Before Sunrise (1995)

On the quiet, Richard Linklater has carved out a deeply impressive directorial career over the years. From his breakout hit 'Dazed & Confused' (1993) to the 12 year odyssey (and Academy Awards darling) 'Boyhood' (2013), he has not only brought a completely original style to cinema but is probably one of the few auteurs birthed in the 90s independent film movement who manages to have written and directed a wide, varied, cannon of work.  

To further illustrate this point, after the success of 'Dazed & Confused' - one of the great high-school, teen, stoner ensemble films of all time - he took an instant about turn and made an understated romantic drama featuring two people talking for an hour and forty minutes. In other hands, this concept might have been insufferable. In the capable hands of Linklater, it is anything but. 

It sounds hard to believe here in 2026, but there used to be a time when a lot of films were, gulp, dialogue-driven and, double-gulp, about human beings. Here we have nothing but these two things to focus on as American tourist Jesse, played by Ethan Hawke, meets French student Céline (Julie Delpy) on a Eurail train traveling from Budapest to Paris. Crucially, Jesse is destined to depart at Vienna half way through the journey to catch his plane home and Celine is on her way home to France after an excursion across Europe. Thanks to an arguing German couple, Celine moves seats and finds herself across the isle from a handsome American chap. They strike up a conversation and, after getting along quite famously, she decides to abandon her travel plans, albeit temporarily, and walk around Vienna with this handsome new stranger she's just met. His flight leaves in the morning so they only have one day/night to get to know each other and, as far as plot goes, that is about it. 

The magic here, of course, isn't in the plot. It is in the connection between our two leads, which feels absolutely effortless, and the feeling evoked as these two souls connect over the course of one day. Now, it cannot be stressed enough that this is an extremely difficult thing to pull off. You not only have to write dialogue that doesn't feel contrived or forced in any way, you have to make both of the characters immensely watchable.  We, the audience, need to be fascinated by them otherwise you're going to be in for the longest 1 hour and 41 minutes of your life. Luckily the entire thing is handled quite beautifully on both fronts. The dialogue rarely feels contrived and the performances feel naturalistic to the point of voyeurism - you feel like a fly on the wall genuinely watching two people get to know each other.  

Linklater himself said of the performances that no one will ever know how hard Hawke and Delpy worked on this film because, indeed, it all feels so effortless and that, Linklater argues, is the greatest compliment an actor can receive. Watching this film now, it's hard to argue. You do forget that there is a large camera pointed at them and a boom over their heads recording everything, and lots of blokes in cargo shorts holding things together with bits of tape, let alone that they are saying dialogue they have both memorized from a script. It really is a remarkable feat of acting from both leads in that regard. You just.....forget. And isn't that why we all watch films in the first place? 

The cinematography, as you might by now expect, feels like there wasn't a light rigged throughout the entire film but is shot with such a steady hand that the streets of Vienna almost feel like the third character of the film. Of course they run into the odd peripheral person here and there, which might have been tempting to turn into some sort of wacky or life-changing moment. But this film never succumbs to that temptation, instead relying on the normal to move us. These things feel like they can and have happened to all of us and, as such, results in a richly rewarding and evocative viewing experience. 

For example, one of the most poignant scenes in the film takes place in the listening booth of a record store. Throughout the film, we hear only the occasional moments of orchestral overtures as a musical backdrop, but the one moment where a pop song creeps in - the term pop being applied in the loosest possible terms - is this scene, where Jesse and Celine stand next to each other listening to 'Come Here' by Kath Bloom (so, not really a pop song at all). There is zero dialogue in this scene, but everything you need to know is there - they awkwardly try to make eye contact, avoid eye contact, laugh, be serious, maybe kiss? It's an almost note-perfect depiction of when you get inside acceptable body contact distance with someone you like. A feeling that just about all sentient beings can surely relate to. 

Moments like these make this film a true standout in the genre. Even though it didn't do much business upon it's initial release - largely due to a woeful marketing campaign featuring one of the worst movie posters of all time (see above) and a trailer which tried to make it look more like a hot couple's romp around Europe soundtracked by Sugar Ray - it has since become something of a cult classic and for good reason. It is a joy to watch a relatively young director at the time really force himself to avoid pushing the 'look at me, I'm directing!' button and just let the story do the talking. The result makes for a completely spellbinding little film that creeps up on you, and leaves a lingering, indelible mark by the end. It features two outstanding lead performances and, if you're paying attention, provides a bit of a masterclass in the art of film making. 

★★★★☆

JB.