Starring Agní¨s Varda. In French with English subtitles. Rating not available. Plays August 5 to 8 at the Vancity Theatre.

I stopped watching the Césars some years ago, when the Gallic glitterati at the French equivalent of the Oscars gave Agní¨s Varda a lifetime-achievement award in a manner so condescending it verged on contempt. Ironically, if her latest film is anything to go by, I was probably more upset by this gilded snub than she was. The woman that we see in The Beaches of Agní¨s is modest, humane, friendly, and incredibly down-to-earth.

Despite the tragically early death of her filmmaker husband, Jacques Demy, the woman who made the first nouvelle vague film five years before the term was even coined can still call on a surprisingly disparate group of friends (Harrison Ford, Jane Birkin, Chris Marker) whenever she wants to get something made. The fact that she hasn’t directed a traditional feature in the past 14 years doesn’t seem to bother her in the least. As long as she has access to digital video, she will joyfully soldier on.

Like all memoirs, The Beaches of Agní¨s is highly selective in what it chooses to tell us. Using beaches as her main leitmotif, Varda reflects on her life and loves, beginning with her birth in 1928 and concluding with her 80th birthday party. The overall tone is warm and intimate, and unexpected revelations are few and far between (although the director does finally concede that her husband succumbed to AIDS, not leukemia, and there is a rather intriguing vignette involving three Corsican fishermen and a tiny hut). Essentially, The Beaches of Agní¨s is a portrait gallery, and all the tableaux are painted with the colours of the director’s mind.

Sure, the film meanders at times, but it’s Varda’s past, after all, and she can wander if she wants to.