Herself or Her Self?: Visual Design and Mirrors in Cléo from 5 to 7

By Sophia Fijman, Edited by Bridget Zhang

It is not physically possible for a person to see themself, with the naked eye, as they appear to the rest of the world. A mirror’s image, though it shows life in real time, is reversed and will therefore never truly show our bodies as others view them. Mirror images tend to stand, then, as mere symbols of others’ conceptualization of a person and pursuing that will inevitably cause the loss of an actual sense of self. Renowned for her work as a pioneer of and often referred to as the “mother” of the French New Wave, filmmaker Agnès Varda wrote and directed Cléo From 5 to 7 (1962) as her second feature film (Vincendeau). It chronicles almost the entirety of 2 hours of a young French singer’s life as she is forced to confront her sense of self, one that is informed by her occupation as a performer and identity as a woman. Throughout the film, Cléo (Corrine Marchand) is accosted by mirrors as symbols of her progressive self-actualization. By physically framing Cléo in mirrors placed deliberately throughout the film, Varda engineers the audience’s perspective so that it is Cléo’s. She uses the visual symbolism of a mirror to indicate the way in which Cléo sees herself – that is, through a patriarchal gaze which gradually deteriorates. The presence of a mirror provides a visual representation of that transformation. Cléo initially has no sense of self but, rather, is incessantly enraptured by the mere image of herself. As her journey (and the film) progresses, she is freed of her own gaze and embraces her truer self via introspection as her identity collapses and is rebuilt. In turn, mirrors placed in visual design thread together the viewer’s perspective with Cléo’s own so that the audience might be fully enveloped in the gaze employed in Cléo from 5 to 7 as it changes.

The strategic use of mirrors is not uncommon in film. A well-known, more pop-culture famous example of such is Jack’s interactions with mirrors in The Shining (1980). Ironically, in horror, mirrors tend to symbolize another self. In general, they are often used in moments of reflection or to show that something is not what it seems. In Cléo from 5 to 7, they are assets to both. Mirrors point to how Cléo figuratively sees herself the way other people do. Toward the beginning of the film, she can’t help but identify with the image in the mirror and the perception others have of her – she has no individualized perception of herself. Her lack of any self-examination makes it all the more difficult for her to change as a person, for her own self-image must be broken down first in order to do so. Mirrors frame Cléo, quite literally reflecting her arc as she comes to view herself in a way that aligns more with a feminine gaze, rather than the masculine one. Coined in 1973 by theorist Laura Mulvey in her essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” the ‘male gaze’ has become a pillar of film theory and analysis. In the simplest of terms, it is a lens through which cameras frame women – one which sexually objectifies them to be looked at and exhibited. As a performer, Cléo’s story is driven by the plight of being constantly on display. When the film begins, she is in desperate need of severing herself from the male gaze as it is ingrained into both her own self-perception and the image of herself presented to others.

When first introduced, Cléo has a tendency to objectify herself, though she doesn’t seem to know it. In fact, one of the first things she does is look in a mirror (4:37). Barely a minute later, she does so again, this time with a mirror behind her as well; she is physically encompassed by multiple versions of herself. In a shot utterly encapsulating of the first half of the film, “Cleo pauses before a hallway mirror which (...) offers a seemingly infinite reiteration of her image” (Flitterman-Lewis 272). In discussing woman-as-image, author Sandy Flitterman-Lewis highlights the “contrasting functions of mirrors in the first and second halves of the film” as they are initially used for the purposes of vanity, and then as visual representations of Cléo’s reckoning with her identity (272). It is not the mirror itself that does this, but rather the character’s interaction with it as an object. Cléo does not become woman-as-image because she glances in a mirror; she plays into this concept by staring into mirrors frequently and for extended stretches of time. This, ergo, is notable because the story of the film happens, for the most part, in real time and the viewer is therefore much more aware of just how much time she spends in a mirror. In many scenes in which Cléo interacts with a mirror early in the story, the camera doesn’t directly show her face, only reflections of it. In a technical sense, this orients viewers and places them in a position of power so that we gaze upon Cléo as she gazes upon herself. This marks Cléo as something framed and displayed, something objectified. She is, as such, fully visually enveloped in the masculine gaze – so much so that she sees herself that way.

