THE ROMANCE OF ASTREA AND CELADON
Eric Rohmer, 2007
Eric Rohmer’s career didn’t end on a unanimously acclaimed note, and though his final film divided critical opinion, I suspect he wouldn’t have been too bothered. Described by some as “a banal anachronistic superficiality”, Rohmer’s swan-song robbed critics of a career-defining summation, thwarting a neat celebration of the artistic continuity of one of cinema's great auteurs. Instead, Rohmer, a one-time film critic, threw down a subtle gauntlet (too subtle perhaps, given the critical division) by delivering a work that challenged cineliteracy.
A perceptive observer of human foibles and master of romantic self-deception, Rohmer’s best work was intelligent, compassionate, witty, sophisticated, insightful and wise, and no matter how absurd things became, he never lost empathy for his characters.
Admittedly, it isn’t immediately apparent where Rohmer is going with this happy-ever-after fable of romantic misunderstanding, but contrary to its seeming triviality, there’s a pointed subtext behind this deceptively simple film. At the beginning of this partial adaptation of Honoré d’Urfé’s L’Astree, a title card explains that the film will depict a 5th Century tale of romance filtered through 17th Century sensibilities. What it doesn’t explain is that it will be an examination of 21st Century cultural and social mores disguised as a bucolic folly. Put simply, it’s all about us.
We also learn that the film wasn’t shot in the location where the novel was set because that landscape is now a concrete jungle, which hints at Rohmer’s political intentions. Ostensibly a fable about naive love, it’s also a criticism of socio-political indifference.
Taking the form of a pastoral romance (which recalls and might even be a homage to Jacques Demy’s ‘Peau d’Ane’), the whimsical theatricality barely conceals a wry meditation on the intricacies of love and a philosophical rumination on morality, fidelity, and hedonistic temptations. Reminiscent of mythic tales of the gods (embodied here by druids and nymphs) amusing themselves by manipulating the passions and destinies of their human playthings (implicating filmmakers and audiences), the film might appear as breezy as the gossamer fabrics that drape the nubile damsels who airily glide through it, but Rohmer’s empathy for those (the innocent and vulnerable) ill-equipped to resist powerful forces that foster ignorance to exert control (religious, political, social) is clear. His criticism also implicates mainstream cinema, films that promote a reassuring but speciously manipulative view of the world.
This critical subtext is offset by Rohmer’s faith in the transformative and clarifying power of love. As such, this film also serves as a plea for tolerance: social, sexual, political, religious, etc. That love eventually wins the day is a rare happy ending for Rohmer, who is evidently fond of those willing to embrace the naivety romantic love requires. To confuse the gaiety and optimism of the film’s ending with the facile habit of mainstream cinema is to miss Rohmer’s gentle wisdom. As relaxed and sensual as a summer’s evening, ‘The Romance of Astrea and Céladon’ is as insightful as any film in Rohmer’s oeuvre.