A Lesson in Letting Things Be: A study of Antônio Carlos Jobim 's "Aguas de Março" in Film

*Warning: Contains spoilers*

Watch Other People's Children (2022) and The Worst Person in the World (2021) to the end, and you'll notice one rather stark commonality in their ending scenes. You'll find that both films feature renditions of Antônio Carlos Jobim's 1972 hit "Aguas de Março" or "Waters of March" as their song choice for their last scene. A little side note: this song is also featured in Universal Spain's La Familia Perfecta (2021) but was played in the opening scene as a character practices a speech. Due to the placement of Jobim's song as a background to a scene in the beginning rather than at the end, we will focus on unraveling the effect of this song on the two aforementioned films.

Other People's Children and The Worst Person in the World were released into the public in close proximity to one another. The first came in 2022, while the other came the year prior. My first question resided whether there existed an opportunistic nature to such close release dates or if it was a mere coincidence, perhaps even if their appearance was owed to a resurgence in the song's appreciation during these Covid years. Following quite a bit of research, I was unable to find any correlation between the two regarding their direct relationship. However, their application of the song at the very end of their movies seems all too opportunistic. What is so special about this song that both directors chose it as their last scenes' song? Even more so, why the English and French versions? What significance do these versions place on the final takeaways of the films' plots? Does it help us sympathize with the characters? Or do they serve as instigators for our own self-reflection?

As I have underlined, Jobim's 1972 tune was adapted into a variety of languages, with the most commonly featured version being Georges Moustaki's "Les Eaux de Mars." The song features a downward progression in its melody, signified by a descending Shepard tone where the song's tone appears to descend in pitch, especially owed to a change in frequency alongside a Tritone Paradox, where the singer sings in a language that is perceived to start and end in varied intonations depending on the linguistic understandings of the listener. Taking Moustaki's version as an example, the French-Egyptian singer ends each of his lines with a tone that appears open-ended, leading to the illusion of a descending mood, a song that is almost literally creating a moving image of the exact phenomenons he mentions each line. As a number of sources have discovered, the lyrics are a montage or a collage. Despite the song's adapted nature, where the lyrics change according to the language of the song, they all evoke a figurative cascade, a montage, or a collage of images of things (as many sources have noted). This is in part rendered through the use of "It's," "A's," and "The's," "C'est," "Un(e)," "Le/La," or “É…” (“[It] is…”) in the Portuguese original. Take the French version featured in Other People's Children (2022) as an example:

The lyrics become a cascade of the small characteristics we see of nature as we take our habitual strolls. As Moustaki includes in the first and last verses:

Un pas, une pierre, un chemin qui chemine (A step, a stone, an unfolding path)

Un reste de racine, c'est un peu solitaire (What is left of a root, feels a bit lonely)

C'est un éclat de verre, c'est la vie, le soleil (It's a glass splinter, it’s life, it’s the sun)

C'est la mort, le sommeil, c'est un piège entrouvert (It's death, it's the sleep, it's a half-open trap)

C'est l'hiver qui s'efface, la fin d'une saison (It's the fading winter, the end of a season)

C'est la neige qui fond, ce sont les eaux de Mars ( It's the thawing snow, it's the waters of March )

La promesse de vie, le mystère profond (The promise of life, the deep mystery)

Ce sont les eaux de mars dans ton cœur tout au fond (It's the waters of March at the very bottom of your heart)

In the English version sung by Art Garfunkel, which is featured in The Worst Person in the World (2021), the lyrics are changed to:

A sliver of glass, a life, the sun

A night, a death, the end of the run

And the riverbank talks of the Waters of March

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

The application of weather metaphors as a practice in literature is not uncommon. The metaphor of rain as life seemingly crawls out of the song by the very end, though it is never explicitly tied together. As Frances Livings noted of the origin of the song, Jobim was traveling to his family ranch in the state of Rio de Janeiro when a heavy rainstorm turned the roads and landscape into mud. It is featured in the original version as" It’s the mud, it’s the mud…” which is a reference to the heavy rains in the 3rd month; the end of summer, and the beginning of the Autumn season in Brazil.

Both the French and English versions include sentiments of loneliness and express the varied situations and sights we would come across that may put a stump on our day. However, it is the English version that carries a more optimistic tone. The "Promise of Spring" is mentioned in the 14th verse. Spring, as even I impose on my poetry, portrays a sense of growth and renewal, especially considering the season's association with the blossoming of flowers and trees. It is understood that Jobim may have changed the lyrics in English to better suit the Universal audience, perhaps forming more generic associations for life and the sights we would most generally see on a daily. Still, it is how each verse ends with "It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart" that gives off a sign of hopefulness, the indubitable discovery of a light at the end of a tunnel. The French version looks at life as a mystery. To Moustaki, the sight of the waters or the rain of March is likened to a memory one should keep in one's heart. It is a modicum of our day that plays a role in our lives, however small. Perhaps an acceptance that life will always have its gloomy moments, that rain, or life is not always going to make you feel pleasant, and that is okay because that is what makes our lives beautiful.

