The Modern Man: Rohmer's Understanding of the Self
Éric Rohmer, Julio Cortázar and André Aciman’s ideas of a modern, detached and often sensitive man.
In Conte d'été (A Summer’s Tale), French Director Éric Rohmer provides us with a cinematic meditation on loneliness, desire, and the intricacies of human relationships, particularly from the perspective of an introverted, sensitive man. Gaspard, the protagonist, is a quintessential Rohmerian character: introspective, emotionally distant, and seemingly adrift in a sea of social interactions he doesn’t quite know how to navigate. As we delve into Gaspard’s journey, we find an ideal foil in Julio Cortázar’s writings, which often muse on love’s elusive and surreal qualities, particularly through characters similarly detached yet yearning for connection.
This tension between detachment and desire finds an even more modern resonance in André Aciman’s Homo Irrealis, in which Aciman examines how men, especially in Rohmer’s films, exist in a perpetual state of longing, not for what is, but for what might have been—a state of emotional suspension where possibility trumps reality. Rohmer’s cinematic language, combined with the inner landscapes explored by Cortázar and Aciman, paints a vivid picture of contemporary loneliness, love, and introspection.
Rohmer’s Conte d’été begins with Gaspard arriving at a seaside town for a summer holiday. He is immediately set up as an introverted figure—one who floats through life more as an observer than a participant. Gaspard comes across as timid, uncertain, and passive, which adds complexity to his interactions with the three women he encounters throughout the movie. Gaspard is torn between choices, but not in the way typical romantic protagonists are. His actions are not primarily driven by passion or longing, but by circumstances and the burden of decision-making. Rohmer uses Gaspard's indecisiveness to delve into the character's internalized sense of isolation, which has a somewhat existential quality.
With Gaspard as a vehicle, Rohmer's approach highlights the sense of solitude. Rohmer's distinctive long shots and scenes filled with dialogue often capture life's moments as they unfold – unscripted, unrehearsed, and somewhat awkward. One particular scene shows Gaspard sitting by the ocean, feeling isolated despite being surrounded by others. The camera lingers, drawing us into Gaspard's introspective thoughts. It's not a dramatic sense of loneliness; instead, it's a quiet, almost ordinary loneliness that many introverts experience. Here, Rohmer mirrors Cortázar's approach to writing, exploring the delicate space between reality and the imagined world within our minds, where our emotional landscapes are just as vivid as the external world.
In his writings such as Rayuela, Cortázar depicts characters facing a struggle between reality and fantasy as they contemplate love and human relationships as dynamic and unfinished. The protagonist, Horacio Oliveira, in Rayuela, encounters love as a state of uncertainty and fluidity, similar to Gaspard's relationships, characterized by indecision and an intense feeling of incompleteness. Cortázar writes, Love was everything, yet at the same time it was a disturbing nothingness. This sentiment resonates with Gaspard’s emotional state in Conte d'été, where love is always just out of reach—both tantalizing and terrifying.
André Aciman explores Éric Rohmer’s skill in depicting men who are constantly caught between the past and the future, oscillating between potential and taking action. He captures the contemporary male who, like Gaspard, is deeply sensitive and introspective but also paralyzed by indecision and self-doubt. Aciman discusses how Rohmer's male leads are deeply engrossed in their inner worlds, frequently incapable of fully engaging with the present moment due to being preoccupied with their own thoughts—obsessed with the potential outcomes of life.
In Gaspard, Aciman sees a figure who is deeply introverted and constantly analyzing his potential connections without ever fully diving into them. The reason for the hesitation is not a lack of opportunities, but rather an emotional barrier, a desire to keep options open and maintain possibilities, even if it means sacrificing real, present experiences. This is the core of Aciman's irrealis mood, a place where the yearning for the unreal outweighs the connection to reality. In Conte d'été, Gaspard moves between three women—Léna, Margot, and Solène—not because he is untrustworthy, but because he is uncertain if any of them is the right choice. It's possible that none of them are, as Gaspard's sensitivity keeps him stuck in a perpetual state of indecision. Aciman’s Homo Irrealis echoes these dilemmas, stating, “The lives we don’t lead are the ones that can shape us just as much as those we do,” and this is Gaspard’s story in a sentence’s worth. His identity is shaped not by the decisions he commits to, but by the ones he holds back from making, the possibilities he envisions but never quite pursues.
