THE FILM
There are films that burrow into your mind with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is not one of them. It floats, it lilts, it hums its way into your ribcage and decides to stay there for decades. Jacques Demy’s 1964 pastel melodrama; his third feature and his first in color; might just be the cinematic equivalent of a heartbreak set to music in a candy shop. Yes, every line of dialogue is sung. Yes, it’s wall-to-wall Michel Legrand score. Yes, it’s “technicolor opera,” which sounds exhausting in theory but plays like emotional acupuncture in practice. And yes, it will wreck you just like the iconic episode of Futurama did where they played the same song, “I Will Wait For You” that was originally featured in this film.
Let me be honest. I was not prepared. I thought I was about to watch a quaint French musical about umbrellas. I did not expect to be curled into the fetal position forty-five minutes later, quietly mouthing “Je ne pourrai jamais vivre sans toi” while reconsidering every decision I’d ever made in my early twenties.
The story is simple, which is to say it’s devastating: Geneviève (played by a luminous, porcelain Catherine Deneuve, barely 20 and already glowing with cinematic myth), works in her mother’s umbrella boutique in Cherbourg. A boy named Guy (Nino Castelnuovo, a human heartthrob in mechanic’s overalls) loves her. She loves him. Her mother disapproves, because of course she does. He gets drafted into the Algerian War, which is cinematic code for “you will not get the ending you think you deserve.” Before he leaves, they do what lovers in French films often do before war: they promise forever and have sex.
The train station farewell is, how do I put this delicately, an emotional mugging. It is the Casablanca goodbye without Bogart’s stoicism; just raw, teary-eyed young love being pulled apart by fate and poor geopolitical timing.
And then: silence. From Guy. Letters unanswered. Geneviève, pregnant, vulnerable, is courted by Roland; the wealthy suitor with the face of a man who can afford decisions. You might remember him from Demy’s earlier film Lola (cinematic universes existed in France before Marvel was a glint in a studio exec’s eye). Roland is kind. Geneviève, perhaps realizing that waiting on a war is a risky long game, marries him. You can’t really blame her. And yet, you will. A little.
Guy returns, battered, emotionally and physically. The umbrella shop has shuttered. Geneviève is gone. His beloved aunt dies. Madeleine, the caretaker who’s always harbored a quiet affection for him (because of course she has), offers him a new chapter. And so they marry. They have a child. They open a gas station. Life goes on. But then… a car pulls in. And out steps Geneviève. Older. Glossier. Holding a child; named the same as Guy’s.
They speak. It’s snowing. They say goodbye. That’s it. And yet it’s everything.
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is not a musical, not really. It’s an operatic sigh. It’s The Wonder Years if Kevin and Winnie never even got their final makeout session. It’s a film that understands that love doesn’t always end because it fades. Sometimes it ends because of time, of timing, of terrible postal service. Demy directs not with sentimentality but with precise romanticism; he knows exactly where to place the ache.
It’s no surprise that Don Draper watched it in Mad Men. Of course he did. The man is a walking Demy protagonist; well-dressed, emotionally fractured, forever haunted by the better life that could’ve been. This is a film tailor-made for people who’ve known love, lost love, and then convinced themselves they’re fine about it over cocktails and brunch.
But The Umbrellas of Cherbourg knows. It knows you’re not fine. And it dares you to admit it; with flutes, violins, and heartbreaking harmonies in D major.
I can still hear the score echoing in my head. Or maybe it’s the sound of a pink umbrella opening in the rain. Either way, I don’t think I’ll ever recover. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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THE VIDEO
There’s a particular shade of pink; a sort of wistful, watermelon-sherbet pastel; that lives somewhere between memory and magic. That shade has never looked better than it does now, thanks to The Umbrellas of Cherbourg getting the Criterion Collection’s royal treatment in 4K UHD, a phrase that sounds clinical but feels, in this case, almost spiritual. Yes, Jacques Demy’s tragic lullaby of a film has returned, not just remastered but reborn; like finding your favorite old love letter printed on silk instead of lined notebook paper.
Criterion, the cinematic equivalent of your most cultured friend who always brings the best wine and never posts on social media, has done it again. They’ve unearthed the original 35mm camera negative and, under the watchful eye of Demy’s own son, Mathieu, created a brand-new 2160p UHD transfer with such clarity and reverence, you half expect Geneviève to step out of the screen and sell you an umbrella (or break your heart all over again). Presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio, this is not just an upgrade from the 2014 Blu-ray (part of the beloved but now slightly outdated Essential Jacques Demy box set). This is a resurrection. The colors are richer. The pastels bolder. The blacks; inky enough to write sonnets on. And the skin tones? Dreamlike. Not “Instagram filter” dreamlike; more like “shot through the lens of a fondly remembered summer fling” dreamlike.
