When we think of auteur collaborative projects, bits of film pieced together from the finest filmmakers of the era sharing a common theme, we think of those short film omnibus packages, made for the big screen to give a snapshot of an era of film, but rarely consumed after the fact. We never imagine these big-screen filmmakers working for that smaller scale. Yet French television miniseries Tous les garçons et les filles de leur âge does exactly that.
Consisting of nine episodes, including major filmmakers Chantal Akerman, Claire Denis, and Olivier Assayas, each entry is a coming of age story made with the same restrictions. Each of the films had to be shot on 16mm, and play popular rock music of the era they are set in during party scenes. This makes each film a unique time capsule of both the time of their release and of their setting.
Though all of the films were released in 1994, almost all are not set in this period of time, yet are all very much of their era. The series launched a new generation of French actors, brought the careers of some of the filmmakers to a start, and signalled a new era for others. The first three take place in the 1960s, next three in the 1970s, then two set in the 1980s before the series closing, which is an entirely modern setting for the time.
The films are ordered as if they are passing the baton between the youth, handing it off to kids the same age a few years later to show these changing times in France. The music shifts, and we see the culture of the kids shift with the influence of their idols, quite a few of the films tackling how young people find their role models.
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The interesting thing about these capsules is the time periods the filmmakers choose to tackle some of their societal issues. They almost seem to choose an order to best counteract the societal ideal, creating a counterculture for these kids struggling to wrap their heads around supposed normalities.
The two films that tackle homosexual awakenings, Wild Reeds and Portrait of a Young Girl From the Late 60s in Brussels, choose to do so in the earliest parts of the timeline, when this is the least accepted – perhaps a reflection of the filmmakers’ own experiences. The later films choose to connect with pop cultural icons, best shown in Travolta et Moi, a contrast to how the era of Wild Reeds is defined by the Algerian War.
Like many films of the VHS era and before, not all of the series is accessible nowadays. The films that have survived to still be seen are from the directors with the largest cult followings – in the case of the Akerman and Denis entries – or have longer versions that played Cannes. In which extra scenes expand the film another twenty minutes for a feature cut, in the case of the TV films that became Cold Water and Water Lilies. Many of the later entries have been lost, but their synopses still stand to provide an outline for the project as a whole.
André Téchiné creates an entry point to the series in the early 60s, in the shadows of the Algerian War, with Le Chêne et le Roseau, which would become the feature film Wild Reeds. The most experienced filmmaker of the group, he tells the story of a young boy, with a girlfriend, who experiences homosexual attractions to two other boys in his life. The two male objects of attraction are very different, one is poised and intellectual, and the other is a boy his age in the country.
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This story of the four adolescents was written very quickly, and the same freshness is expressed on film. The contrast between the young girl with the unrequited feelings for her gay lover, and him with his struggles to understand his own homosexuality, takes the young love typicalities to a more complex place. This picturesque atmosphere for sexual discovery is interrupted by the looming conflict, dating the film distinctly in its time and place, even where its character may feel timeless.
The teens are torn apart by politics, and struggle to understand in the end if their own personal problems even warrant consideration. It posits an interesting question of why we are watching this teenage idyllicism instead of the nearby conflict. And these young people ask themselves the same thing. Wild Reeds is a film concerned with the temporary nature of adolescence, the final days of carefree youth before sex comes with politics, and these global poltics will have to be the forefront of their concerns.
When we think of Claire Denis, what comes to mind is the extreme, the horrors of colonialism, the gritty Paris backstreets, the tactile grinding of bodies in proximity. U.S. Go Home is just as tense, but does this through the trials and tribulations of a girl in the late 60s trying to lose her virginity.
Longtime Denis collaborator Agnès Godard’s cinematography is much more understated here than usual, lingering on the teens and their feverish desire for acceptance. There is an idea of freedom the two young girls idolize as they try to emulate that American kind of relaxation in their Paris suburb. The music is almost a character, a night of dancing comes with that burning desire to fit in, wanting to be like those on the radio.
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The soundtrack is particularly long here, sampling dozens of songs passing through a party instead of letting each one hold a moment to itself. Nothing here is perfect, after all, the point made is to get used to disappointment. Everyone is a bit messy, window smudges, and a constant cloud of cigarette smoke signals a rawness of a night out, too young to be prepared. Ending with a car ride, supposing the idea of the younger French girl seducing a grown American sailor, the awkward interactions take this roll through the night scenery into reflective territory, teenage dreams shown not to be quite as sweet as planned.
