The Masculine, the Feminine, and the Sea Worthy

The Masculine, the Feminine, and the Sea Worthy:
Attention to Gender Roles in Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante



















Caitlin Burke
999214658
September 30, 2005
Boys will be boys, as the common adage prescribes. Without too much extrapolation, one may conclude that similarly, girls will be girls. As World War II upset the gender equity in most involved nations, gender roles were forgone in favor of pragmatism. Yet, pre-World War II love stories usually adhere to a stringent outline of trite occurrences: boy and girl are married in the church, with a white dress and a tuxedo, and everyone lives happily ever after in a house with many children. Husband goes to work, Wife keeps house. This may anger the more modernist train of thought that entitles women to the same agency granted to men, but considered contextually, this perspective does not defy tradition. Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante, made in 1934 (just as the storm clouds of the great conflict began to brew) would do well for itself to follow these conventions and exist as a relatively simple romance. What makes L’Atalante remarkable in this sense is its subversion of the expected. Dudley Andrews indicates in his article “Fever of an Infectious Film: L'Atalante and the Aesthetics of Spontaneity” that the titular ship herself possesses characteristics of both the masculine and feminine. (Andrews, 63)However, those aboard the ship, even when they disembark, cannot maintain a duality of gender. They are human, after all, and naturally must ascribe to one or the other. Nevertheless, throughout L’Atalante, socially prescribed gender roles are subverted and reversed by the three main characters: Jean, Juliette, and Pere Jules.
It is a maritime tradition to refer to the ship or boat, an inanimate object, with female pronouns. Because inanimate objects are generally genderless, the context of such a reference is ignored and acknowledged simply as a convention of the language of the sea. While a ship may always be prescribed the female gender, this does not take into account the abstract fulfillment of both gender roles by the vessel. Actively, Atalante the ship takes on the male role as the penetrator- bearing through the waves, pushing its way through a series of locks and canals. In a passive sense, the ship is female. She is under the physical control of a crew of men who dictate her every action. But avoiding sexual associations, the ship Atalante is feminine below decks, serving as a resting place for her “family” and providing them protection from the elements. The physical nature of the ship has a duality of gender roles as well: she is, like a mother, a home; yet like a patriarch, she is the means of employment and the sole source of income for her crew-family.
Early in their time aboard the ship, even whilst boarding the ship, Jean and Juliette effortlessly present the ideal of masculine and feminine. Like a proper bride, Juliette enters the harbor in her white dress, and as tradition dictates, her groom “carries her over the threshold” of their new marital dwelling. Granted, Juliette swings over to her home on the water on the boom of the mast, but Jean has brought her over, albeit through mechanical manipulation, and thus the wedding tradition is safely enacted. At this point, gender roles are established concurrently with sexual roles: Jean is male, masculine, and the husband/dominant/provider; Juliette is female, feminine and the wife/submissive/caretaker, and Jules is also a representation of the male/masculine. The ship’s fourth crew member is also male, yet his role in the film is so negligible that for the purpose of this paper, his gender significance will not be discussed. He is referred to as “the child” and exists in relative neutrality. Even the way in which they refer to each other carries gender connotations, as Juliette is the “boss-lady”, Jean is the “boss” or dominant, and Jules is “papa”. Juliette, like any good housewife, sets to work in her unusual home at traditional domestic tasks, and attempts to gather the ship’s laundry, indignant that they have left this task dormant for so long. It is here that the first step outside the boundaries of gender roles occurs. Jules appears quite frustrated that Juliette wants to do his wash, as expresses he has always done his own before and the addition of a woman to his environment will not limit his self sufficiency. Here, Jules refuses to give up his traditionally domestic work of cleaning laundry, yet it is not apparently so much subversion because he is fighting for control; his birthright as one gendered male.
Nowhere more in L’Atalante is there a better visual and contextual representation of the lack of concern over society’s gender prescriptions then right before the ship docks in Paris. Jules arrives late, and Juliette as provider hands him his plate; the crew eats as a family. The scene is quite domestic, barrign the fact that it takes place in the hold of a ship. This subtle deviation from normalcy paves the way for further deviations. The framing of the shot shows nothing out of the ordinary; in fact, it almost over emphasizes the attention to which the characters are behaving appropriately. “The first third of the film is dominated by Jean’s authority and his desire. As spectators we are all too ready to accommodate him and his desire to frame and possess Juliette.” (Andrews, 72) Juliette is constantly framed by two objects: first her husband and the wall, then two wine bottles, then Jean and the right side wine bottle. The men in the scene may have one side blocked off by a wall or another individual, but they are usually not completely framed, as is Juliette. Interestingly, that which frames her is usually an object of the household- a pitcher, a wine bottle, a chair, as if she is being fenced in by her domestic position. The lighting is consistent with how it has appeared throughout the rest of the film, with bright fills illuminating Juliette and setting her apart visually from the men, who are allowed to exist in greater depth. As the meal ends and the characters exit, the strict control over gender roles dictated by this domestic activity is loosened. Juliette crosses the screen to sit at her sewing machine, and she is shot so that she appears to diagonally intersect all of the other vertical planes in the image; in a sense, she is free. However, the camera follows her in her descent down the stairs, as if she can not escape its watchful eye. As there are few camera movements in the film, this motion is significant and noticeable. She is seen for one of the first times in the film in a less direct, bright lighting, and her typical glow is notably absent. Jules follows her, still shot slightly from below. This gives the impression that his size and masculinity are notable contrasts against and are imposing upon Juliette’s more delicate female form. When he sits next to her at the sewing machine, although there is still notable contrast between his broad back and hers, they are on the same plane. “At Juliette’s sewing machine, he is quickly by turns more domestic than she… the narrative cannot hope to enclose either this character or this actor; he is a signifier of the excess of life over history.”(Andrews, 61) Throughout this sequence, the characters are either depicted in a two-shot or a medium or long shot. This is a marked difference from the rest of the film, which frequently cuts to medium close ups of Juliette’s face. In this scene, as she and Jules take a departure from their gender expectations, Juliette does not have to play the role of the idealized female, and can be a major player in a scene without being subject to an unhindered gaze. The uniform view of both Juliette and Jules, as well as the uniform lighting, establishes that at this point in the scene, they are equals, neither dominant nor submissive. “This is the film’s most important development: the emergence of Jules as the character of beauty and mystery, displacing Juliette as the primary object of our gaze.” (Andrews, 73)