It’s not just the big things, either. It’s the small moments; stray threads on Deneuve’s coat, the glint of a mechanic’s wrench, the slight crack in Madame Emery’s disapproving smile; that now shimmer with almost unbearable intimacy. Details you didn’t know you missed are suddenly front and center, whispering, “You were never really paying attention, were you?” Is there Dolby Vision? No. HDR10? Also no. But the colors pop with the sort of theatricality that doesn’t need bells and whistles. It’s as if the film knew how beautiful it was all along; it just took us a decade and some technological evolution to finally see it properly. Criterion has, once again, made the case that films are not just meant to be watched; they’re meant to be cherished, preserved, and, every so often, polished until they glow like stained glass in a cathedral of lost love. If you’ve never seen The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, now’s the time. And if you’ve seen it a dozen times, this 4K disc will still feel like the first. Only sharper. Louder. Sadder. More alive.
THE AUDIO
It turns out that heartbreak has a frequency. And thanks to the Criterion Collection’s lovingly restored audio for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, you can now feel it shimmering through all five speakers and then some. According to Criterion; those meticulous archivists of cinematic grace; the 5.0 surround soundtrack was born anew from a set of three-track magnetic tapes dating back to 1963, discovered in the Universal Music Archive like a lost relic of French romantic despair. These tapes were transferred, buffed, and arranged into a DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 mix, along with a new Mono 1.0 option for purists who prefer their melancholy unadorned.
You get to choose your emotional weapon: enveloping surround sound or direct-to-soul mono. It’s like choosing between heartbreak at the opera or heartbreak in a smoky Parisian café. Both hurt beautifully. Whichever you select, the results are stunning. Dialogue in the French-language track is crystal clear, floating atop Michel Legrand’s kaleidoscopic score with the grace of Deneuve gliding through a pastel frame. The English subtitles, thank heavens, are sharp and sympathetic; no clunky phrasing, no emotional miscues. Just the right translation of longing. But the real revelation is the music.
When the first notes rise; delicate at first, then swelling like an emotional tsunami—you realize you’re not watching a film so much as being gently, gloriously drowned by it. The rear speakers come alive as each instrument joins the conversation: strings flutter behind you, woodwinds sneak in from the corners, the voices of lovers reverberate in harmonized sorrow. Every note is balanced. Every harmony lands. There’s no muddiness, no pop, no hiss. Just Legrand’s score lighting up the room like a chandelier in a velvet-lined heartbreak hotel. The low-frequency effects (LFE, for those who enjoy alphabet soup) hum in exactly when they’re supposed to; subtle, never showy. It’s as if your speakers, too, are slightly in love with Geneviève and Guy, and can’t help but sigh when they sing. There’s nothing sterile here, no overworked digital gloss. Just a masterful restoration of what always was: a musical heartbeat from 1964, now beating in 5.1 surround, ready to break your heart; gently, thoroughly, and in perfect harmony.
THE EXTRAS
- Once Upon a Time (HD, 55 Mins.)
- Rodney Hill (HD, 23 Mins.)
- Cinepanorama (HD, 12 Mins.)
- Michel Legrand at the National Film Theatre (HD, 27 Mins.)
- Catherine Deneuve at he National Film Theatre (HD, 12 Mins.)
- Restoration Demonstration (HD, 7 Mins.)
- Trailer (HD, 2 Mins.)
- Criterion Booklet
THE ULTIMATE WORD
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is one of those rare films that sings every single line; and still manages to sneak up and wallop you right in the chest. It’s heartbreak in Technicolor, choreographed to a waltz, and somehow it hurts more in 4K. Criterion, ever the heartbreak connoisseurs, has outdone themselves here. The new video transfer is luminous; pastels punchier than your therapist would advise; and the audio mix makes Michel Legrand’s score swirl around your living room like a lovesick ghost. The extras aren’t new, but they’re still excellent; like a well-worn love letter you keep rereading because it still makes your stomach flip. This release? Highly recommended. Especially if you like your romances sung, your regrets in high definition, and your tears Dolby-encoded.