Now that we have established the difference in lyrics and perhaps the effect of the two songs, there must be some light shed on the two films' choice of one version of the song over the other. So, why did the Norwegian film directed by Joachim Trier choose the English version over the French version? The reason may have been unintentional. Maybe it was easiest to understand and more universal for its English language? Or perhaps Trier chose this song for its optimistic ending? Without any clear verification, we could at least study the effect Garfunkel's version gives the scene.

In The Worst Person in the World, the song begins at the timestamp [2:00:54]. Here, the protagonist, Julie, played by Renate Reinsve, packs away her camera equipment when she gazes out the window and, unbeknownst to her, sees her ex, Eivind (Herbert Nordrum). The pieces of the puzzle fall swiftly behind this unexpected sight. He is pushing a buggy and carries a newborn baby. The young actress (Ruby Dagnall) appears, and we see Eivind pass the baby to her. We follow a closeup of her face in the beginning. She is gobsmacked. The camera pans back to her face once we realize her ex is the father of the newborn baby and that he has moved on, to our surprise, with the actress with whom Julie had just worked. Julie shifts her weight from one leg to the other. She parts her lips slightly as she gazes wide-eyed at the scene before her. There is a sliver of curiosity. Not once do her eyebrows furrow in jealously. Rather, she appears surprised and amused, especially after believing in the past that, like herself, Eivind did not want his own kids. By the end of it, she appears to accept the situation. She somewhat smiles, regaining control of her lips as she regains control of her stance, pressing her right arm on the wall by the window. She falls into an inner monologue that appears to insinuate a "Well, at least he is happy."

As the song continues, we follow her back to her apartment as she puts down her bags and throws her coat onto the sofa. She gets onto her computer and gets started on editing the pictures of the actress she had just taken pictures of. The camera shows Julie's computer as she pulls up the first image of the actress whose lips are pressed together, giving off a repressed stern expression. the camera switches to Julie, who tilts her head to the side in a quick reaction, pensive of the actress's unique expression or perhaps, accepting that this is the woman who got her ex and this is how she looks. The film ends as the camera pans out, showing the protagonist hard at work.

Throughout the film, we meet Julie. She appears to embody the characteristics of the worst person in the world, especially as she is a young woman who never sees things through, as she admits in [1:50:53]. This is reflected in the first few minutes of the film where we see her switch majors in university, then in her love life as well. She disregards her lover, the model she photographs in the beginning and stays long the night in conversation with this new man, her future partner, Aksel, played by Anders Danielsen Lie. She doesn't bother to bond with the children at Aksel's family home, and she develops feelings for someone else, Eivind, near the end of her relationship with him. Moreover, she is unapologetically adamant about her disinterest in having kids. She battles with this desire and the right thing to do when she falls pregnant with Eivind's child, and when a fateful shower shows her that she has miscarried, she lets out a sigh of relief and smiles. But like her ex, Aksel, says otherwise to Julie, "Your a damn good person" [1:49:47].

One might observe Julie's revelation and believe that she deserved this for all her inconsideration, but in one respect, the director, Trier, was simply making a remark on humanity, and Julie was our prime example of the naturally flawed human being. She made the decisions she did because that's what she felt was right. She only followed her heart, and are we to feel guilt for doing so when we are so constantly fed this advice to follow our hearts? Trier doesn't want us to dwell on the consequences of Julie's actions or mistakes. he didn't want us to come away from the film with that pessimistic view, and perhaps that is why he chose Garfunkel's version. Life is not necessarily a neverending mystery that we have to accept. We shouldn't live strained by our pasts either. It is the age-old moral that things happen for a reason. We make the decisions that we do for a reason, even for the benefit of ourselves even if we don't know it. Once the heavy rain runs its course, it means that all the strains-- the petrichor, grey skies, and even the mud we would get on our expensive shoes won't have to faze us anymore because, after heavy rainfall, we'll always see the sun again, we'll see the light of day, and come back face to face with the scent of fresh flowers, and multicolored pastures.

On the other hand, Moustaki's rendition in Other People's Children begins in [1:38:55] as Rachel leaves the restaurant swiftly following a reunion with a former troubled student at a bistro. She runs out onto the road. A peaceful smile is plastered on her face as she gazes around the Parisian streets. Although she appears present, her eyes tell a different story. There are snippets of her in a faraway gaze, and as she marches closer to the camera, her expression becomes clearer. By [1:39:48], she turns her gaze downward, and the camera focuses on her breathing.

