I knew nothing about this film and it has been decades since I read the works of Proust. I was idly curious (if not curiously idle),and grew fascinated with the lassitude and gravitas of the film. Like the films of Ingmar Berman, "Celeste" invites the viewer to immerse in the dreamy sea--metaphorically. The silence--for there is little talking in the movie, and much relentless ticking of clocks--is hypnotic and, if one is prepared to yield to it, nearly irresistible. Of course, this being a film about Proust (and his female counterpart, Celeste) Time is the real star of the show, and is both protagonist and antagonist, its passing alluded to in every scene. Because of the hush and languid pace of the film, the viewer has long moments in which to enter imaginatively into the scene and hear the echoes of the few words spoken and to observe and interpret the two characters' delicate, erotic dance.

I was surprised by how thoroughly this film enchanted me.

Céleste Albaret, born in 1881 in provincial France moved to Paris in 1913. At the suggestion of her husband, a taxi driver that counted Marcel Proust among his clients, Céleste began to run errands for the writer and eventually became his live-in housekeeper and later his secretary. Her job was no sinecure; as a housekeeper she had to adapt to Proust's nocturnal habits, and her secretarial duties included sorting and pasting loose manuscript pages so that they were ready for the publisher. She also managed Proust's dwindling social life. Later, as the writer's health deteriorated, she also took dictation. Céleste was present in Proust's cork-lined bedroom when he died in 1922. There are elements of Céleste in some Proust characters like the housekeeper Françoise.

Céleste was fiercely loyal to Proust's memory and never tried to cash in on her privileged knowledge. Almost fifty years later she was rediscovered by the literary establishment and persuaded to put her remembrances in writing. She accepted, her main motivation being that others had written about Proust not always truthfully, and she wanted to set the record straight. She had many taping sessions with journalist Georges Belmont and the result was the book Monsieur Proust, published in 1973.

Director Percy Adlon's job of making a film out of this work is not an easy one, since there is scarce action, and everything happens inside Proust's flat except for shots of the seaside Grand-Hôtel in Cabourg (inspiration for the fictional Balbec) and of the hazy light over the water that figures prominently in Proust's writing. Adlon rises to the challenge; the movie is slow and deliberate but nowhere boring and there is no hint of filmed theater. He is supported by outstanding cinematography, excellent acting (especially by Eva Mattes, playing the protagonist) and a flawless recreation of time and place. A superior movie.

It is hard to imagine a movie more devoid of energy than this one. Partly it is due to the subject matter--Marcel Proust's later life as an invalid. However, a slow paced movie idea to begin with was straddled with slow pacing and nearly no emotion whatsoever. How this could result in a movie that would appeal to anyone is beyond me.

So why 3 points and not less? Well, the acting is fine and the makeup people did a great job of making the actor that played Proust look like death warmed over--that's for sure. But, given that nearly all the movie takes place in his apartment, it is easy to see why the movie just didn't captivate me at all. With some infusion of energy OR some insights into Proust or his housekeeper, this could have been a much better picture.