Viddler

This clip from “Jeanne Dielman” is one of the best examples of the film’s consistent uses of stark lighting, limited sound, repetitive character movement, and fixed props and elements of setting in order to establish an acute awareness (in the viewer) of the obsessive and highly ritualistic routines that Jeanne maintains for herself and her son, Sylvain. I will focus on how these visual and auditory cues work together to suggest that the proper and orderly enactment of Jeanne’s dinner routine is essential to the “proper” maintenance of both her relationship with her son, and to her own state of surface-level complacency (however seemingly infused with sub-tones of boredom and repression).

Jeanne and Sylvain greet each other via physical contact. The lack of greeting through spoken communication is one of the first indications of how Jeanne's lack of verbal engagement has very likely become a character trait of her son as well. The probability of Jeanne's rigidity having been passed on to her son is also indicated by the fact that Sylvain switches on the light when he first enters the apartment--a motif that appears frequently throughout the film.

The lighting in the living/dining room in this sequence aligns with the changing action in each shot, and is meant to narrow our focus onto the human action at hand. In this case, the chandelier light in the middle of the room serves to illuminate the couch and area where Sylvain sits down to relax. The dinner table is in a darkened state because it is not a focal point for the human presence at this time. The action of Jeanne taking her son's coat and hurriedly getting to work and the way in which he automatically hands it over is also suggestive of his generally pampered, and overwhelmingly routine-bound lifestyle.

After the shock of Jeanne’s relatively subdued scold to her son, the sound of the dishes and spoons clinking against one another serve as the only “voices” in this shot, and the mysterious neon flashing blue light through the curtain in the background window certainly holds some meaning as to the haunting distance that apparently exists between mother and son. The camera sits at another end of the table, a kind of unnoticed guest, and the lack of acknowledgment from one character to another prompts the viewer to become, like Jeanne and Sylvain, lost in one’s own thought.

The camera's perspective on the human activity in the frame is one that virtually denies a connection between the character of Jeanne and the audience. The gaze of the audience is directed across the kitchen table in a way that would, in a more traditional film, facilitate an opportunity for engagement, but instead, she is turned away from us, and it is clear that her main, focused interest is in perfectly serving the first course without spilling a drop. Indeed, her limited and carefully orchestrated movements are so drawn out, that the viewer is faced with the temptation to wander to other places in the frame with an uneasiness that can be attributed to the uncanny and bizarre desire for a sudden revelation
in symbolic meaning as to the placement of the kitchen sink or number of pots on the stove.

Note that the light in the kitchen stays on when Jeanne leaves to serve the first course! This is a clear indication that her dinner routine thrives on precision and timing, and the audience is aware that this must be part of her well-coordinated plan.

These moments of limited conversation add to the distance between mother and son, since they cannot find anything to discuss except the quality or quantity of the food in front of them.

The perspective of the camera on the dining room table is now such that Jeanne is more of a central focus, and Sylvain's importance in the frame is somewhat diminished since he is presented in profile and at the edge of the frame.

An unexpected line of dialogue comes as a shock to the viewer, who has become accustomed to the silence of the evening. The apparent disruption of Jeanne's dinner routine by her son’s reading is actually later shown to be a PART of the routine, as in a following scene in which Sylvain cannot seem to tear himself away from his book at the dinner table.

Once Sylvain finishes his soup, he assumes a more slouched and almost rudely expectant body posture (although his elbows HAVE been on the table throughout dinner) in contrast to Jeanne who is the perfect example of propriety at all times. However, she becomes aware that her timing has gone awry and she hurries to make it right as is shown by her last rushed spoonfuls, brisk collection of plates and heel-pounding, authoritative walk to the kitchen—she is getting things back on track!

Another hallway! And cut to kitchen!

The china cabinet looms behind Jeanne, containing decorations and trifles that serve no practical purpose in her house. This view of Jeanne is comparable to that of her in the kitchen, but the utility involved in each place is strikingly different. In the kitchen, practically every utensil is needed and available for use. The china cabinet, on the other hand contains items that are put behind glass and out of the way, for viewing only. The flashing blue light reflecting on the glass pane of the china cabinet is a further indication of her discomfort with things that are only meant to serve an aesthetic purpose, as they interfere with her obvious internal doctrine of the need for objects to function within the confines of a strict routine.

Even the newspaper on the far right of the frame has more than one possible use--she may use it in the morning when she carefully unfolds a newspaper over the seat of the kitchen chair as she polishes Sylvain's shoes.

One more shot of the hallway, for good measure! These observable incorporations of specific, limited sound, placed objects, confined character movement, and strategic lighting all contribute to the film's need to establish the rigidity of the household that Jeanne maintains. This scene is critical in that is sets up what the audience should expect to occur the next day, and also begs of the viewer to question why Jeanne feels that her existence must be grounded in a kind of detachment from the less formally planned reality of a more “normal” life. It is clear that in this first dinner sequence, the values of Jeanne Dielman have much to do with the need for silence, boundaries, limited motion, and most importantly, a pronounced separation from any sort of reality which would challenge the routine to which she is so inescapably attached.

The continuity of the “light-switching motif” is expressed here, as she expects the main course to take longer and must feel the need to switch off the light in the kitchen. There is a faint glimmer of the white back of the stove that remains even after the kitchen is dark. The extended length of time that is placed on the darkened kitchen and the illumined stove adds to the significance of this particular object in her home as an oddly disturbing reminder of its centrality in this sequence, and by extension, in her everyday life. This object could very well be the main symbol for her obvious repression of any sort of expression or emotion—rather than deal with the possible upheaval in routine involved with emotion, she prefers to live her life around the “stove of domesticity.”

This is another glimpse into the darkened hallway that has already appeared in the sequence. The hall comes to serve as an effective middle-ground in the sequence. The brief, but regular appearances of the hallway demonstrate the recurrent and relatively abrupt cuts that take place from room to room. In terms of character identification, the hallway as an aspect of setting serves as an additional reminder of Jeanne’s preferred occupation which revolves around the repeated action of moving from task to task. Another thing to note here is the diegetic noise of Jeanne's heels on the floor. This, to some extent, comes to represent her voice as an authoritative keeper of the household.

The "real-time" length of the shots when Jeanne is serving the courses for dinner allows the viewer to become acquainted with the props, or fixed objects in various rooms in her house. From the frequently used hand-drying towel to the hook on which the soup ladle hangs, practically everything in Jeanne's household has a place, and a purpose. The use of a medium long, medium, and medium close-up shots work to place the audience at a level similar to Jeanne. To see that her actions are not altered or embellished or enhanced much by flashy cinematography is a way in which we are asked to identify with or understand more completely the terrible boredom that Jeanne must feel on a daily basis.

In the beginning of this sequence, there was no light cast on the table, but as Sylvain switches off the overhead chandelier, there is a clear beam of light cast across the dining area, drawing the viewer's eye to the upcoming human activity. The use of a relatively low-light approach gives half of the set in the background an ominous darkness that can be linked with the internal brooding of Jeanne in the foreground. This special emphasis of light on the dinner table suggests that there is a positive air associated with taking the time to have dinner with one’s family. The estranged method of dining, demonstrated by their distance and lack of eye contact with one another, however, suggests their lack of real involvement in this chance for interaction.