Still ambiguously presenting both characters within their associated genders, the sequence picks up as these conventions are left behind. After Jules is sitting at Juliette’s level, she suggests he is accomplished in all trades, slightly poking fun at his skill at a traditionally domestic, thus feminine, task. His response is to assert his dominance, strangling her in jest; an assertion that masculine hands that create may also destroy. This very masculine gesture is the turning point of the sequence, and the point at which Jules’ departure into the noticeably feminine begins. Juliette takes on the role of the superior, and pushes Jules to the ground. He is then shot from slightly above, diminishing his size (as is typically done for Juliette.) Additionally, while he is on the floor, Jules is framed between the table leg and a chair, taking on the posture of confinement the audience has seen exhibited by Juliette mere minutes earlier. He rises, and regains his stature and masculinity, yet he is still framed by the table and wall, indicating he has not completely returned to the position of dominant male. The purgatory between genders in which Jules exists is taken advantage of by Juliette, who wraps her skirt around his waist, relegating him once again to the feminine role. A change in lighting, bringing Jules into the brighter, fuller light usually reserved for close-ups of Juliette, is a further visual indication of this role switch. Jules’ behavior takes on a more feminine tone as he models the skirt, his typical awkwardness remains, but he giggles freely and prances about, definitely not modeling machismo as the latest Parisian fashion. Juliette’s back is to the camera and the only form to gaze upon or idealize in the way that the audience had the privilege with Juliette throughout the film is the now feminized Jules. “Reaction shots of Juliette reverse her role so that suddenly we find the need to go beyond her as image of our desire.” (Andrews, 73) He is shot from above as he sings and sways his hips, diminished by this camera angle to appear smaller. Similarly, as Juliette hems the skirt, her back fills up much of the frame, commanding the amount of space in the frame previously only occupied by male characters.
Even though they play at assuming each other’s gender specified characteristics, it is all a farce. In his silliness with the skirt, Jules and Juliette get into a tugging match over the material. He then fans at her with the skirt as if she were a bull. At this point, Jules is stooped over and parallel to Juliette, indicating their parallel status with neither as dominant. It is this moment of equality that is the second turning point in the sequence and marks the return to the expected roles of masculine and feminine. After wrestling the skirt away from Jules, Juliette becomes the domestic again, handing him his laundry. His back is now to the camera, and her face is in full view, for one of the first times in this sequence. He rises in front of the camera to take back his clothes, and fills the screen, once again the imposing male form he was at the beginning of the sequence. As the sequence ends with Juliette returning to her chores and Jules to work, their return to traditional roles is not acknowledged. The camera projects its traditional angles, and the film continues on seamlessly as before this interruption.
Calling the ship Atalante home, there is relatively little that Jules, Juliette and Jean do that can truly be considered a step outside gender conventions. But what of when they take leave of the ship, and, in doing so, each other’s company? Angered by Juliette’s behavior in Paris, Jean rashly decides to set sail without her, leaving her completely removed from the nurturing confines of the Atalante. Initially, Juliette’s reaction is not outside feminine norms: she worriedly searches for the ship, and falls victim to a purse snatcher. But left without resources, Juliette does not cater any further to her role as damsel in distress. She instead takes the offensive, even if this means breaking out of her role as wife and domestic. She wanders Paris searching for work. This was not uncommon in the depression era in which the film is set, yet Vigo makes a point about the unconventional nature of Juliette’s position by casting her unemployed sympathizers as all male. Even in the throes of a depression, Vigo comments visually, few women found their way onto a work line. Meanwhile, employment has become a potential matter of concern for Jean as well. He is distraught over his desertion of his love, and it is reflected in his work and his unkempt appearance. The owner of the shipping company makes it clear to Jules that Jean’s tenure with the company will be short lived unless there is a marked improvement in his performance. This suggests a potential reversal: were he to return to Juliette, she would be both his caretaker and the provider of the singular income which would have typically been the duty of the male partner. Juliette’s absorption of both roles would certainly have proved emasculating, furthering the complications of the situation. Although modern times make conceptualizing women as weak, flighty and emotional totally inappropriate, at the loss of Juliette, Jean’s breakdown and irrational behavior could be considered a “womanly” or weak reaction to stress. Luckily, the couple’s reunification allows both to quietly return to their prescribed roles within the relationship without questioning one another’s recent gender subversions.
As desperate times call for desperate measures, unusual conditions force the usually conventional to sidestep social restrictions and act out of necessity. The unique situation in which the crew of the Atalante find themselves makes conformity to gender roles impractical. Actions are performed out of need and desire, and survival does not care much for social niceties. Because of the unconventional climate aboard and surrounding the ship in L’Atalante, it is not unseemly for Jean Vigo’s principle characters Jules, Jean and Juliette to take a cue from the dual gendered significance of the ship to ignore, subvert, and refuse to subscribe to traditionally dictated gender roles.

Works Cited:
Andrews, Dudley. “Fever of an Infectious Film: L'Atalante and the Aesthetics of Spontaneity.” Pages cited in work.