Few film trilogies capture the raw essence of human relationships with the intimacy, authenticity, and philosophical depth of the Before trilogy. Directed by Richard Linklater and starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, the series—comprising Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), and Before Midnight (2013)—is a rare cinematic experiment that unfolds over nearly two decades, both in real time and narrative progression. What began as a modest indie romance has evolved into a cultural touchstone, celebrated for its minimalist storytelling, naturalistic dialogue, and profound exploration of love’s complexities. This article delves into every facet of the trilogy: the genesis of each film, their distinctive styles, the evolution of characters Jesse and Céline, and the trilogy’s remarkable critical and cultural success.
Origins and Concept: A Chance Encounter That Spanned Decades
The Before trilogy traces its roots to a serendipitous moment in Richard Linklater’s life. In 1989, while visiting Philadelphia, Linklater met a woman named Amy Lehrhaupt in a toy store. Their fleeting connection—hours spent wandering and talking—left a lasting impression on the director. Though they lost touch, and Lehrhaupt tragically passed away in 1994, her influence inspired Before Sunrise. Linklater channeled this encounter into a story about two strangers, Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Céline (Julie Delpy), who meet on a train in Europe and spend a single night together in Vienna. Unlike traditional romances, the film ends ambiguously, with no promise of a future reunion, mirroring the ephemeral nature of Linklater’s real-life inspiration.
What sets the Before trilogy apart is its commitment to revisiting these characters every nine years, allowing the audience to witness their lives—and the actors’ aging—in real time. This bold narrative choice emerged organically. After Before Sunrise’s modest success, Linklater, Hawke, and Delpy began contemplating a follow-up. The result was Before Sunset, set nine years later in Paris, followed by Before Midnight, set another nine years on in Greece. Each installment captures a distinct phase of Jesse and Céline’s relationship—infatuation, reunion, and maturity—while reflecting the evolving perspectives of the filmmakers and actors themselves.
Before Sunrise (1995): The Spark of Possibility
Before Sunrise opens with a chance meeting aboard a Eurail train. Jesse, a disillusioned American backpacker, convinces Céline, a French student, to disembark with him in Vienna and spend the night exploring the city. With no money for a hotel and a flight to catch the next morning, the pair wanders through cobblestone streets, parks, and cafés, engaging in conversations that range from whimsical to existential. The film’s premise is deceptively simple: two people talking. Yet, within this framework, Linklater crafts a poignant meditation on connection, youth, and the fleeting nature of time.
The style of Before Sunrise is deliberately understated. Cinematographer Lee Daniel employs long takes and a handheld camera to create a sense of immediacy, as if the audience is walking alongside Jesse and Céline. The Vienna backdrop—bathed in golden hues—serves as both a romantic tableau and a subtle reminder of time’s passage, with dawn signaling the end of their adventure. The dialogue, co-written by Linklater and Kim Krizan, feels unscripted, blending intellectual musings (on reincarnation, God, and societal norms) with flirtatious banter. Hawke and Delpy, both in their mid-20s during filming, bring a youthful vulnerability to their roles, their chemistry palpable yet tinged with the awkwardness of strangers testing boundaries.
The film’s ending is a masterstroke of restraint. Rather than a grand romantic gesture, Jesse and Céline part at the train station with a vague promise to meet again in six months—a promise the audience knows they won’t keep (revealed in the sequel). Critics praised Before Sunrise for its authenticity and emotional resonance, though its box office performance was modest, grossing $5.5 million against a $2.5 million budget. Over time, however, it gained a cult following, its open-ended conclusion sparking endless debates about what might have happened next.
Before Sunset (2004): Rekindling the Flame
Nine years later, Before Sunset picks up in real time, offering a bittersweet answer to Sunrise’s cliffhanger. Jesse, now a published author, is in Paris promoting his novel—a thinly veiled recounting of that night in Vienna—when Céline appears at his book signing. With only an hour before Jesse’s flight back to the U.S., they seize the chance to reconnect, strolling along the Seine and through Parisian alleyways. The stakes feel higher this time: Jesse is married with a son, while Céline is in a tepid relationship, and their conversation carries the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken regrets.
Stylistically, Before Sunset refines the trilogy’s minimalist ethos. Shot in a brisk 15 days with a leaner crew, the film unfolds in real time, its 80-minute runtime mirroring the urgency of Jesse and Céline’s fleeting reunion. Cinematographer Lee Daniel returns, using natural light to capture Paris’s soft glow, while long, unbroken takes—some lasting over 10 minutes—immerse viewers in the ebb and flow of their dialogue. Hawke and Delpy, now co-writers alongside Linklater, infuse the script with a maturity that reflects their own growth. The banter of Sunrise gives way to deeper reflections on love, compromise, and the passage of time, with moments of raw vulnerability—like Céline’s tearful confession about her fear of losing passion—cutting through the intellectual veneer.
The film’s climax is one of the trilogy’s most iconic scenes. In Céline’s apartment, she plays a waltz she wrote for Jesse on her guitar, and he watches, transfixed, as Nina Simone’s “Just in Time” fills the room. “Baby, you are gonna miss that plane,” Céline teases. “I know,” Jesse replies, a smile breaking across his face. The screen fades to black, leaving their future tantalizingly uncertain. Before Sunset was a critical triumph, earning an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay and grossing $15.8 million worldwide. Its brevity and emotional potency cemented the trilogy’s reputation as a singular cinematic achievement.
