Pauline At The Beach (1983) film notes for SAM Films

 

There are no cloudy days in the countryside, the weather always pleasant. Pauline (Amanda Langlet) is looking forward to the beach everyday having just spent two months with her parents in Spain. She complains, “I’ve always made friends on vacation except this year.” Her cousin Marion (Arielle Dombasle) a divorcée asks her, “Tell me, have you been in love yet?” Pauline replies, “Mostly they were just people I’d notice for only a moment before they’d disappear. So I don’t know.” They sun themselves in the garden, September hydrangeas in full bloom. “For example, last year in Italy I was at a restaurant, and a boy at the next table kept looking at me. Or rather, we kept looking at each other and smiling. Then he left.” Pauline remembers his Parisian license plates. Marion wonders if Pauline will see him in Paris, “If you did, what do you think would happen?” Pauline answers. “I’m not really that interested in him.” 

There is nothing fancy about Pauline At The Beach (1983). There is great affection. Pauline is earth, Marion is air. Marion’s eyes are the color of the sea, her bathing suit bronze like armor. Marion is beautiful like nature, a lizard, a rainstorm, a tree in the desert. She runs in and out of the waves like a wave herself. Marion lives in Paris; she designs collections. Barely covered, yet not vulgar, she wears a white lace shirt with nothing underneath. She’s come to the country with Pauline to get away, “We’re lucky there’s no phone here.” Clipping bunches of hydrangeas, Pauline asks, “Don’t you want to go to the beach?” 

Pierre (Pascal Greggory) is a surfer. Not carefree, he’s a brooder. Pierre offers to teach the cousins to surf. Marion thinks there isn’t enough left of summer to learn. He says, “It’s not a matter of time. You can get started this year and then maybe do more next year.” Pierre has waited five years for Marion to come back to the beach. The three friends turn into four when they meet Henri an acquaintance of Pierre’s from the beach. Henri invites them to dinner, “I live near here.” Henri wears white jeans and a red shirt, his cuffs rolled up. When not in his wetsuit Pierre wears Breton stripes and blue jeans. Henri is wind, Pierre is fire. That night at a casino that looks more like a bistro, Pierre kisses Marion, she pushes him away. Marion cuts in on Henri dancing with Pauline and kisses him. At the beach there are those who love and those who lust. Marion hopes Henri will love her back. It is hot at the beach but not hot enough. 

Pauline may be the youngest in years; she is the wisest. She speaks the least; when she does, she is sensitive. She calls Pierre, Henri and Marion “old,” meaning they need to grow up. She calls them “hypocrites” meaning they are immature. The adults are at ease with their bodies not their selves. Pauline in her blue and white swimsuit, her brown hair in a fresh bowl cut, wears pedal pushers and white tops. At the beach Pauline meets a boy her age, Sylvain (Simon de La Brosse) who tells her he likes her “natural look.” Pauline is cut from earth. Marion looks like she could float away. 

Pierre is moody. He walks the beach with his wetsuit tied at his waist. Marion doesn’t share his feelings. He stays away from Henri’s house while Marion stays with Henri. His smile is rough and with feeling. Pierre’s flame is a lone flame; he loves Marion and isn’t loved back. Pierre tries to talk Marion out of loving Henri. She tells him there is no chance. Pierre is not willing to listen. 

Pauline At The Beach opens with a quote by Chrétien de Troyes, “He who talks too much deserves himself.” Henri writes a goodby letter to Marion. “When will you be back?” Pauline asks. “I won’t be. I’m on a boat for the Spanish Coast,” Henri says as he walks around the breakfast room. Pauline wants him to give Marion the letter himself. Pauline sits on the edge of her chair tipping it back and forth like a rocker. She guesses right, “You don’t want to face her. You’re a coward!” Henri slept with Marie, a candy vendor on the beach. With gusto he tells Pauline, “Yes, it’s true Marion is very pretty. She’s got a great body. Perfect. Almost too perfect. Like a statue. She’s shaped like all women would like to be. She’s a model. Maybe that’s why I admire her. But I’m not that attracted to her. Actually less than to a woman with some imperfections. You see, perfection is oppressive.” Pauline shrugs him off, “Marion is not like any girl. She’s unique!” 

Henri’s complaint, “Marion threw herself at me. She didn’t give me time to desire her.” Henri lives in his head. He talks about the importance of living through his loins, “For several years I’ve only had affairs with no strings attached.” He tells his beach friends about his ex-wife, “I’d have liked her to be as free as I am.” He is emotionally distant like a storm brewing on the horizon. He says his life is “light and transportable.” His emptiness is heavy like an anchor. Henri’s advice to teenage Pauline, “You have to learn to give yourself time to be desired, or else you’ll be unhappy.” Henri is right. It is wise to give yourself time to be desired, but not for others, for yourself. Marion and Pauline decide they have had enough of the country. They pack their car and drive back to their lives in Paris. Henri gets on a boat and heads out to sea.