only Agnès Varda could translate ‘it’ into film the way she did
(Le Bonheur spoilers ahead, obviously).
When I finally pressed ‘play’ to see the late great Agnès Varda’s “Le Bonheur“, it didn’t occur to me that I would be watching a horror film. The film’s colourful, bright hues, the backdrop of the forest on a kind Summer day, so clear you swear you could smell the fresh air through your screen, accompanied by a Mozart track, and the chirping birds — it was a dream. The family rests there, surrounded by trees, and a lake, and they take naps, and they pick flowers, and it’s all too perfect. It’s such a good, serene life, that I would find myself giggling at the endearingness of it all. Agnès captures the simple joys of carrying your children about, playfully getting them in the car, riding off to their Cousins’ to cap off this indescribably satisfying day.
Almost all horror films start like this, but not a lot of them successfully allow you to believe the lie. Not a lot of them make you question its authenticity before it eats you alive. Then it hits you, because that’s exactly how it plays out in real life.
I had to press pause and use my outside voice to say, “Wait.” You don’t see it coming until he walks into her apartment the first time, because you could tell that he wasn’t pretending to be happy with his family — he genuinely is. I mean, he is, isn’t he? When a Man turns to infidelity, you think you would see signs, you would see parts of himself that needed filling, a trace of unhappiness, and lack. None of this was visible with François (our dearest male protagonist … antagonist— no wait … “amoral” character, as Agnès puts it).
Then you realise there was no way anyone could see it, not even himself, because he believes his own lies. There is no ‘fake it ’til you make it‘ with people like this — only ‘fake it until you could have as many affairs as you could, because you could‘. And that void will remain a void until they acknowledge it.
I wouldn’t be the only one to have let out a sarcastic cackle at his variants of, “I’m being honest, aren’t I?“, and I’m giggling as I type this because I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of both female characters. This is how Narcissists get you — they say that you are presented with the clearest, most honest version of themselves while they whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Call you on November 7th to tell you how special you are and the gym receptionist is just someone he likes to flirt with for validation, and then find out a month later that he fucked her on November 10th — now you are left with the reality that your affair is nothing more than just that — an affair. It is nothing special as you allowed yourself to believe, with your heart of hearts allowing you to go on this dark path for years. It is not a rare, once in a lifetime connection that gave you the audacity to reason with yourself, saying it’s acceptable being a third party because “it’s not like that, it’s more than that, this is special“. But all it lead to is getting himself a second person to fuck apart from you, and his now wife of barely a year.
“Honesty” is a Narcissist’s greatest weapon. They will hurt you with the truth, because would you rather they lie? And they do it over and over, until you think this is the best version of the relationship you could get. “It hurts like shit, but hey, at least they’re honest“. At least you’re not being fed with lies and false hope, at least you’re not being told this is a fairytale when it isn’t. You are gaslit to the ends of the earth. I will hurt you so good, baby! So good, you’re going to want to keep coming back, and I will make coming back the best part — is how it feels.
How could one not hate themselves as soon as they realise they were made an ass out of doing nothing but giving their whole fucking heart on a silver platter (and all the while knowing that there is one person serving theirs in a 24K gold, diamond-encrusted platter, with whom he’s eventually put a ring around the finger), and that this Man had no intentions of giving up either one, because — why should he, when at least one party is so willing, despite knowing? He loved it so much he’s got a third platter. How fucked up is that — I mean, I’m not even asking anymore, I’m just acknowledging at this point.
Listen, if you’ve been in a similar situation — at the end of the day, you can’t hate yourself for loving with your whole fucking chest. At some point, you will be able to admit to yourself that you may have chosen the wrong situation, or worse — person, to express that love to, but take pride in the fact that all you did was love. We can’t forever curse ourselves for being naïve, it’s growing pains, it’s a canon event /naurrrrwhy
I will not turn on myself and blame me for being so trusting and loving. That is not a fault, or a weakness. Has it taught me something — surely. Has it made me regret being who I am — no. Never. A man so small will have no authority to make me feel such a thing. His shortcomings are not my responsibility. His choice to not self-reflect on his actions are not to be blamed on me either, as that is not within my control.
I’ve reached a point where I could look at myself seriously and say that no more tears could be wasted on people who never really valued me. There are no regrets, because I know the well of love I fetched from, then purely and wholeheartedly poured onto that one person.
Sporadic mild self-loathing aside (I mean, it is fairly new), I knew I was not coming from a place of lack. My heart that I have ripped out of my chest to offer was not of self-serving purposes. I was able to love that way because it was an outpour of the love I had for myself. How could I ever regret that? How could I ever say, “I wish I could take it back“, when to me, it was real and pure and raw and beautiful — and something I meant, with every fibre of my being?
I could love this much. I could love another person just as much as I love myself. HOW IS THAT MY LOSS?
Did François actually mean what he said to both Women? He did — but he meant those words for himself. Whatever love it is he said he felt for them, he truly only felt for himself. The love he said he feels is nothing but self-serving. He loves them BECAUSE of what they do for him. Because of the way they make him feel about himself. The “I’m so happy with our little family. I feel so loved, and yet I have more love to give, so I give it…” assfuckery is giving me a migraine. And to say it with his whole fucking chest because he believes it makes me sick to my stomach.
If you think this is your classic film about infidelity, you are WRONG. It spells nothing out for you. As the screen turns orange towards the credits, you are on your own to mull it over.
You face the nightmare by yourself, and trust me, the epiphanies (yes, plural) will come trickling down faster than you think.
Stream Agnès Varda’s Le Bonheur at Apple TV / The Criterion Channel / Netflix / Mubi.
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