In “Subtitled,” Emmett Chung ’27 explores world cinema through reviews of non-English films.

“Once you overcome the one-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.” — Bong Joon Ho

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.

I began this column to highlight the diversity of world cinema, but one way world cinema continues to lack diversity is in the proportion of female directors compared to male directors. In 2025, women directed only eight of the top 100 films at the U.S. box office. And though Chantal Akerman’s “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, Bruxelles” became the first woman-directed film to earn the top spot, just 11 female-directed movies made the British Film Institute’s 2022 list of the “100 Greatest Films of All Time.” 

International films, particularly those directed by women, are underrepresented in U.S. media. Therefore, for this installment, I have chosen an excellent film from the French New Wave which highlights how women have always pioneered, written and directed great films.

Agnès Varda’s pithy, poignant “Cléo from 5 to 7” (Cléo de 5 à 7, 1962) invites viewers to ponder mortality and existence in a film that stands out from other New Wave works as a story about a woman, directed by a woman.

The film follows Cléo Victoire (Corinne Marchand), a young singer, as she travels Paris on the summer solstice while awaiting the results of a cancer test. Unlike other stories that deal with death and dying, “Cléo” holds uncertainty itself as the primary source of anxiety. The audience, like Cléo, awaits the results. 

Time passes in the film exactly as it does in the theater. When “Chapter 1: Cléo from 5:05 to 5:08” first appears onscreen, exactly five minutes have passed. The chapter titles change to match the featured characters, like Cléo’s assistant Angèle (Dominique Davray) or even, verbatim, “some others.” The only inaccuracy is that the film is only 90 minutes long, so the film really follows “Cléo from 5 to 6:30.”

Realism is one of this film’s defining elements — a map featured in the screenplay painstakingly marks all 40 real-world locations Cléo visits throughout the film. While Hollywood clichés would have obligated a scene at the Eiffel Tower, Cléo’s journey features mundane locations, making the film feel like a documentary, even though it is a fictional, scripted work. And where films nearly always manipulate time, time in “Cléo” is the same as we experience it — without skips, flashbacks or fast-forwards.

However, the formal elements of the film aren’t the only realistic aspect: Cléo’s situation is equally true to life.

Varda contrasts Cléo’s looming test results with a world continuing to move normally around her. In the first scene, the only one without an onscreen chapter title, Cléo leaves a tarot reader’s office and holds back tears after drawing the Grim Reaper card, which seemingly confirmed her worst fears. 

We’ve all been here: after receiving life-changing news, we must then navigate a world that looks no different than before. As Cléo walks down the street, deep in thought with a stricken expression, shopkeepers hawk suits and strangers pass by running errands or leaving work. Problems that might have previously seemed more important mock her with their relative insignificance, like a couple arguing behind her at a café or news of the Algerian War on the radio.

Cléo’s pending test results taint her attempts to try and continue with her life. She confides in her friends that she is ill, and they respond well-meaningly but carelessly. Bob (Michel Legrand), a composer, and Maurice (Serge Korber), a lyricist, come over dressed as doctors and sing comic songs, before a more serious song upsets Cléo: “You shouldn’t use the word ‘despair,’” Angèle chides Bob and Maurice.

Cléo’s friend Dorothée (Dorothée Blank), whom she visits next, is similarly well-intentioned yet  insensitive. When Cléo tells Dorothée she is sick, Dorothée responds: “Sick? Have you seen a doctor?” 

After Dorothée leaves, Cléo visits a park when a young soldier about to return to Algeria, Antoine (Antoine Bourseiller), approaches her. When Cléo says she is awaiting the results of a cancer test, he bluntly asks her what she is afraid of. “Cancer, I guess,” Cléo says sheepishly. “I’ll find out this evening.” Antoine suggests that Cléo stop waiting for her doctor’s call. Instead, he offers to accompany her to the hospital to ask the doctor herself. 

This moment toward the end of the film is a turning point as Cléo decides to exercise the agency she can within her situation and procure the results. As they leave the park, Cléo reveals to Antoine that her real name is Florence, further highlighting Cléo’s shift towards being more honest with herself and her feelings.  

Accustomed to Hollywood, I kept waiting for the conversation between Antoine and Cléo to take a flirtatious turn, but it never did. Antoine is simply a stranger offering Cléo both genuine sympathy and connection, unlike Bob, Maurice or Dorothée.

The doctor has apparently left, but he eventually drives past Antoine and a still-nervous Cléo in the hospital courtyard. He tells them Cléo will be fine with two months of treatment, then speeds off. This moment answers the question that has followed Cléo throughout the film, but incompletely: she has cancer, but the doctor seems entirely unconcerned. Was the stress that followed Cléo (and the audience) throughout the film all for naught? 

Here, Varda takes a distinct narrative approach to death anxiety. We learn nothing about Cléo before 5 or after 7. Uncertainty prevails over a neat conclusion where the protagonist dramatically accepts their death. After the doctor leaves, Cléo tells Antoine she is no longer afraid, but she doesn’t explain how or why. Is she no longer afraid of cancer? Death? When did the change happen? We don’t know — we’ve seen more of her actions than her thoughts, a narrative decision that highlights the individual nature and ambiguity of facing our own mortality.

We aren’t too different from Cléo. People are very rarely focused only on the present. Our thoughts and anxieties are always gnawing at us. So perhaps we can challenge ourselves to be more like Antoine, and offer everyone a little more empathy amid the uncertainty of existence.

You can watch “Cléo from 5 to 7” on Kanopy here.