Daybreaks by the River: La Seine a rencontré Paris by Joris Ivens

The sil­ken images of Jor­is Ivens’ La Sei­ne a ren­con­tré Paris are eph­emeral. They only regis­ter momen­tum: the fli­cker of reflec­tion, the drain of tex­ti­le, the traces of a tur­ning boat. The com­po­si­ti­ons are not remi­nis­cent of their inter­war pre­de­ces­sors, which were made in har­bours and aimed at depic­ting the city’s rela­ti­on to the river amidst indus­tria­liza­ti­ons. They are not wide enough to show the crowds of Das Lied der Strö­me, an East Ger­man film co-direc­ted by Ivens that rela­tes the tri­umph of the working class to the civi­liza­tio­nal cha­rac­ter of rivers. La Sei­ne a ren­con­tré Paris is not direct­ly about pro­duc­tion or the con­quest of river­banks. The mon­ta­ge is clean and effort­less; it draws a con­ti­nuous arc bet­ween two ends of the city. Manu­al labour appears in the film but it is ele­va­ted, roun­ded, dreams of mus­cles and sweat set to fly in awe of rapids and whirl­pools. The poet­ry of Jac­ques Pré­vert deter­mi­nes how Ivens films the Sei­ne and the work, pas­si­on or strolls that hap­pen in pro­xi­mi­ty to it. The poet is con­cer­ned with the ever-flee­ting chan­nels of water and their invol­un­t­a­ry rush from the pre­sent. He reco­g­ni­s­es that the essence of this object is the very impos­si­bi­li­ty of it being sei­zed. So he just dances around the idea of the Sei­ne, char­ging its aim­less exis­tence with meta­phors and personifications.

And Ivens obser­ves the Pari­si­en­nes: dogs, child­ren, lovers, peo­p­le working, posing, run­ning, fin­ding a ciga­ret­te. He looks at the sur­face and tiny agi­ta­ti­ons of time. As oppo­sed to his other films about the rela­ti­on bet­ween a river and a city, La Sei­ne a ren­con­tré Paris doesn’t focus on the uti­li­sa­ti­on of the river. This film is also about moder­ni­ty, but the Sei­ne doesn’t beco­me a device of moder­ni­ty. Rather it pro­vi­des a modern pro­blem, name­ly spa­re time pre­scri­bed and framed by pro­duc­tion with a back­drop. It’s an una­wa­re com­pa­n­ion to day­breaks, detach­ments from func­tion­a­li­ty and pro­gress. The Sei­ne can be a void to loo­se ones­elf in, or a body of distinct, per­so­nal mea­nings that all bypas­sers unco­ver. The film only gives voice to Prévert’s expe­ri­ence, but it’s the alle­go­ry of a coll­ec­ti­ve impres­si­on each indi­vi­du­al expe­ri­en­ces dif­fer­ent­ly. Its banks host a cea­se­l­ess social event, fil­led with the noi­se of free inter­ac­tion, but it’s also an ago­ra one can flee by let­ting the mono­to­no­us blus­ter of the river absorb the ruminations. 

For some, the Sei­ne doesn’t mean day­break. The river, with the words of Pré­vert, is the fac­to­ry its­elf. Even with a slight shift in per­spec­ti­ve, Ivens sees workers. His ele­gant, digni­fied shots grant them with the strength of the river. In par­al­lel pla­nes, he films par­al­lel move­ments; in one the workers push debris with a sho­vel in front of them, in the other a train cros­ses a bridge a the same speed as the shovels.

Ivens’ images encap­su­la­te the awe felt for the Sei­ne both as a sen­su­al milieu and as an abs­trac­tion. Of all his films about urban life, it’s the most con­cer­ned with the sen­ti­ments – in La Sei­ne a ren­con­tré Paris the for­mal sub­li­mi­ty of the river is not jux­ta­po­sed against the oppres­si­ve pre­sence of mecha­nics, but enri­ches the spi­ri­tu­al life of the citizens. 

Some find it just like any other river, Pré­vert recalls in his text, struck by the igno­rance in the obser­va­ti­on. For him, the Sei­ne is sove­reign. It floats free­ly and never ties its­elf to just one part­ner, rather it pulls away the memo­ries and ima­gi­na­ti­ons of all tho­se gazing at it, chan­ne­ling them out of Paris as it streams bey­ond the city’s gate.