Rohmer effectively uses physical space to convey internal emotional states, which is another reason why Conte d'été deeply resonates with both Aciman’s analysis and Cortázar’s narratives. In a pivotal scene in the film, Gaspard is seen walking alone along the shore. The vastness of the sea in contrast to his small figure symbolizes the inner solitude that characterizes him. The ocean, a recurring motif, reflects his emotional drift and his uncertainty about love, connection, and purpose. He is constantly on the brink of entering into a relationship, but the pull of solitude remains stronger.
The way setting is used to reflect internal landscapes reminds us of Cortázar’s surrealism, in which the external world frequently reflects the intricacies of the characters' thoughts. In tales such as Noche Boca Arriba, the boundaries between reality and dreamlike states are intertwined, much like Gaspard’s reality and his uncertainty blend together. Rohmer doesn’t use dream sequences, but the languid pacing of Conte d'été gives the film a suspended, almost dreamlike quality, reflecting Aciman’s idea of the irrealis—the sense that we are living in potentiality rather than actuality. Gaspard is always looking for the next possibility, just as Cortázar’s protagonists often exist in multiple planes of reality, uncertain of which is more real.
Gaspard, in his contemplation of love, represents the introverted, sensitive man who is caught between the desire for intimacy and the fear of vulnerability. His interactions with the three women in Conte d'été are characterized by careful intrigue rather than intense passion. Each woman captures his interest, yet he appears to lack the ability to fully connect with any of them. His inability to make a decision reflects a deeper existential uncertainty, one that Cortázar’s writing often touches on: the fear that love, in its purest form, is an illusion. Cortázar once wrote, “The ones who love us, love us in a way that is impossible to understand,” a sentiment that Gaspard seems to carry as he tries to navigate the emotional complexities of his summer.
Gaspard’s introversion isn’t a weakness, however. Rohmer shows us that sensitivity is a way of being in the world, a means of experiencing life in a more contemplative, reflective way. His relationships may not be fiery or dramatic, but they are thoughtful, deliberate, and full of quiet longing. This is the core of Aciman’s argument in Homo Irrealis as well—that the modern man, particularly in Rohmer’s films, isn’t defined by traditional masculinity but by his introspective, often melancholic, sensitivity. He exists in the realm of thought, of potentiality, where love is both a desire and a concept to be studied.
Conte d'été ultimately doesn't address Gaspard's internal struggles. He doesn't discover ideal love or make any dramatic choices. Instead, he departs just as he came—uncertain but not devoid of emotion, perceptive but not completely involved. This is Rohmer’s genius: the quiet affirmation that not all lives need to be lived with dramatic resolution. Sometimes, the journey is simply about learning to sit with uncertainty. When we connect Julio Cortázar’s thoughts on love and the surreal to André Aciman’s examination of the modern male, Conte d'été evolves beyond being simply a movie about a man's summer vacation. It is a meditation on the nature of longing, loneliness, and introspection. Rohmer’s depiction of Gaspard is a subtle but powerful statement on the modern man—sensitive, introverted, but no less complex than the traditional romantic heroes of cinema. He is a man defined not by action but by thought, not by certainty but by the beauty of his hesitations.
Rohmer, Cortázar, and Aciman offer a reminder that for those of us who are uncertain about our desires or feeling lost in the intricacies of human relationships, maybe it's our capacity to perceive life's nuances and experience deep emotions without necessarily finding solutions that truly defines our humanity.
Wow! This is so relatable. My mind is blown. Have to see it now, amazing read. Thank you so much.