This experimental short remains one of the most unique depictions of time travel.
Ever since H. G. Wells popularized the trope in his classic 1895 story The Time Machine, time travel has proven itself as one of the most popular playgrounds in science-fiction. It’s no surprise why. Its premise gives writers enormous freedom when crafting their stories, allowing for some wildly imaginative films that even more traditional entries in the genre could only hope to achieve, and all in a genre that audiences are showing no signs of becoming fatigued from. From alternate history like Back to the Future, to time loops like Groundhog Day, from action like The Terminator, to comedy like Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, time travel has proven itself as one of the most versatile subgenres in film and television. There’s no doubt it will continue to make waves for many years to come.
But for all their strengths, there’s no doubt many of these films are starting to have a touch of familiarity to them. How many times have we seen characters become trapped repeating the same day over and over again, or having to pull off an elaborate scheme in the past to ensure the future plays out exactly as it’s supposed to? It’s an unfortunate hurdle all genres run into, and while it's still fun to watch characters jumping around from the distant past to the far future, there is a feeling of many of these films simply going through the motions. And it’s exactly the complete absence of following convention that makes La Jetée one of the most unique (and greatest) depictions of time travel.
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Directed by avant-garde filmmaker Chris Marker, the film tells the story of an unnamed prisoner (Davos Hanich) in a post-apocalyptic Paris in the aftermath of World War III. His obsession with a vague pre-war memory of a woman (Hélène Châtelain) draws the attention of a group of mysterious scientists, who decide he would be the perfect candidate to test their experimental time travel program. Soon after he becomes a key instrument in the fate of the human race, traveling to both the past and the future in the hopes of finding a means to save the dismal present. And, as with all good sci-fi stories, nothing is as simple as it seems. But despite the exciting nature of its narrative, the story is not what makes La Jetée stand head and shoulders above other entries in its genre, with its greatest success coming from the presentation of said story. Forgoing the illusion of movement that defines the medium of cinema, La Jetée opts to celebrate its own artifice by consisting almost entirely of still images. While this can give the impression of looking more like a slideshow than a film, in practice it becomes an ingenious tool that lends itself to some of the greatest synchronicity between a story and its storytelling in all of cinema. Almost sixty years on La Jetée remains unmatched in its approach to the subject matter, and it's high time that other films remember that form is equally as important as the content itself.
On a fundamental level, film is all about the manipulation of time. While in the grim confines of reality the passage of time is something we have zero say in, the fabricated environment of a film is a much different experience. Suddenly a director has control over the uncontrollable, and with it comes everything that makes cinema the artistic madhouse that it is. Minutes, hours and even decades can pass with just a simple cut, and the breadth of editing techniques directors can call upon allows for complete mastery of the concept. Except it’s all just clever showmanship, of course. When stripped to its foundations film is merely twenty-four still images every second, with any perception of actual movement being nothing more than a trick of the brain. It’s why Michael Haneke dubbed film as “24 lies per second at the service of truth”, a quote that encapsulates the century’s worth of filmmakers who have attempted to find meaning in what is essentially just a grand expansion of a PowerPoint presentation. But it is exactly this illusion that makes cinema one of the most powerful means of artistic expression, and La Jetée’s exploration of these basic principles is what makes it such a fascinating watch.
It's impossible to talk about La Jetée without mentioning its unique look. Its use of still images rather than full motion video gives the film an immediately off-putting aesthetic, and one that will take some time for viewers to grow accustomed to. Some people may dismiss the film purely on this basis, seeing it as nothing more than an auteur filmmaker needlessly experimenting with the medium to the detriment of his own story, but the truth is far more complex. For starters, in a film where the memory of a woman standing on a jetty becomes the central image that defines both our central character’s life while also becoming the singular thing that could save all of humanity, it’s no coincidence the rest of the film should consist of only static images that evoke the feeling of a half-remembered dream. It creates an instant connection between the man and the viewer, but it also serves as a meditation on how our own memories work. Fragments are often all we’re left with after an event has occurred, and La Jetée’s stop motion look captures this feeling perfectly. Much like when we reflect on our own past, the viewer is forced into imagining the connecting tissue between each shot, making them an active participant in the story in a way few films can replicate. The fact that Marker can do this simply by extending the length of every frame is incredible, jumping from a 24th of a second to a few seconds each. It’s remarkable that such a small change completely changes our perspective of the medium, even with the rest of the film still following all other conventions of the format. The extended length of each shot also allows the viewer to fully immerse themselves in the shots themselves, with plenty of time to soak up every drop of information thanks to Marker’s immaculate framing. Every shot conveys something of importance, with Marker excising all trivial details until it becomes impossible to remove even a single frame from the equation. The belief that every frame matters is a common one in film, but never has it been so accurate as here.
