A TALE OF SPRINGTIME (1990)

In a time of rebirth, a bond quickly forms between two strangers, blossoming into a fruitful and layered friendship. The first of Éric Rohmer’s seasonal films, A Tale of Springtime / Conte de printemps, has its protagonists Jeanne (Anne Teyssèdre) and Natacha (Florence Darel) meet at a party where neither of them feels much like socialising. Realising they would much rather spend their time with one another than amongst a group of people that are mostly comprised of strangers, they abscond and head to Natacha’s home for the night, whiling away the time by discussing their lives.

Though the age gap in this newfound friendship is notable (Jeanne is likely in her late-twenties, while Natacha looks like she hasn’t yet turned 20), there is little about their extended conversations that sounds all that intriguing if it were described. After all, how can one consistently make compelling conversation out of the pair’s reflections on the matters of the heart and soul when neither of them possesses exuberant personalities, or given that they both have so much left to experience in their lives that they seem like poor candidates for reminiscing?

It’s a magic trick that only Rohmer himself could adequately grapple with. Both women are in precarious states of being: Natacha lives in a home owned by her father, who’s hardly ever around but could arrive at any moment, while Jeanne doesn’t want to stay in her boyfriend’s flat while he is away, and seems to have almost slipped out of her regular life in his absence. Rationally, it makes sense as to why Natacha would ask Jeanne to stay for the night or visit her in her father’s other home in the countryside, but their surprisingly close bond goes far beyond that. Jeanne has more than one place to stay, but she lacks a home, while Natacha’s expansive flat can never feel like hers when she doesn’t own it (and it’s hardly much fun occupying it by herself at her age).

Both women have families and lovers, but these don’t ward off loneliness. The more Jeanne spends time with Natacha, the further she’s drawn into the familial dilemmas the teenager faces, with a new stepmother, Ève (Eloïse Bennett), who Natacha despises, while her father Igor (Hugues Quester) is, in this young woman’s opinion, far too ill-equipped to successfully manage his own life. Initially, the kinship developed and explored between these two women is endearing enough to forget all about its improbability, but later, Natacha’s youth and immaturity become increasingly present, with red flags gradually encircling the pair’s friendship. As for this protagonist, who is clearly in a bit of a rut and views befriending the teen as a welcome change, she must come to recognise that interpersonal drama is even more complicated and thorny than the intricacies of philosophy taught in her classes.

No amount of theorising can prepare one for the real world, but Rohmer puts up a very good effort against this notion through this film’s existence, dispensing life lessons without ever appearing insistent. He lets these characters’ conversations linger without meandering; these dialogue-filled scenes are so full of life that it’s as if one can hear their gentle breathing. For if Jeanne is to slowly understand that Natacha is, in her naïveté, attempting to transform her into Igor’s new lover and her new stepmother, it is so much more interesting and evocative for it to take us some time to come around to this realisation, too.

The French director masterfully hoodwinks his audience by crafting conversations so organic and dynamics so tenderly depicted that one could never have guessed that he, like Natacha, had ulterior motives. There is no great twist in A Tale of Springtime, though; instead, the gradually layered characterisation forces viewers to reckon with the fact that this film isn’t just indebted to its eponymous season for its sense of rebirth but also for its cyclical process of renewal. If Jeanne’s presence is desired by Natacha to become her father’s new lover, what does that say about the replaceability of their friendship? And who is to say that the young adult won’t try to usurp Jeanne from this new role should she get her way, as she is currently attempting to do with Ève?

Flowers are the perfect representation of this cycle, a motif that bookends the film. But for all the life and death or exuberance and decay that are wrapped up in this visual cue, it’s worth mentioning that the most pressing aspect of A Tale of Springtime is its commitment to these characters’ humanity. They hardly ever feel like characters; as Roger Ebert correctly noted, one gets the sense that this cast can step outside of the bounds of this narrative entirely. This kind of elasticity cannot be theorised, unlike the shop talk involving philosophy between Jeanne and Ève. And yet, Rohmer imperceptibly pushes viewers towards his storytelling conclusions (and the moral lesson wrapped up in them) throughout A Tale of Springtime.

The chemistry between lead actresses Teyssèdre and Darel goes a long way towards making a story that seems so lacking in urgency on its face earn its runtime. But most impressive is the sincerity with which this director approaches his characters. Jeanne is past the point of a quarter-life malaise, but that doesn’t mean she’s out of the woods of uncertainty yet. Any other film tackling this issue would have included annoying side characters, self-pitying reflections, and tired tropes, which will at some point involve her and a friend moping over a bottle of wine. Instead, Rohmer effortlessly and believably draws out Natacha’s flaws, which in turn forces Jeanne to reckon with the fact that her age has lent her enough maturity to understand the limitations of this friendship.

To what extent Natacha is intentionally manipulating her is unclear, but it’s fascinating to watch this protagonist gradually recognise that she has been too caught up in the tantalising spell of a new bond to see the ways she is being groomed into a role she never asked for. Both she and the viewer are too focused on this time of rebirth to recognise its cyclical nature, though thankfully, Rohmer knows not to imbue this tale with any more bitterness than is necessary. No one here is strictly a villain, and they are all at least vaguely sympathetic.

There are occasional lulls in the drama, simply down to a lack of urgency in this plot. But that’s also the film’s saving grace, which bides its time as it snakes its way through these characters’ outward personalities and towards what guides and motivates them. With Natacha, the fun is in working out the extent of her duplicity and naïveté. Jeanne, meanwhile, finds herself in a similar role to the viewer, energised by a new friendship only to learn that she’s become immersed in something more complicated. Rohmer exploits our natural tendency to expect vibrant, meaningful, and all-consuming relationships in fiction (the ultimate form of escapism) before letting us gradually catch up with his worldview for A Tale of Springtime’s cleverly composed life lessons.

FRANCE | 1990 | 112 MINUTES | 1.66:1 | COLOUR | FRENCH

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Éric Rohmer.
starring: Anne Teyssèdre, Florence Darel, Hugues Quester, Eloïse Bennett, Sophie Robin, Marc Lelou & François Lamore.