Before Midnight (2013): Love in the Long Run
By Before Midnight, the trilogy shifts into uncharted territory: the messy reality of long-term commitment. Set nine years after Sunset, the film finds Jesse and Céline vacationing in Greece with their twin daughters. Jesse, now divorced, has uprooted his life to be with Céline, but their relationship is strained by parenting, career demands, and unresolved resentments. What begins as a sun-drenched idyll—complete with philosophical debates among friends—unravels into a raw, confrontational portrait of love under pressure.
The style of Before Midnight departs slightly from its predecessors. While still reliant on long takes and naturalistic dialogue, the film introduces more dynamic camera work by cinematographer Christos Voudouris, reflecting the tension simmering beneath the surface. The Greek Peloponnese, with its ancient ruins and shimmering coastlines, provides a stark contrast to the couple’s domestic struggles, amplifying the sense of timelessness versus their personal turmoil. Hawke and Delpy, once again co-writers, deliver their most complex performances yet, balancing tenderness with biting sarcasm. Their chemistry, honed over nearly two decades, feels lived-in, making their arguments—particularly a explosive hotel-room showdown—both heartbreaking and uncomfortably relatable.
Thematically, Before Midnight grapples with the endurance of love amidst life’s grind. Where Sunrise celebrated possibility and Sunset rekindled hope, Midnight asks whether romance can survive routine. The film doesn’t shy away from ugliness: Jesse’s guilt over his distant son, Céline’s frustration with gender roles, and their mutual accusations of infidelity lay bare the fissures in their bond. Yet, it ends on a note of fragile reconciliation. Sitting by the sea at dusk, Jesse spins a playful time-travel fantasy to coax Céline back from her anger, and she responds with cautious affection. It’s not a fairy-tale resolution, but a testament to love’s resilience.
Critics hailed Before Midnight as the trilogy’s crowning achievement, with a 98% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes and another Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay. Its $23 million global box office underscored the series’ growing audience, proving that even a talk-heavy indie could resonate widely.
Style and Innovation: The Art of Conversation
The Before trilogy’s signature style is its deceptive simplicity. Linklater strips away conventional plot devices—car chases, melodrama, even a traditional three-act structure—in favor of dialogue-driven storytelling. Each film hinges on the interplay between Jesse and Céline, their conversations serving as both narrative engine and emotional core. This approach demands exceptional performances, and Hawke and Delpy deliver, their real-life rapport evolving alongside their characters. The trilogy’s use of real-time elements (especially in Sunset) and long takes creates an immersive, almost documentary-like intimacy, blurring the line between fiction and reality.
The settings—Vienna, Paris, Greece—are more than picturesque backdrops; they’re characters in their own right. Linklater uses these cities to mirror the couple’s emotional states: Vienna’s dreamy charm reflects youthful idealism, Paris’s bustling energy captures midlife restlessness, and Greece’s ancient serenity underscores the weight of permanence. The trilogy’s visual evolution, from Sunrise’s warm 35mm film to Midnight’s crisp digital clarity, subtly tracks technological and personal growth, enhancing its authenticity.
Themes: Love, Time, and the Human Condition
At its heart, the Before trilogy is a meditation on time. Each film captures a snapshot of Jesse and Céline’s lives, spaced nine years apart, allowing audiences to witness the slow march of aging, regret, and resilience. Love, in all its forms—passionate, wistful, fractious—is the thread that binds them. Sunrise explores the thrill of possibility, Sunset the ache of what might have been, and Midnight the labor of sustaining a partnership. Together, they form a lifecycle of romance, unflinchingly honest yet deeply optimistic.
The trilogy also probes existential questions: How do we reconcile dreams with reality? Can connection endure distance and time? Linklater, Hawke, and Delpy never offer easy answers, instead inviting viewers to reflect on their own relationships and choices. This universality, paired with the specificity of Jesse and Céline’s journey, gives the series its timeless appeal.
Success and Legacy: A Quiet Revolution
The Before trilogy’s success lies in its rarity. With a combined budget of under $10 million, the films grossed over $44 million worldwide—not blockbuster numbers, but a testament to their loyal following. Critics have lauded their intelligence and emotional depth, with accolades including Oscar nominations and a Golden Globe nod for Delpy. More impressively, the trilogy has transcended its indie roots to become a cultural phenomenon, inspiring academic studies, fan fiction, and even real-life “Before walks” in Vienna and Paris.
Its influence extends to modern cinema, paving the way for dialogue-driven romances like Her (2013) and The Worst Person in the World (2021). The trilogy’s real-time conceit remains unparalleled, a bold experiment that paid off through patience and trust in its audience. Linklater has hinted at a possible fourth installment, though he insists it would require a fresh perspective. Whether or not it materializes, the Before trilogy stands complete—a love story told not in grand gestures, but in quiet, fleeting moments that linger long after the credits roll.
Conclusion: A Trilogy for the Ages
The Before trilogy is more than a series of films; it’s a living document of human connection, captured across 18 years of real and cinematic time. Through Jesse and Céline, Linklater, Hawke, and Delpy have crafted a narrative that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable, a testament to love’s enduring mystery. Its style—spare yet rich—redefines what cinema can be, while its success proves that audiences crave stories that reflect life’s messy truth. As we watch Jesse and Céline walk, talk, and grow, we see ourselves: flawed, hopeful, and forever chasing the next sunrise.