Chantal Akerman’s Portrait of a young girl from the late 60s in Brussels is set over the course of one date, as its teenage subject skips school. The duality of the time capsule is clearest in this entry, as the film may be meant as the end of the 60s, but the trappings of a 90s city are clear. Instead of vinyl, there is a scene set in a CD shop, but Akerman’s film never calls this into question, perhaps setting her own experience growing up in that decade in the modern time, and choosing to believe that the characters set the time, not the setting.
The film’s exploration of compulsory heterosexuality for its protagonist coming to terms with her lesbianism is astounding. Drawing a clear contrast between the stilted movie date, and the later party where she struggles to lock eyes at first with the girl who becomes the object of attraction.
The teenage camaraderie is warm and inviting at first, but then grows lonelier than anything when we realize the girl we have grown closer to is not fully part of it. As she stares into a sea of young couples, so openly in love, James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World” plays, and the warm, inviting illusion shatters. As she realizes she can never really have the girl she likes dance in her arm that way, as she is not that man in this man’s world she is in.
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This is the closest Akerman has ever gotten to commenting on the difficulties expressing homosexual desire for the first time. And anxieties are on full display as the two girls walk outside the party, one unknown as to her feelings, and the other just starting to confront who she is.
Titled Le Page Blanche in its original shorter form, Olivier Assayas’s tale of a young girl escaping a psychiatric hospital with her lover in search of community, became the breakout feature Cold Water for the filmmaker. He’s, of course, had recent collaborations with Kristen Stewart, which have brought him international recognition.
Though not the first feature from Assayas (a former Cahiers du Cinema writer, much like the leaders of the Nouvelle Vague), it’s the first to come to a point of acclaim, and an early indicator of many stylistic aspects he’d use later on. Virginie Ledoyen gives a breakout performance as Christine, who is sent away after shoplifting records with Gilles (Cyprien Fouquet), before the film turns into a lovers on the run story.
Most of the first half is centered around generational divides, family arguments showing this generational gap towards these early 70s youth. It gets looser, more impressionistic, as the teens wander through the woods hoping to find some other world to live in, a freer society. The camera lingers on faces turned away, over the shoulders of the youths as they kiss, taking a moment to let us look at all the detail, the overlapping rugs and thumbing-through of record bins.
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The film’s party scene at the heart features a pile of chairs thrown into a bonfire, and we see the young lovers kiss on the other side as a guitar solo scores the youthful gesture of independence. It’s a coming of age film where freedom is strictly desired over maturity, often losing the latter.
Laurence Ferreira Barbosa’s Paix et Amour immediately follows, but the story of revolutionary boys on the verge of terrorism is no longer watchable.
Much less known than the opening four films – but by no means any less great – Patricia Mazuy’s Travolta et Moi is teenage idolatry on full display. Christine is obsessed with John Travolta, and Nicolas is entranced by Rimbaud and Nietzche. And the two with their odd pair of interests set off into the game of young love. Nikolas isn’t particularly interested in her, but is thrilled by the game of seduction, while Christine is experiencing love for the first time. The two make plans, but she, the far more eager side of the equation, is working at her parents bakery, and suddenly this teenage independence is once again bound by family.
These interests, while conflicting, are hardly different in the way they treat them. Christine’s love for the Saturday Night Fever star may come off more fanlike than his theory interests, but Nicolas does not understand the writers as much as he thinks he does. The teens play off each other in an awkward yet intense manner, their romance becoming explosive in more ways than one.
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The film is the ecstasy of playing the same song on repeat. The same thought of a lover replaying. And through energy bursts from every corner of the story, there is something so peaceful about seeing two obsessives come together in similarity.
The final three films of the series have also sadly disappeared into the world of VHS obscurity, and haven’t surfaced online. Beginning the 80s section is Émilie Deleuze’s L’Incruste, a film about a too orderly teenage girl encouraged by her father to throw a party while he is gone. It is followed by Cédric Kahn’s Bonheur, the most hesitant of the filmmakers to take part, showing an 80s house party, and the early 90s set closer, Olivier Dehan’s Frères, the tale of a teenage boy who accidentally kills a friend and flees.
It will be interesting to see these films when they do resurface, allowing a peek into the emerging filmmakers of this series that called in a new era of French cinema. But for now we are left with just the higher profile entries. As the English translation of the title says, All the Boys and Girls of the Era have their stories broadcast here to capture four decades of coming of age, music, and social mechanics.
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