The dearly departed Agnès Varda, is not dead at all. We can go back and cherry pick from her illustrious filmography any time we please. A similar kind of wishful thinking befalls you when you see her 1985 film, Vagabond. That in spite of her constant passivity and uncouth discourse, the protagonist of the title earns your empathy and quest for just simply surviving.
Vagabond opens with Joanna Bruzdowicz’s somber violin music, that lingers and penetrates as vastly as the picturesque scenery. It’s cold and miserable and beautiful to behold. Within seconds you’re imprinted with an inevitable, morose sense of reality. And then we find the body of a vagrant young woman, who is discovered in the ditch of a farm field. Yes, our heroine, if we can call her such, has already left this world.
A murder mystery this is not, though. But we do wonder. Varda insists on it unapologetically. Who is this vagabond with over-worn, unwashed clothes and stringy, filthy hair? She strolls from haven to habitat, sleeping in a shabby tent and working the small jobs along the way she finds – if she is in the mood. Or utterly desperate. Her current life is no holiday either.
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We are given her name a couple of times. She tells someone that she was Simone but is now just ‘Mona’. And in another instance, she writes her name on a dusty mirror with her finger, before her latest companion rubs its away – ‘leave no trace’ he remarks. Mona spends much of the film fairly active considering. Walking from place to place, hand-rolling cigarettes, attempting to mend her ever-deteriorating boots.
Agnès Varda’s Vagabond is, though, not a film you necessarily describe, but one you experience. Winner of the Best Actress César Award and the Golden Lion from the Venice Film Festival, Vagabond is a breath of fresh air in the 1980s realm of cinema that was not-so-try-hard flashy but largely forgettable. Sure, the circumstance’s of Varda’s film are grim and cloudy, but the artist’s true talents make Vagabond an entrancing stroll. An unconventional journey, absolutely, and one which still echoes classic cinema.
Set in the southern French countryside, Vagabond is about a young woman who leaves her mark on the various people she meets. Those grounded souls talk about her in their normal day-to-day scenarios as if the film were a documentary. Varda the documentarian is fluently at home here, adopting those non-fiction elements seamlessly into narrative film.
Varda exhibits such a benevolence through her directorial rhythm and structure, that this ultimately tragic film serves as an unforgettable illustration of life on the many sides of the tracks. The French title, Sans toit ni loi, simply translates to ‘without a roof or rule’. And that, it has to be said, reflects this oblique odyssey for both Agnès and Mona.
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In not just Mona do we witness the apparent lack of simplicity and happiness we may associate with more stable dwellers. These humble folk might have homes and families and a solid foundation, but emotional lethargy and melancholy can settle anywhere.
Varda portrays such tactile humanity in the unlikeliest of places when the drifter blends in with the wallpaper. Most notably perhaps, when Mona shares fits of giggles with an old lady – you could argue she is truly happy for at least those moments. As an audience member, it often feels like we’re part of that life, you get that impulse that everything will be turn out fresh. But deep down we know how this really ends.
Each and every talking head interview is different from the last. Building a bigger picture of Mona the person. Albeit taken with a pinch of salt how reliable these accounts are under the fleeting circumstances. Mona does a pretty good job of pushing us away too as she does with her rather blase manner with everyone she meets.
There’s a rapport with some of these people – absolutely – even if our wanderer is not the kind to beg on her knees nor show her gratitude. A Tunisian vineyard worker sums up her impact on him not through words, but through the mere smelling of her scarf. One character practically talks to the audience at one moment, of her own longing and dreams. Mona’s influence is contagious.
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Mona favours the cold for walking alone outdoors, because of the quieter roads. She understands that people don’t always intend on staying in the same place for long. A narrator even implies that she came from the sea. These chapters in the lives of those that encounter this loner form the greater, boundless story.
She’s kind of free, she goes where she likes, as she states at one point. It makes sense that some of the regular people are envious. Of the ability to just head on off into the night and over that next hilltop where two tress might sit. It’s the liberation they crave or miss, not the freedom to eat sardines out of a can with your fingers. There’s little argument to be had though, of course, that homelessness comes with perks.
Varda is not making a public awareness film about the plights of the homeless. Nor is this a heavily feminist throat-grabber. Though Mona does tell a truck driver where to go when he gets overly suggestive. The filmmaker, by 1985, has developed and explored a vast arsenal of storytelling that was far less comparable as the years went on by. It is indeed a brave decision that Varda does not make our vagabond conveniently likable. In fact, she is rather repellent at the best of times.
Vagabond depicts a somehow positive glow on vulnerability, the lack of personal discipline, the ineffectiveness of being idle. Varda’s masterpiece is a comfortably sad illustration of life on the road. Mona’s struggles or outlooks are rarely put into any form of context. Those detachments she displays in various ways speak much more to the human spirit as we might know it.
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And the stark, bleak world around her is certainly not glorified. Cinematographer Patrick Blossier captures vivid imagery of the cold, you can almost feel the soily air. Varda as we know has a photographer’s eye on the world too. Blowing out candles to immerse us in the dark feels brand new. And never showy. Those side-view tracking shots as Mona enters and exits the frame. Including meandering perfectly at times to see, say, a chopped tree tumble in the background.
Vagabond‘s editing is also a remarkable achievement. So subtle and unexpected is the hat-tip to this aspect of the craft, but chunks of time are brushed aside or brought to the forefront as it passes smoothly and swiftly. The film editing glides in sync with the camera throughout. Agnes Varda actually put this all together alongside editor Patricia Mazuy, and it turns out to be a methodical approach to what could be seen as a simple tale on the surface.
Each and every performance, no matter how small, contributes to the organic nature of Varda’s film. Some are not even actors. Macha Méril, Pierre Imbert, Marthe Jarnias, Yolande Moreau and Yahiaoui Assouna could well leave the longest impression, but its a veritable, wondrous cast across the board.
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Sandrine Bonnaire as the central figure was just 18 when Vagabond was shot. The pure sadness and desperation, and also the physical decay of the character, make her somehow ageless. Bonnaire is a revelation in every frame.
Whether she’s an alley cat or a stray dog, even depicting some adolescent tendencies, the actress envelopes Mona with every breath. One rare moment of actual solitude as her teary eyes glisten in the darkness truly shows a fragility that leaves a lump in your throat.
As the end creeps closer, the purpleness of rotting potatoes is as poignant and dreaded as the maniacs dressed as trees that douse her in paint. Those final scenes are genuinely alarming to varying degrees. We know those imbeciles are just goofing around, but Mona’s sorrowful point of view has long since been established. When she really does need the help, you long for her to get to her feet and be okay. And that sensation is gut-wrenching, because we know we have to say goodbye to Mona, and Agnès, once again.
Vagabond is available to stream right now on Amazon.
