolating and lonely time. I felt like there were other ways to show isolation than just scrolling through your phone. For Raymond, there is definitely an element of nostalgia to him. It has a lot to do with the Peter Pan of him. He feels like one of those people who has a phone that looks brand new because he really doesn’t use it. When Raymond does use his phone, I imagine he asks other people to use it. For example, he would ask someone else to book the Uber or check the time. He’s not self-sustaining when it comes to technology in that way. I think he probably prides himself in the details that you get from listening to something on vinyl vs. digital.
That makes a lot of sense. Something else that really struck me with the film was the cinematography, which is really incredible. I would be remiss to acknowledge your cinematographer Maximilian Pittner. To me, the way the film is shot was very reminiscent of Sayombhu Mukdeeprom’s work with Luca Guadagnino as well as Yorick Le Saux’s work with Guadagnino and Claire Denis. There’s also a lot of what I call The Searchers (1956)shots in the film. There is very clear thought and intention in regards to symmetry with doorways and windows like John Ford’s The Searchers. What was your approach to working with Pittner to capture the film in this way?
Max and I definitely talked about both of those DPs. We really love their work, but we didn’t really talk about cinematographers in that way. We talked about them because we are admirers of their craft. Max’s work is really extraordinary in this film. He was always trying to adapt to our locations. I had written the script in a very specific way and then we found this location that had a very inside/outside architecture to it. This was ripe for opportunity for Max to be able to shoot through windows, doorways, or a little alcove in the kitchen. He loves to shoot through things, he loves reflections, and he loves hallways. I learned a lot from him in seeing that’s how he sees things. If I were to begin a shot inside, he would recommend we begin outside and then move inside because the wall is made of windows. This adds a sense of voyeurism, tension, and suspense. I’ve always loved door thresholds in literature. I feel like all the main moments in Edith Wharton’s books happen with someone looking out a window or standing at a door threshold. It’s so much more dramatic to do anything in a place like an archway. Like you were saying, shooting in these kinds of places also invariably leads to symmetry in the frame. We often talked about the frame within the frame. Visually, it’s also just really fun to think about where to place the camera. Over time, you stop overthinking it, your film starts to develop a visual language, and those shots just present themselves to you every single day. I remember we joked on set that we really loved shooting through mirrors and we had to be careful about not doing it too much [laughs].
That’s really interesting. Through talking with you and from reading your essays “Since Living Alone,” “Upspeak”, “Heart Museum,” and “First Impressions: ‘High Life,’” you’re very keen to specific details from films like the significance of the pear scene in The Godfather Part II (1974), Al Pacino’s eyes in The Panic in Needle Park (1971) and facial expressions in Scarecrow (1973), Sharon Stones shoulders in Basic Instinct (1992), and color contrast in High Life (2018). It makes sense why you’d open Too Much and Not the Mood with a quote from Polly Platt as you really do pay close attention to iconography. Can you speak about your collaboration with your production designer and art department on how you were able to achieve the wonderful look of the film?
François-Renaud Labarthe, Olivier Assayas’ longtime collaborator, was our production designer. He was the only person I had in mind. I remember writing my producers and said “he’s number one. Let’s make sure he does it.” When he came on board, I definitely had a “pinch me moment.” It really meant a lot to me, especially because it’s my first film. I wanted to work with François-Renaud Labarthe because I always considered him a master of clutter. I love how he does clutter. This goes back to your first question in some ways. I feel like this film is an extension of my writing because I love visual details. I love what they can say about a person. Between costume design and production design you’re given so many opportunities to elaborate on that. The script had a lot of production design details in it, which is a bit unorthodox. Scripts are usually more bare bones, but mine had thick paragraphs. I think this was ultimately probably helpful because it made it very clear that I had a vision and I knew what I wanted. I was also very clear that I was completely open to veering from that. He brought his experience, so François brought questions like “are we staying in a villa that belongs to an architect friend of theirs who comes from the same bourgeois class.” There’s architecture materials on the desk and it’s very clear this isn’t Cécile’s high school bedroom. When we moved back to Paris in the coda that feels more like their home. There’s all these elaborate choices, and some don’t even end up on screen, but you have to have the conversation to build the world. Then, you inhabit it and choose the right lamp shade. It was a lot of fun. It was like playing house. We painted walls. We rented art. We configured rooms. We considered which terrace would have what chair and why. We asked would these chairs be comfortable and how low to the ground should they be. A lot of those details are really practical and unromantic, but it’s very romantic to be getting to make those choices. I really enjoyed all of it.
Being familiar with your writing, I guess it’s not that surprising to hear that you would have a lot of those details in the script. There was obviously a very clear vision. You also seem to recognize that sometimes it’s better to remove. For example, you remove the interior casino scenes and we just see the interaction in the parking lot, we don’t see the act of Cécile’s setup and we just see Anne’s facial expression as she witnesses it, and we just see the result of the car crash. Why was it important for you to approach certain scenes this way?
You’re not going to love this answer, but the casino scene was just due to budget. It was written in the script, and we scouted but we just couldn’t make it work. It wasn’t heartbreaking, though. What I learned is that decisions like that being made for you forces you to quickly adapt. There’s something really invigorating about finding a solution. Not being able to shoot inside the casino made us ask “where can we stage it?” There’s almost something better about a parking lot. Frankly, it’s better to catch two people in a car. I was thankful these obstacles were presented to us because we really found something we loved more in the solutions. The car crash was always something that I didn’t want to be seen. Max and I referred to a specific rearview mirror shot from Paris, Texas (1984) that we wanted to basically copy. I love seeing someone’s reaction of what they’re seeing before we can see it. I guess that’s classic Hitchcock. To me, that’s not real life. That’s movie language, and we approached it as making a movie. We weren’t seeking realism in our visual language for this film. We were seeking a cinematic, fictional world that was sort of heightened by a sense of fantasy. I mean I could watch Nathalie Richard, who plays Nathalie in the film, drive for another 30 minutes. It’s also about challenging your instincts. For that shot, we could have just done it more traditional with seeing the accident happen, but there had to be something else. Even we weren’t convinced by it at first. I think in that something else we often found what we really liked.
I also wanted to call out Chloë Sevigny’s performance as Anne, which I thought was great. To me, it made a lot of sense for her to be playing a designer knowing how big of an impact she’s had on fashion. You also have a lot of experience with fashion given your editorial role at SSENSE. How involved were you and Sevigny in making decisions around the film’s wardrobe with your costume designer, Miyako Bellizzi?
It was definitely a collaboration with Miyako, Cynthia Merhej who created Anne’s designs, and Chloë. I think it was also less collaborative and more a conversation about comfort and character. Again, it always goes back to the character. With Chloë, she has so much experience. She has such a presence on set that if she has a question, a concern, or wanted further understanding, you pause and you take time for it. I could only learn from that. There’s elements that are really fun about having an actor whose iconography bleeds into the fashion world. I didn’t really experience it as Chloë playing Anne, though. I experienced it as an actor who’s just very good at what she does. I think Miyako also thinks similarly about finding a way into the characters’ lives, regardless of the character’s profession. In some ways, it’s a really different role for Chloë in terms of character. That’s also reflected in the costumes. Even if people are quick to make it a familiar thing, because Chloë is often associated with clothes, I think it arguably feels new.
Endnote:
1. Chew-Bose, Durga. Too Much and Not the Mood. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2017. pp. 25.
Bonjour Tristesse is now exclusively in theaters via Greenwich Entertainment.
Jonathan Monovich is a Chicago-based writer and a regular contributor for Film International. His writing has also been featured in Film Matters, Bright Lights Film Journal, and PopMatters.