When one thinks of the French countryside, the scene that floats serenely to mind tends to be peaceful and arcadian: fields of lavender, sleepy markets selling saucisson, vineyards flanked by limestone houses, green window-shutters laden with ivy, ladles of pot-au-feu. But often, it is subverted.
Unreliable farmland, the cliques of small towns, repressed desires with no outlet, and loneliness are just some of the plagues afflicted on to characters. But among all this: beauty, love and creativity. Partie de campagne was proof that even with an unfinished film, astute direction and a lightness of touch could evoke a feeling of delight. Schemes are plotted as gamekeepers come to blows with poachers, and secrets are shared on sprawling fields during a group hunt.
Ducks dawdle in front of a truck. Chickens peck lazily at stray grain in the street. A girl gazes out of her window, flanked by charming shutters and a pristine flower-box on the windowsill. It all unspools merrily, like a roll of toile de jouy wallpaper. What results are the sort of scenes that feel more akin to silent cinema, a gently farcical ditty where the grandest drama comes when a bicycle gets stuck in a hedge.
Her limp, greasy hair is tied in two wonky bows; she endures bullying from her father and schoolmates; her mother is dying. By choosing non-professional actors, Bresson extracts an unaffected performance from young Nadine Nortier, where wells of anguish temper in her solemn brown eyes. They are both outsiders, somewhat, and form an unlikely bond through several convivial strolls, mushroom-picking in the woods, and after Popaul presents her with a leg of lamb trussed up to look like a bouquet of flowers.
One of those particularly skilful films that manages to be menacing despite taking place entirely in broad daylight. English director Robert Fuest took the late-mod style and garish block colours of the swinging 60s and transplanted them to the Loiret region of north-central France, where two British nurses have decided to embark on a cycling holiday.
