The artistic mise-en-scène
choices at the beginning of Christian Carion's The Girl from Paris (2001)
act as a foundation for the entirety of the film's plot and message. An upbeat
score plays as the camera soars with a bird's-eye view through the countryside
of rural France—from rocky mountains to waterfalls gleaming in the sun to
expansive green valleys. These beautiful images are interrupted as the music
turns somber. The camera stops its natural, birdlike movement and begins to
pull away. The viewer realizes that the final nature image is in fact not
natural at all; it is actually an ad on the back of a loud, old, smog-emitting
bus with the slogan "Move to the Rhône-Alpes region! A breath of fresh
air."[1] The
irony is astounding once the scene is established with Sandrine in her small
car—the shot tightly framed exaggerating her claustrophobia—caught in a traffic
jam, looking longingly at the bus ad, far from any breath of fresh air. Once
Sandrine makes it to her mother's house, it is revealed that she works with
computers, making a good living, but feels "stifled," longing for
"fresh air" and "more space," feelings that ultimately fuel
her desire to receive a degree in agriculture to become a farmer. Carion uses
these opening shots—as well as the character of the old farmer Adrien played by
Michel Serrault—to create the juxtaposition between modern urban France and
medieval-like rural France. The computer-tech city girl feels stifled in the
urban scene and seeks "a breath of fresh air" and connection to the
land in the rural regions of her country—which can seem almost like a foreign
land at some points.
Good work. Did you notice as well how the same vertiginous flight pattern returns later in the film, and when the hang-glider launches into action? Imagination becomes reality for Sandrine and the viewer. Or does it?
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