‘Love in the Afternoon’: Éric Rohmer’s Hitchcockian exploration of gender and moral dilemma
Out of all of the main French New Wave filmmakers, it’s Éric Rohmer, whose name is often overlooked the most, yet he has had a discernible influence over cinema since he started making movies in the 1950s. He might not have experimented with choppy editing à la Jean-Luc Godard, but his prioritisation of conversation, allowing his characters to unfold through complex studies of their relationships with others – or the absence of such – was pioneering.
You can see his influence in movies like the Before trilogy, where the main characters spend the entire runtime of each film walking and talking through gorgeous streets, figuring each other (and themselves) out via meaningful dialogue and observations about the world. Mia Hansen-Løve is another filmmaker whose style is intrinsically linked to the influence of Rohmer, and there’s even something Rohmer-esque about Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me By Your Name.
Rohmer’s filmography can be divided into two halves: his early output, during which time he made the Six Moral Tales series, and his later work, where women were given the majority of the leading roles. His work from the ‘80s onwards had a distinctively more feminist edge, with movies like The Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle and The Green Ray prioritising the experiences of women in a male-dominated world. Yet, you could see these burgeoning changes as his Six Moral Tales progressed.
Spanning almost a decade (1962-1972), the series increasingly saw its female characters, typically love interests for the male protagonists, gain more autonomy. It was a necessary progression within Rohmer’s world, and with Love in the Afternoon, he paved the way for the later period in his career, where women weren’t simply secondary characters serving as nothing more than sexual objects.
Love in the Afternoon’s main female character, Chloé, played by Zouzou, might have served as the love interest to Bernard Verley’s Frédéric, but she is hardly a forgettable, passive, secondary character. In fact, Chloé represents a new kind of liberated French woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to stand defiantly and boldly. She wears trousers and outfits with a distinctively masculine edge, as reflected in her fairly short hairdo. Yet, she still possesses an unmistakable femininity, which she proudly carries. Chloé is the star of every room she enters, simply because she holds herself with confidence and power, startling the meek businessman Frédéric, who finds himself attracted to her despite having a wife and kids.
Frédéric is a traditional family man who likes routine and reading, although he can’t help but admire other women as he goes about his daily commute, surrounded by dozens of other so-called respectable businessmen. He is a man trapped between the traditionalism he has been brought up by and the new, less strident attitudes that were shaping a new generation of young people. Most importantly here, feminism in France had gained particular traction between the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.
The Mouvement de libération des femmes emerged as a result of the events of May 1968, with feminists advocating for greater rights regarding abortion, maternity and contraception. Women’s rights in France significantly increased during this period, and Rohmer’s film finds Frédéric living during the heart of this change in Paris, trapped within a moral dilemma where everything he knows is suddenly called into question.
As he hangs out with Chloé, their friendship remains innocent for the most part. They shop together and flirt, but nothing comes of this potential romance. Rohmer presents Chloé as a woman who refuses to adhere to the rules imposed on women by traditionalism and the patriarchy, and that simultaneously scares and attracts Frédéric. When she asks Frédéric to give her a child – without expecting marriage – he is unsure what to do. Enticed by the free and liberated lifestyle, Frédéric’s situation turns a little Hitchcockian.
He turns up at Chloé’s apartment, where she is bathing naked, ready to get in bed with him. Rohmer leaves us unable to tell whether the pair will actually consummate their ambiguous relationship, with Frédéric seductively drying Chloé off with a towel. The air is thick with suspense as we anticipate whether or not Frédéric will go for it or not, a decision that would potentially destroy his marriage. In the end, he panics and runs away, and Rohmer films the protagonist running down a spiral staircase with a quintessentially Hitchcockian charm. The camera lingers statically, looking down the middle of the spiral until we see Frédéric reach the bottom. He finally realises that he can’t betray his wife and kids by sleeping with Chloé and subsequently returns home.
Rohmer excellently depicts a time in French history where people’s social lives and attitudes were shifting. Chloé remains one of his most captivating characters – far more interesting than Frédéric – helping to usher in more autonomous women into Rohmer’s world.
