The Gleaners and I

What does it mean to glean? Varda, a titan of the French New Wave whose career began long before our beloved VHS era (Cléo from 5 to 7 (1962) remains a landmark), picks up this ancient concept – the right to gather leftover crops after the harvest – and follows its thread into modern France. Armed with a new, lightweight digital camera (a novelty at the time that felt almost liberating in its portability compared to cumbersome film equipment), she becomes a gleaner herself. Not just of images and stories, but of insights into humanity. She finds people gleaning potatoes, scavenging in market refuse, pulling discarded appliances from rubbish heaps. But Varda expands the definition: artists are gleaners, repurposing discarded objects; filmmakers, like herself, glean moments, expressions, truths. Isn't that what we do, in a way, revisiting these older films, gleaning joy and meaning from celluloid past?

The film is utterly inseparable from Varda herself. She’s not an invisible observer behind the lens; she's right there with us, her curiosity infectious, her voice-over a warm, inquisitive guide. There's a profound moment where she focuses on her own aging hands, noticing the wrinkles, the liver spots. It's not morbid; it's reflective, a tender observation on time passing, mirroring the discarded objects and often marginalized people she encounters. This transition to digital video wasn't just a technical choice; it allowed for an intimacy and immediacy. Varda could react spontaneously, capturing fleeting moments – a heart-shaped potato, the defiant pride in a scavenger's eyes, her own accidental capture of the lens cap dangling (the famous "dance of the lens cap"). This felt revolutionary, a far cry from the often more staged feel of larger productions. Her presence is the film’s anchor, grounding the potentially disparate stories in a unified, deeply personal vision.

Through Varda’s gentle lens, The Gleaners and I becomes a profound meditation on waste, consumerism, poverty, art, and the simple dignity of making do. She interviews judges, lawyers, and historians about the ancient laws of gleaning, contrasting it with the often harsh realities faced by modern gleaners navigating supermarket dumpsters and societal judgment. There's no preachiness here, just observation and empathy. We meet fascinating characters – a man who lives entirely off salvaged food and teaches others, artists creating sculptures from trash, a poignant figure surviving on the fringes. Each encounter feels authentic, unforced. Varda doesn't romanticize poverty, but she finds resilience, resourcefulness, and unexpected beauty. The film asks us, subtly, to consider what we discard, both materially and perhaps conceptually. What value do we overlook in our relentless pursuit of the new?

While The Gleaners and I arrived on DVD rather than VHS for most, its spirit feels aligned with the best kind of cinematic discovery. It’s a film made with passion, curiosity, and a deep love for the human condition, much like the independent gems or overlooked studio flicks we might have stumbled upon during a marathon video rental session. Varda, who sadly left us in 2019, remained a vital creative force throughout her life, and this film captures her essence perfectly – playful, intelligent, compassionate, and endlessly curious about the world and its inhabitants. It wasn't a box office smash in the traditional sense, but its impact on documentary filmmaking and its quiet power have ensured its enduring legacy. It reminds us that potent stories don't always need massive budgets or explosions; sometimes, all it takes is a keen eye, an open heart, and a willingness to look where others don't.

This rating reflects the film's profound humanity, Agnès Varda's masterful and deeply personal directorial style, and its thought-provoking exploration of consumption, waste, and finding value in unexpected places. Its intimacy, achieved partly through the then-new digital technology, feels both innovative for its time and timeless in its connection. It loses a single point only in the context of pure "VHS Heaven" escapism – it demands reflection rather than providing genre thrills, but its quality and spirit earn its place as a cherished discovery.

Final Thought: The Gleaners and I lingers long after viewing, not just as a film, but as a gentle nudge to look closer at the world around us, perhaps finding our own treasures hidden in plain sight.