A romantic Rendezvous in Paris

Rendezvous in Paris, now playing at York Square, exposes the lie of most romantic movies--the look, the pause, the buildup of sound and cinematography that shouts, "Hey, there's a special moment coming up; pay attention and prepare to be touched." Rendezvous presents such instances as they actually occur-- among ordinary people doing ordinary things who happen to be falling in and out of love. It's a romance that isn't sentimental.

Rendezvous in Paris

Filmmaker Eric Rohmer is no stranger to this kind of story. In classics like Claire's Knee, he explored how love between ordinary people can slowly and irrevocably go wrong. Rendezvous has none of the earlier film's dark obsession, but it is again interested in the dynamics between two people. There are three different Parisian couples here, each given time to tell their own story. While each segment stands complete without reference to the others, the three complement and refer to one another in complex ways. In the first, "The Seven O'Clock Rendezvous," a young girl learns of her lover's betrayal through a chance robbery at an outdoor market. "The Benches of Paris" chronicles an extramarital affair between two struggling graduate students who have to keep finding new places to meet. The third, "Mother and Child," tells of an artist who is drawn to a young stranger through their shared affinity for a Picasso painting.

Forces of coincidence and chance conspire in each segment, joining chains of seemingly random characters. The plot still manages to remain totally plausible. Although none of the three episodes ends "happily" in the traditonal romantic sense, the overall tone of this movie is not pessimistic. "Whenever I'm myself," says one character giving romantic advice to a friend, "it backfires on me." But this movie is completely itself, and even its gentle touches of irony are too honest to be cynical. Meetings and partings are presented with a frank simplicity that makes each seem preordained without being fatalistic.

The one constant character is the city of Paris itself, which seems to observe, protect and encourage these lovers. If for nothing else, Rendezvous would be worth seeing for the Parisian haunts it reveals: the long successions of streets, cafés, monuments, and parks. Each romance allows the characters to discover the city for themselves, and the result is a subtle collage of impressions in place of what could have been a travel video. The grays and browns of the urban backdrop highlight subtle shifts of feeling as the film leads us from one site to the next.

As suits its pseudo-documentary outlook, Rendezvous is shot in a clean, sparce style with a minimal soundtrack (a duo of street musicians introduces each new plot with their song of Parisian meetings and partings). Rohmer approaches his subject as an curious investigator rather than an adoring artist: there are no indulgent shots of the Parisian skyline, no insistent closeups of a character's anguish, no cutaways to ensure the audience knows what parts connect. Cinematic touches are limited to a few fadeouts, and most episodes are framed in long, relaxed shots.

The cast understands Rendezvous' flow of slow discovery, and for the most part performs with grace and consideration in what amounts to an ensemble setting. Many of the movie's speeches are long, and it is a credit to the actors that they hold our interest through these mundane ramblings. The audience identifies with the characters; they look, dress, and act like people we know. Clare Bellar is a standout as Esther, the heartbroken and resilient student of the first story. She understands the finely-drawn outlines of the movie, and her performance remains natural and unaffected.

But there is only so much acting and atmosphere can do. As with any movie paced this realistically, there are points in conversation when you'll want to shout, "Get on with it!" And there are sequences of shots where you'll ask, "Why are we seeing all of this?" This is especially true in the second episode, which rambles around in circles geographically and emotionally. There are too many conversations rehashing a relationship that the audience is never allowed to see. A tighter focus would have strengthened the film. But Rendezvous in Paris has the patience to slowly unwrap its many charms. Near the end of the film, a love-smitten painter confides to his lover, "The best encounters happen when you least expect one." The film finds the unexpected in everyday encounters, and reveals both city and character in honest and intimate ways.