Agnes Varda’s most lasting narrative feature, Cléo de 5 à 7 (Cleo from 5 to 7), gives a deeply personal and introspective look at mortality from the perspective of a woman who has lost all semblance of her identity and own free will. Cléo exists as a product. She is meant to be consumed by the masses as the most universally appealing version of herself. She dresses stylishly and is courted around carefully by a maid who makes her decisions for her. Varda has presented us here with the hollow shell of a woman searching for who she once was, or who she could possibly become.

When presented with the possibility of death, one can be expected to feel at least slightly introspective. Cléo is, for seemingly the first time in her life, looking beyond her own physical beauty and status and seeing the world around her. Initially she views beauty as one of, if not the most important thing. “Ugliness is a kind of death. As long as I’m beautiful, I’m even more alive than the others.” She thinks to herself mere moments after receiving a morbid tarot card reading. The only comfort she has is her consistent physical beauty, and praise she receives for it. Finally, after beginning a journey of introspection she is confronted with the way she is treated and is horrified by what she finds. She has no idea if she is Cléo or Florence, or what makes either of them their own person. She puts her life and identity in the hands of others, always wondering what they think and carefully calculating how they should perceive her. Varda attempts here to give us a portrait of the detached, depersonalized nature of fame, femininity, and mortality in France at this time. It is imbued with ideas of existentialism. Cléo never really knows if any of this is worth it, and neither does our director. She ends the film happier than when it started, but nothing really has changed. No one takes her seriously and herself least of all. There is a deep self loathing which permeates the entire film, as we watch her strive for the affection of others while at a loss for how to live for herself. Rarely do we see her alone, and when we do she is often overwhelmed or scared of something like the man swallowing frogs. Her maid refers to her as a child at the beginning of the film, and it is hard to not sometimes view her in this way.

Varda’s documentarian sensibilities come out in full force here to give us a deeply honest, and hard look at Cléo. It feels as if there are no actors here, just people going through their lives minute by minute. The camera is active, moving with our characters, often up close and even occasionally out of focus. We become a character in our own right as we sway to the music during her rehearsal, or walk with her down the street.