I was 19 the first time I saw Jules and Jim. French New Wave films, especially those by the wondrous François Truffaut, were almost mystically revered by “intellectual” college students who hung out in art houses that served coffee and would have chained the doors shut rather than screen English language films (except for British New Wave, of course — or something like Zorba the Greek.) I remember loving the rebelliousness of the three of them: the amazing friendship between Jules and Jim; the disruptive but liberating presence of Catherine. She defied gender stereotypes, conventions of behavior and all other societal bonds. It was thrilling.
As I watched it tonight though, I realized that somehow I had missed the entire second half: the disintegration of the relationships, the selfish, destructive manipulations by the glamorous Catherine and even more interesting, the dominance, over all, of the friendship between the two men. As the narrator tells us, “Jules and Jim’s friendship had no equivalent in love.” Although both men loved Catherine, desperately, and lost so much because of her over the years, the truest, most enduring love was between the two of them. It’s also so interesting that they were German (Jules) and French (Jim) and that their friendship survived the horrors of the Great War though they fought on opposite sides. It’s particularly interesting since Truffaut lived in German-occupied France during World War II.
I guess watching the story at different points in one’s life is in many ways like it was for the three of them, living it. How we see life and what it brings us changes over time. If we are lucky, our early days permit the intoxication of rebellion and challenge of authority. If we continue to be lucky, none of those acts of rebellion does the kind of permanent damage that came to Jules, Jim and the woman they loved. And if we’re very lucky, blessed as I feel blessed, as those later days emerge, we recall what came before with amusement, affection and a joy tempered by rueful wisdom. That’s why this film – a completely different experience in 2007 from what it seemed to be 1965- is still such a gift. That’s why it will continue to matter. That is why, when mentioned among people my age, the response is a sigh and a smile. We’ve learned a bit about living and managed not to drive off into the river but, instead, to apply our hard-earned wisdom to keeping the car on road.
Nora Ephron was our neighbor when we lived in New York. Once, when I complained about PLENTY, a play I had seen and hated, and its “such good reviews” she responded, “you need to learn to read between the lines; some things get ‘good’ reviews just because reviewers think they are supposed to like them.”