The mirror is a lens through which the viewer sees Cléo in her most vulnerable moments, before she fully steps out of the masculine gaze. After leaving the fortune-teller, Cléo visits a cafe. Inside, she spends an extended period of time looking again in a mirror, worried her illness is visible on her face. Though they are conversing and there is quite a bit of implied activity going on in the cafe, the camera shows the audience almost solely Cléo and her maid, Angèle (Dominique Davray). The focus is entirely on her, underlining Cléo’s self-centered perspective and how she makes her way through the world early in the narrative. Throughout this first half of the film, Cléo checks her appearance in almost every location – the cafe, the hat shop, her bedroom. She says that, if her illness is visible on her face, she “might as well be dead already” (7:49). She is absolutely intoxicated by her own reflection, as obvious only a few moments later in the hat shop where she claims that everything suits her (13:01). At home, she is constantly surrounded by multiple mirrors even when she isn’t looking in them. The set design encloses Cléo with them, leading the viewer to surmise that Cléo wants to be able to stare at herself frequently, as they are furniture in her own apartment. In an enlightening rehearsal, she seems to cave in on herself, becoming suddenly aware of and able to understand a feeling of exploitation as a performer. Afterwards, she simplifies her outfit, as if to mourn herself prematurely. Removing her wig and donning a simple black dress, Cléo’s exaggerated, commodified idea of femininity – that which “Joan Rivière called ‘womanliness as masquerade’” (Ezra 178) – is suddenly absent. In discussing objectification in the French New Wave, Elizabeth Ezra states that, “As a star, Cléo herself is commodified, her humanity objectified in the mechanical reproduction and dissemination of her image” (183). Cléo’s decision to change her hyper feminine outfit, though it appears dramatic, catalyzes the long overdue disintegration of her self-perspective: her internalized masculine gaze. In doing so, she begins to physically break down her own image, thus marking the pivotal midpoint of Cléo’s arc.

In the second half of the film, mirrors are more significant in the lack thereof; Cléo interacts with them only a few times. She transitions gradually from being guided by the image of ‘herself’ (appearance according to others’ perspectives) to leading with a renewed sense of ‘her self’ (identity and psyche). Once she leaves her apartment, Cléo does not look in a complete mirror for the rest of the film. As Flitterman-Lewis explains, “The first mirror she encounters in her flight from the apartment is one whose surface is disturbed,” and to lose an unobscured mirror is, to Cléo, to lose “a reassuring image of coherence” – one which previously provided her with “a sense of her own being” (273). It’s here that Ezra as well comments, mentioning that Cléo observes herself, realizes that her own gaze is narrow, and internally monologues “I'm not looking at anyone but myself. It's tiring” (43:23) (180). Throughout the second half of the film, Cléo’s lack of identity is apparent, which in fact makes space for her to self-evaluate. She returns to the cafe around 44:27. However, this scene is starkly different in visual design compared to her earlier visit – unlike the first cafe visit, the camera is not static and does not focus on framing Cléo – as a result, there is a related and obvious change in Cléo’s perception of the world around her as it broadens. As opposed to the first cafe scene, Cléo does not try to catch her reflection at all, instead focusing on the people around her. The camera pans smoothly, showing the viewer her point of view. While the first scene “offers the busy social milieu of the cafe as mere background to Cleo's self-absorption,” this one provides the cafe as a vessel for Cléo’s observation (Fitterman-Lewis 274). She plays one of her songs on a jukebox, then checks thoroughly to see if anyone has noticed. As the camera merges with Cléo’s vision, the audience is practically forced to see things as she does, to notice what she does and, when she eventually sits next to a pillar with many small mirrors, Cléo looks past it and at the people instead. The combination of the presence of mirrors and Cléo’s lack of interest in them in this scene indicates that, while she has not fully transformed yet, she is capable of change.