The use of still images also gives the film a rather eerie tone, perfect for something that’s taking place in the aftermath of a global war. The ruined buildings and crumbled statues of Paris appear even more ghostly when presented in complete stillness, frozen in time as though these few images are the only record we have left of them. The black-and-white photography, combined with the excellent production design and costumes, give the setting an uncomfortable mood that feels more akin to a horror film than science-fiction. The refusal to use full-motion video even when the film switches to other periods gives the impression of the present bleeding over into other times, grounding the viewer and its characters firmly in one setting even while it continually jumps around. The viewer is forced into giving life to the lifeless, a feeling that encapsulates the bleak world Marker has created. The apocalypse has never felt as empty as this.
Even beyond the film’s technical achievements, the story itself remains one of the most compelling in the genre. La Jetée’s short length (running for a mere 28 minutes) forces Marker to remove all but the most essential elements, giving the film a level of pinpoint focus that would make Steven Soderbergh jealous. Rather than getting caught up in the practicalities of time travel, the film opts for a world where such things simply exist and trusts that the audience will go along with it, thereby keeping the focus on the turmoil of its protagonist as he grapples with saving a world he does not care about while being in love with a woman that he cannot have. Tragedy underpins the entire narrative, starting with the desolate image of a destroyed Paris whose great works of architecture have been reduced to rubble, and then continuing with a character so emotionally detached from the present he can only find comfort in the memory of a woman who is long since dead. His participation as a guinea pig for the time travel program proves critical for saving the human race, but serves only to highlight his own misfortune as he is forced into continually reliving his idyllic life, only to have it violently ripped away at the end of each test. His attempts to call upon the future for his own personal needs prove dire for everyone involved, signifying how little agency he has in the grand scheme of things. No matter how much he tries to find purpose in either the tranquil past or the optimistic future, he can never escape from his present, a dour ending that also provides a harsh warning to its viewers. The fact that Marker is able to tell a complete story in less time than the average length of a TV show, all the while saying more about love and the power of memory than most films with triple its runtime, reveals a level of skill most filmmakers can only dream of.
But the story is only one half of what makes La Jetée the masterwork that it is, and if presented in a more traditional format it would have lacked the impact it otherwise has. This can be illustrated perfectly in Terry Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys, a film that serves as a glorified remake of La Jetée with a greatly expanded runtime and budget. When viewed as a standalone product it’s a perfectly solid sci-fi film that raises some intriguing questions about memory and how it affects our perception of reality (all helped by Brad Pitt delivering one of his greatest performances as Jeffrey Goines), but when compared to its predecessor it’s hard to shake the feeling you’re just watching the watered-down Hollywood version for people unwilling to sit through something that even dares experiment with the medium. La Jetée may have a barrier to entry, but its short length and compelling story make it one of the greatest entry points into the world of arthouse cinema, while also providing one of the most unique depictions of time travel ever put to a film. It’s a key reminder that story is far from the only aspect of a film, with presentation being an equally important element of the final product. What Chris Marker has achieved with La Jetée is nothing short of astounding, with the synergy between these two sides coming together flawlessly. Other time travel films may have followed in its wake, but none have left such an impression as this.
Matthew is a features writer for Collider currently based in Manchester. In his spare time he likes to read, write, obsess over Batman and complain about his Wordle score.
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