
1977 · Agnès Varda
For when you want to feel hopeful about people — sisterhood, second acts, lives choosing themselves. A comfort film with a spine.
Two young women meet in early-1960s Paris when one helps the other pay for an illegal abortion, then lose touch — and find each other again as the French women's movement remakes the world around them. Over fifteen years, Pomme becomes a traveling singer performing joyous, defiant songs about women's lives, while Suzanne builds herself into a community worker; the film follows their friendship, sustained mostly by postcards, through love, work, motherhood, and change.
Warm, buoyant, and quietly radical — a film about a political era that feels like catching up with old friends. The songs are funny and disarming, and the whole thing leaves you lighter than its subject matter has any right to.
Valérie Mairesse's Pomme is pure appetite for life, and Thérèse Liotard gives Suzanne a hard-won steadiness; the film lives in the contrast between them.
Varda wrote the lyrics to Pomme's songs herself — sung from flatbed trucks and country stages — and folds real history into fiction, including a restaging of the 1972 trial that helped change France's abortion law, which she had campaigned around in real life. It moves with the ease of a musical and the honesty of a diary.
Made by a filmmaker who was inside the movement she was filming, it stands as one of the defining feminist films of the 1970s and one of Varda's most beloved works.
Reception & legacy: how One Sings, the Other Doesn't was received, argued over, and remembered →
Agnès Varda's feminist musical — and it is, unashamedly, both of those things — follows two friends, the irrepressible Pomme and the graver Suzanne, from a Paris photographer's studio in 1962 through the tumult of the French women's movement, meeting and parting across fifteen years. Varda was no observer of that history: she had signed the Manifesto of the 343 admitting to an illegal abortion, and the film restages the 1972 Bobigny trial that helped force the law's change. Yet nothing here is a tract. Varda wrote the lyrics to Pomme's songs herself — buoyant, funny declarations of bodily self-possession delivered from flatbed trucks and country stages — and lets a whole political era pass through the medium of a friendship sustained mostly by postcards. Where her Left Bank contemporaries theorized, Varda embodied; the film's radicalism is its warmth, its conviction that liberation might look like sunlight, pregnancy chosen freely, and two women waving across a crowd. It remains the New Wave's fullest answer to the question of what a woman's life is for.
Lines of influence