Cléo from 5 to 7 challenges its protagonist’s comfort by revoking her of the ability to constantly reassure herself via mirrors. Until they’re obscured and then gone, Cléo’s voiceover thoughts are often vain and shallow. However, when there are fewer mirrors, Cléo mentally reflects as she stares at her physical reflection. This is best represented by Cléo’s interactions with her friend Dorothée (Dorothée Blanck), who acts as a sort of guide for Cléo. Dorothée, who poses as a nude model, is happy in her body, while Cléo expresses that she would feel exposed doing the same, “afraid people would find a fault” (52:32). Though both characters are gazed upon, their occupation separates them. Cléo’s “commodified status is the inverse of the sculptures that her friend Dorothée poses for, which comprise a range of original representations of a single referent, rather than the multiple copies of Cléo's hit single” (Ezra 183). Dorothée’s impact in Cléo’s transformation and the audience’s understanding of Cléo’s own gaze is supported by yet another mirror. While with Dorothée, Cléo drops a mirror, notably beginning another chapter. Dorothée immediately moves to clean it, yet Cléo’s hand is frozen in the shot and on the ground, not attempting to pick up the shards. Though Dorothée reassures her and tells her it’s “like breaking a plate,” Cléo believes it is an omen for death, explaining that she’s “overcome with fear” (1:03:16). Entranced by the shards, Cléo stares at her now fragmented reflection. This physical destruction of Cléo’s ‘identity’ severs the tie between the way she sees herself and the person she’s becoming. More specifically, the broken shard she looks at centers her eye in the middle of a crack, emphasizing how her self-perception breaks down, drawing the viewer’s eye. The shard as a symbol entwines her patriarchal gaze with performative femininity, then leaves both behind as Cléo walks away from her shattered self-perception. It’s also worth noting that this happens while she’s with Dorothée, who is exemplary of a kind of feminine empowerment because she is not commodified and resold as Cléo is. As a result, she is more in touch with her self, and her presence is significant as Cléo’s transformation comes to fruition. As they leave, Cléo drops the few shards she’s attempted to pick up, but glances back at them in a moment of self doubt. About a minute later, a reflective glass window is shown broken – a man has been killed and Dorothée says that the omen Cléo believes in must have been for him. This shot (1:04:04) of the broken window is the final time she looks into a reflective surface, confirming that Cléo’s development is solidified; the dismantling of her internalized masculine gaze is now irreversible. Flitterman-Lewis explains Cléo’s arc simply: it “hinges on the turn of phrase: ‘How do I look?’,” yet the phrase’s meaning shifts from a “passive, objectified meaning (‘How am I seen, how do I appear in the eyes of the world?’) to its active complement (‘How do I see, how is the world viewed by me?’)” (269). In short, Cléo cares more about what she sees than how she is seen, her gaze switching focus from image to the world as she experiences it – an embraced yet empowering feminine one.

Varda’s strategic use of mirrors as visual design functions as underscore, as if to say that Cléo’s perception of herself was never truly her self at all – it was reversed. The film employs gaze theory in a bit of a self-referential way – it engineers how the audience sees how Cléo sees herself. Any progressive intent this film has is a staple of the French New Wave, yet its overall theme keeps it poignantly relevant over 60 years after its release. Woman-as-image spurring woman in crisis is ever-present in film, as are mirrors as visual representations of gaze styles. Mirrors are not able to show us our true selves as others see us, yet it is when one separates physical beauty from one’s sense of self that progress is possible. A bit of an ironic motif, it is the destruction of that which allows Cléo to see her body as physically unaltered that motivates her to introspect and ‘see’ her self.

Works Cited

Ezra, Elizabeth. “Cléo’s Masks: Regimes of Objectification in the French New Wave.” Yale French Studies, no. 118/119, 2010, pp. 177–90. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41337086. Accessed 24 Feb. 2023.

Flitterman-Lewis, Sandy. “From Déesse to Idée: Cleo From 5 to 7 .” To Desire Differently: Feminism and the French Cinema, Columbia University Press, 1996.

Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology: A Film Theory Reader, edited by Philip Rosen, Columbia University Press, 1986, pp. 198-209.

Cléo de 5 à 7. Directed by Agnès Varda, Ciné-tamaris, 1962.

Vincendeau, Ginette. “La Pointe Courte: How Agnès Varda ‘Invented’ the New Wave.” The Criterion Collection, 22 Jan. 2008, www.criterion.com/current/posts/497-la-pointe-courte-how-agnes-varda-invented-the-new-wave. Accessed 3 Nov. 2023.