“It will be ‘green,’ but a most wonderful green, a green which no artist could ever obtain on his palette, a green which neither the varied tints of vegetation nor the shades of the most limpid sea could ever produce the like! If there be green in paradise, it cannot but be of this shade, which most surely is the true green of hope!” In his 1882 novel ‘The Green Ray‘, Jules Verne transformed an obscure sailors’ superstition into a cultural myth.
Verne quotes an old Scottish legend that says anyone who sees such a green flash at sea just once will be incapable of being deceived in matters of the heart. The fleeting phenomenon, visible for only a moment as the sun dips below the horizon, has become a steadfast symbol of love and hope for those away from home. The search to bear witness to such a spectacle has since inspired countless works of film, art and folklore, from Italian composer Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s 1916 solo piano work Il Raggio Verde, to Joan Aiken’s 1969 novel The Windscreen Weeper and the 2007 Disney classic Pirates of the Caribbean. None are as culturally-withstanding however, as French New Wave giant Éric Rohmer’s film of the same name.
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The film tells the story of a young woman named Delphine (Marie Rivière), who despite her friends and career in Paris, feels desperately lonely. After the breakdown of a relationship and loss of a guaranteed travel partner, Delphine wishes for a summer vacation, but recoils at the prospect of travelling single and alone. When her friends suggest she go by herself, she dismisses the idea as “inhumane,” unable to imagine finding companionship or joy on her own. Despite their encouragement, her fear of solitude outweighs the promise of independence. “I’m not the adventurous type,” she duly informs a friend. After an attempt to tag along with a family friend’s holiday plans fall through, the film follows Delphine as she roams France, visiting Cherbourg, the Alps, Biarritz, and Saint-Jean-de-Luz in an aimless summer daze. Her travels are an exploration of one of life’s enduring questions: how much are our romantic experiences shaped by choice, and how much is left to chance?
In many ways, The Green Ray is quintessential Rohmer, with scenes of beautifully tanned twenty-somethings in chic swimwear, idyllic beaches and seaside resorts. Such focus delivers memorable shots of naturally sun-soaked close ups of people enjoying the supposed best time of year, as seen across his other notable works including La Collectionneuse (1967), Pauline at the Beach (1983) and A Summer’s Tale (1996). Preferring non-professional actors, Rohmer would edit sparingly, often filming scenes in chronological order at the exact time of day they were set. His attention to the seasons was meticulous, as noted in John Wakeman’s 1988 critical film dictionary on post-war directors: “my films are based on meteorology. If I didn’t call the weather service everyday, I couldn’t make my films because they’re shot according to the weather outside. My films are slaves to weather.”
