When one thinks of longing, time moves slowly. Our movements are full of hesitation and second-guesses, as we play and replay scenes within our minds. The actual shared time together might have been extremely short in duration, moments that, when reflected upon years later, are often underwhelming when viewed objectively. Case in point: Can you really know anyone that you’ve only been with very briefly? Granted, Linklater made a trilogy of films about this very thing, and sometimes it works out.
However, mostly what happens is that the fantasy never develops, and so we become addicted to the longing itself. (We think if only the fantasy comes true, then all will be wonderful.) Robert Bresson’s Four Nights of a Dreamer explores this theme, as the film is not about love (is it ever?) but rather longing. (Jane Campion also distills this well in Bright Star.) The film, adapted from Dostoyevsky’s short story White Nights, is admittedly not one of the Russian writer’s better works. Bresson, however, manages to take the story’s seed and successfully embellish it further, making it more an existential examination than emotional.
Jacques (Guillaume des Forêts) is a painter who lives alone. Young and handsome, he has no companion, but he eyes women everywhere—seemingly, they interest him more from a distance than up close. His art school friend, also a painter, stops by Jacques’ flat one afternoon, wherein Jacques hides his numerous canvases, possibly out of shyness or fear of critical rejection. Showing up with an Ab-Ex painting consisting of a single blot on the canvas, the friend explains in dull, technical speak how we can imbue more into not a lot there. ‘We fill in the rest,’ in other words. This, of course, is eye-rolling from an artistic perspective (and justification for technical laziness), but the crux of this observation offers a good insight into the film. We see how, for both Jacques and the woman for whom he longs, they engage in ‘emotional imbuing,’ where each builds up more than what is there.
The film goes as this: One night, Jacques stumbles upon a young woman named Marthe (Isabelle Weingarten), who is about to commit suicide. Her reason involves longing for a love interest with whom she had a brief affair. He had to go to America for a Yale scholarship, you see, but he agreed to marry her in a year, upon return. It has now been a year. Having gotten word that her lover has been back for three days and hasn’t bothered to contact her leaves Marthe feeling emotionally destitute and suicidal. (She wants to jump off the bridge and into the river.) Then, Jacques, the ‘nice guy,’ manages to pull her away and comfort her while falling in love with her in the process. Reality be damned, keep in mind that Jacques barely knows her, just as she barely knows her love interest (who remains unnamed).
The two spend the next couple of nights together (for a total of four nights) and eventually, Marthe comes to tell Jacques on their fourth night that she loves him ‘for not loving her,’ yet remains unaware that Jacques is keeping his feelings for her secret. Everywhere he looks, he sees her name. Marthe. He continues to replay a recording of him speaking it. Additionally, just as neither character knows the other very well, we don’t know either of them either. Both are, in a sense, archetypes that can be fully melded into someone other if needed.
Bresson has often been characterized as having a ‘minimalist’ style, wherein there tends to be more observation within action, rather than excessive dialogue. (The lone exception being his 1962 rendering of The Trial of Joan of Arc, where there is an equal demonstration of both.) His characters display a natural trepidation, as though we are witnessing their thoughts in real time. Whether we are watching the nimble fingers in Pickpocket, or the anticipation of the right moments for freedom in A Man Escaped, many of his characters spend their time alone—hesitating, pondering, wondering what has transpired or what might be occurring elsewhere. Even in crowds, there still seems to be an alienating quality to all—aloneness without being physically alone.
Four Nights of a Dreamer is no different. In that sense, this is a ‘classic’ Bresson film, in that it contains all the elements listed above. However, while the film ends with the lover returning, and Marthe likewise returning to him (and he conveniently accepting her), it has been my experience that the so-called ‘lover’ never ends up returning, and rather, Marthe would thereby end up with Jacques by default. I mean, really, what is more likely? The lover returning and taking her back, or having found a new side dish while at Yale? Marthe would then, in a sense, be willing to ‘settle’ for Jacques just to quell this longing desire within her, i.e., I’ll never have who I want, but at least I’m not alone.
Whether one thinks this is a realistic ending is up for debate. After all, this would be Marthe’s fantasy. Meantime, Jacques is left to fend for himself. Perhaps this is a good thing, especially given Marthe’s limited feelings for him, and the one positive is that Jacques returns to his art—he begins painting regularly and using Marthe as a muse. Fueling his creativity, this longing isn’t necessarily bad, and perhaps it is easier to live with than rejection.
Accordingly, Four Nights of a Dreamer has been called Bresson’s ‘rediscovered classic,’ in that few have seen it due to poor distribution rights. Is it possible to love what is in front of you? Possible, yes. Exciting, no. ‘I’d rather live with rejection than longing,’ is an argument that could be made. There is truth to this, but then again, where is the romance in that? That would be a different film entirely.
Additional ‘longing’ films include: Jane Campion’s Bright Star
Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy
Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s The Ghost and Mrs.Muir
Amy Holden Jones’ Love Letters
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More from Jessica Schneider: Betraying Sunday: Stephen Kijak’s “Scott Walker: 30 Century Man” (2006), Bring Out the Knife: Reviewing William Lustig’s “Maniac” (1980), Reshaping Time and Narrative: On Reading Kenneth Rexroth