https://www.sabzian.be/text/%C3%A9ric-rohmer-la-collectionneuse-0

Éric Rohmer: La collectionneuse

VERTAALD DOOR TRANSLATED BY TRADUIT PAR Sis Matthé

“A woman is the opposite of a dandy. A woman is natural, which is to say abominable. She is always vulgar, too, and therefore she is the opposite of a dandy.” Adrien and Daniel would certainly confirm this statement by Baudelaire with regard to Haydée – always in the presence of others! The three of them meet by chance at a rich friend’s villa on the Côte d’Azur. Adrien is an art dealer, Daniel a painter. Haydée’s sole occupation seems to be to sleep with as many men as possible. Distraction incarnate, Haydée is a thorn in the side of Adrien and Daniel, who had wanted to devote their holiday entirely to concentration. Her mere presence disrupts their carefully staged holiday isolation. A commentary that places the events in the past, spoken by Adrien and pushed in front of the images from a distance, not only has the characteristic traits of a written text but also interprets the images so subjectively that another position remains possible for the spectator at all times. The film only comes into being when the conflicting strands of text and image meet in the spectator. With this film, Rohmer has made literature visible: how it relates to life. The dandies at the end of the eighteenth century artificialised their lives by trying to turn them into works of art. Daniel, the painter in the film, is also a painter in life. The small, razor-blade-studded can of paint that we see at the beginning of the film was recently part of an exhibition in a Parisian gallery; Daniel comments on his subject: “Painting is supposed to cut one’s fingers.” For him and Rohmer, it’s about bringing the kind of art to life that’s no good for museums. To use an image from the film: vases are primarily there to put flowers in.

Image from La collectionneuse (Éric Rohmer, 1967)

This text originally appeared as “Éric Rohmer: La collectionneuse,” in Filmkritik 11, no. 8, 128th issue from the complete series (August 1967): 430.

ARTICLE
12.03.2025
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In Passage, Sabzian invites film critics, authors, filmmakers and spectators to send a text or fragment on cinema that left a lasting impression.
Pour Passage, Sabzian demande à des critiques de cinéma, auteurs, cinéastes et spectateurs un texte ou un fragment qui les a marqués.
In Passage vraagt Sabzian filmcritici, auteurs, filmmakers en toeschouwers naar een tekst of een fragment dat ooit een blijvende indruk op hen achterliet.
The Prisma section is a series of short reflections on cinema. A Prisma always has the same length – exactly 2000 characters – and is accompanied by one image. It is a short-distance exercise, a miniature text in which one detail or element is refracted into the spectrum of a larger idea or observation.
La rubrique Prisma est une série de courtes réflexions sur le cinéma. Tous les Prisma ont la même longueur – exactement 2000 caractères – et sont accompagnés d'une seule image. Exercices à courte distance, les Prisma consistent en un texte miniature dans lequel un détail ou élément se détache du spectre d'une penséée ou observation plus large.
De Prisma-rubriek is een reeks korte reflecties over cinema. Een Prisma heeft altijd dezelfde lengte – precies 2000 tekens – en wordt begeleid door één beeld. Een Prisma is een oefening op de korte afstand, een miniatuurtekst waarin één detail of element in het spectrum van een grotere gedachte of observatie breekt.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati once said, “I want the film to start the moment you leave the cinema.” A film fixes itself in your movements and your way of looking at things. After a Chaplin film, you catch yourself doing clumsy jumps, after a Rohmer it’s always summer, and the ghost of Akerman undeniably haunts the kitchen. In this feature, a Sabzian editor takes a film outside and discovers cross-connections between cinema and life.
Jacques Tati zei ooit: “Ik wil dat de film begint op het moment dat je de cinemazaal verlaat.” Een film zet zich vast in je bewegingen en je manier van kijken. Na een film van Chaplin betrap je jezelf op klungelige sprongen, na een Rohmer is het altijd zomer en de geest van Chantal Akerman waart onomstotelijk rond in de keuken. In deze rubriek neemt een Sabzian-redactielid een film mee naar buiten en ontwaart kruisverbindingen tussen cinema en leven.

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