Desperation. Whether for love or money, or even the desperation of clinging to life itself, it is a palpable emotion. We see it in people’s faces, hear it in their voices, and sense it from their actions. The following three films from the 60s have captured desperation quite poetically.
Cléo from 5 to 7 (1961, Agnés Varda)
There are several films that deal with the after effects of having been diagnosed with cancer. Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru, James L. Brooks’ Terms of Endearment, and the recent devastating tour de force, Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Biutiful are three great examples. What Agnés Varda did in the early 60s was to create a film, captured in relative real time, which depicts a woman waiting for her test results. As such, Cléo, a popular singer, goes through an existential crisis in the process. In more ways than one, this film truly captures one moment in time. This small window, from 5 p.m. to 6:30, which doesn’t sound nearly as poetic as the actual title, offers us a glimpse into desperation and the madness of not knowing if one’s life is going to be cut short.
We are introduced to our heroine at a Tarot card reading. Varda shoots the cards overhead and in color, only to switch to black and white to see the characters. We immediately sense that something is wrong as every card that is interpretable as “bad” solicits a strong reaction from Cléo. The card reader confirms that she read “cancer” in the cards after Cléo leaves distraught. We are then sent on a real time journey, following her around Paris as she waits for test results from her doctor. Along the way, certain images trigger her fear and anxiety such as protesting students, African tribal masks, news reports of the war in Algeria and the Cold War, and street performers who seemingly mutilate themselves or devour small animals. There is no wonder why she is feeling such desperation. Mentions of taboos, superstitions, and luck abound as well, with Cléo reading too much into each one, from an unlucky numbered taxi to a broken mirror, in addition to the Tarot reader at the outset.
Other mirrors abound throughout the film, representing the somewhat glamorous, yet unfulfilled life she has lived so far. We get a short glimpse into that life when her songwriting partners show up at her kitten-filled apartment to rehearse and work out new tunes. These two men, like most men in the film, are as equally admiring of her as they are dismissive. She is something to be desired, yet not to be taken seriously. Between their interactions, her anxiety, and the song they eventually land on, called “Cry of Love,” she breaks down. Watching Corrine Marchand, who plays Cléo, sing this tune, turn toward the camera and visibly weep as she sings is truly powerful. Cléo eventually does get her test results, after finding her spirits buoyed by an Algerian soldier in the park, and we get the sense that her life will be forever changed.
They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969, Sydney Pollack)
There is possibly no better setting for a movie about desperation than the Great Depression. By placing a set of characters in this context, there is almost an innate consciousness that comes with it, already priming us for the despair we are surely to feel. They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? was originally a crime novel written in 1935 that stood alongside some of the best noir fiction of its time. Even so, the film version not only captures the spirit of that book, but was also semi-prescient in its depiction of spectacle as entertainment, though one could argue that spectacle has been around since bread and circuses.
Michael Sarrazin plays Robert, our main character and narrator, relaying to the audience a story of his childhood, when he saw a horse break its leg, resulting in its having to be shot to put it out of its misery. He finds himself as an adult at a dance marathon in Santa Monica and is unwittingly chosen to be the partner to Gloria, played by Jane Fonda, whose original partner is eliminated due to a cough. What transpires from this point is pure, grueling desperation. Not only do the characters, of which we get to know quite a few, have to keep dancing, but they are also subjected to periodic side elimination contests such as races in which the partner are tied together.
In a way, the events of They Shoot Horses seem like a precursor to today’s reality shows, except that these characters weren’t necessarily looking for their Warholian fifteen minutes or a stepping stone to fame. They were merely trying to find a way to survive in a time when everyone was struggling. There is even a pregnant couple hoping to win the money to help provide for their upcoming family. As time progresses, people switch partners, others duck out as they get job offers they had been waiting for, and there are shady deals and affairs. The organizers of the contest are, of course, revealed as swindlers who deduct so much money to pay for the event from the prize money that the winner gets practically nothing, showing that capitalism has always been this way, that it is not just a symptom of the present. I won’t reveal the ending of this film as most crime novels of this ilk, such as Charles Willeford’s Pick-Up, rely on a stark and revelatory twist.
The Virgin Spring (1960, Ingmar Bergman)
The Virgin Spring is based on a medieval folktale, easily translated into a film that could take place during any time period. Bergman remains as faithful as possible to the tale, however, and as such portrays desperation in its barest essence, that of loss and revenge. We are introduced to a pair of sisters, one a foster sister, Ingeri: pregnant, spiteful, and somewhat flawed, shown to believe in Odin, and the true daughter, Karin: pious, chaste, and wholesome, a young, blonde Christian girl. In the midst of an errand, taking candles to the church, Karin is raped and murdered by herdsmen. The scene is disturbing and horrific. There is nothing overtly “cinematic” about it, meaning that there is no device or trickery in this to let us know this is not real. With Sven Nykvist’s camera, we are merely like Ingeri, stealthily placed witnesses to the horror that transpires.
In a twist of fate, the girl’s father, Töre, played masterfully by Max von Sydow, plays host to the herdsmen, only to find out later what they have done. In a desperate rage, he kills the brigands. We are left to wonder about the values of human lives, about morality, and about whether retribution is equal or justified, especially in terms of one’s religious beliefs. Upon recovering Karin’s daughter, a natural spring forms beneath her body and Ingeri, in penance, begins to wash herself in its waters. Töre vows to build a church on the land where her body was found, as the form of his own penance. But, this is what desperation leads to, something that Bergman, Pollack, and Varda captured so well.
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