The film by Rebecca Zlotowski follows Rachel, a Jewish high school teacher who nears her 40s. She faces the dilemma of a ticking reproductive system. She doesn't have many eggs left, meaning she has less of a chance to have her own children. Things change for the better when she meets Ali (Roschdy Zem), a classmate in the guitar lessons she takes after school. They fall in love, and soon enough, she meets his 4-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Leila (Callie Ferreira-Goncalves). She begins to bond with her, and all the while, the realization that Ali could leave her anytime and have children whenever he wanted sets in. So, to solidify her relationship with Ali, she tries to bond with Leila, especially so that she'd see her as her own mother in the likelihood she is unable to have her own child. Unfortunately, things don't follow through as Ali decides to get back together with the estranged mother of Leila, Alice (Chiara Mastroianni). Still, Rachel is a good teacher. She has faith in her students, especially one troubled boy whom she helps find internships. She is a loving older sister and supports her sister when she accidentally falls pregnant and decides to have the child, even if it means acknowledging that her sister would have children before her.

Zlotowski may have chosen this song not only to suit the fluctuating moods of the story but also to enable us to empathize with her. By the end of the film, we see Rachel alone. She is no longer with Ali, and that security of getting closer to the dream of having her own children is clouded, yet, life moves on for her. The impact of Moustaki's version fits perfectly with Rachel's story. Like her, we are constantly unsure of what lies ahead of our lives, yet we live on. In the last visit Rachel makes to her gynecologist, played by American documentary filmmaker Frederik Wiseman, they speak about Ali, and Rachel says, "Mais oui. Ouai on verra. La vie courte et longue."The gynecologist emphasizes, "Oui, la vie est longue," and Rachel returns a polite smile [1:30:37-58]. She continues to focus on her present. She continues to support her family, and she takes pride in making a good impact on her students. So though she may not be in a relationship with someone, though she may not (yet) be a mother, and she feels alone, the ability to live life and face all these challenges and phenomenons is enough to show her, show us, that these mysteries in life are meant to be lessons we take with us in every obstacle. Hence, life is an enormous mystery with even more to mystery look forward to.

So, what makes Jobim's song an appealing choice for the films in this article?

In both films, the camera focuses on the women's breathing. Paced and self-soothing. The application of Jobim's song heightens the evocation of this similarity. The song accompanies them, giving reason to their paced breathing, like a version of therapy though more so directed for our own understanding than for the protagonists. For Jobim himself, the song had been a version of therapy. As he had divulged to composer-guitarist Oscar Castro-Neves, the song had saved him thousands in psychoanalysis bills. But in these two cases, his song accompanies the women's wordlessness and gives their breathing a voice. No words have to be spoken to understand the inner monologues that these women partake in. Both women stumble across people from their past that remind them, though of different scenarios, they are faced with a reflection of their influences, the time they had with these people, and what she knows about them. The difference is apparent in the varied stages the characters find themselves in life. Julie has just turned 30, and her career in photography is only beginning, and so may her love life as she doesn't care to have kids. Whereas, Rachel, close to 40, has had a long career in teaching, yearns to be in love, especially as she now faces a dilemma of not being able to have kids. Furthermore, the difference is in the people they encounter right before the ending sequences and the start of Jobim's song. Julie sees the man who she believed neither wanted children to have a child. He is a reminder of a lost love. Rachel meets a former student played by Victor Lefebvre coincidence and is faced with a reminder of the impact she has made on a student, of the little good that she has done in life. But the overall message both women receive is how people change and grow and how they themselves do grow and must let themselves grow as life runs its often unlovable course. Observing the women's reactions through the lens of Jobim's songs, they reflect on their would-have beens. They reflect on how different their lives have turned out and how much has changed. The song offers these moments a smidge of tranquility and poses to us the possibility that as these women breathed, they took in a little acceptance of the inexplainable and continued to live. Perhaps, this is the real reason behind the features of these songs. By coincidence, as we face the dread of COVID-19, we needed a little reminder for us, just as much as the women in the films, to take in our own inexplicable moments and breathe.

Sources:

• https://cassette-stack.com/antonio-carlos-jobim-waters-of-march/

• https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waters_of_March

• https://franceslivings.com/waters-of-march-3/

• https://franceslivings.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Les-Eaux-de-Mars-Jobim-Moustaki.pdf

• https://genius.com/Antonio-carlos-jobim-waters-of-march-aguas-de-marco-lyrics

• https://genius.com/Art-garfunkel-waters-of-march-lyrics

• https://www.connectbrazil.com/the-waters-of-march-the-story-behind-the-song/

• https://www.sciencesnail.com/philosophy/an-analysis-of-waters-of-march

• https://songoftheweekblog.wordpress.com/2013/09/01/song-of-the-week-51-aguas-de-marco-waters-of-march-tom-jobim/