David O'ConnellLa Femme Infidele
July 9th 2009 04:37
A tale of infidelity beyond the cloistered surrounds of upper middle-class French suburbs, La Femme Infidele (1969) has legendary director Claude Chabrol’s stamp all over it; not for the first time he reveals his predilection for feasting on the internal fragilities of these people as their lives unravel from within, leading to murder and its profusion of complex moral ramifications.
Successful businessman Charles Desvallees (Michel Bouquet) seems to have a perfect life with his young son and voluptuous wife Helen (Stephane Audran). Something is amiss however, and Charles harbors suspicions about what his idle wife does during the day. In an early scene she’s caught on the phone, claiming a wrong number; waning sexual chemistry between the couple is also implied as impulsive gestures in the bedroom are negated by neutral responses that seem affected, more for the purposes of maintaining the thin veneer of married life.
After eleven years the geography of this marriage is slowly altering and Chabrol hones in on its frailties through the eyes of Charles who is itching to know the truth but suppresses his instincts, hoping they’re false and misguided. Even when he finally makes love to Helen again, after a boastful night out with friends, his wide-eyed, detached appraisal of her sleeping form in the night places further chilling emphasis on the state of his churning, troubled mind.
Finally, he's overcome by a need to act and hires a man, Bignon (Serge Bento), to follow his wife and report back on her activities. Armed with the evidence he's most feared unearthing, he makes the daring decision to confront his wife’s lover Victor (Maurice Ronet) under the benevolent guise of being complicit in a supposed open marriage; he’s merely satisfying his curiosity and comes with his wife’s approval, he tells Victor, who's completely disarmed, of course, by Charles’s empathetic smile and gentle curiosity.
An irretrievable action will doom this feted meeting however and things swiftly head downhill as Chabrol turns the screw, initiating a familiar psychological game of maintaining appearances under sufferance. A deluded notion of amoral actions for the greater good re-surfaces again and again in Chabrol’s films, with the blighted rationalizations of his often, admittedly sympathetic, protagonists cutting to the heart of his most favoured themes.
Two police officers begin snooping around to complicate the couple’s lives, putting everyone on edge, but Chabrol’s fascination never wavers: opulent surroundings are hardly a barrier against the impulse generated by aberrant psychological motives; prise open the lid on jealousy, subjecting its contents to intense scrutiny, and the inevitable cracks are suggestive of flaws as plausible and relatable to the bourgeois as to the unwashed masses.
Both Bouquet and Audran are excellent as the couple resisting their faltering marriage. Adding immeasurable to the tension is Pierre Jansen’s pared-back score, replete with its icy, tinkling piano runs filtered through increasingly off-kilter strings and unnerving, discordant notes as the film progresses.
Other than a single jarring scene – a ludicrous course of action taken in daylight and full view of a suburban street – Chabrol’s austere film is highly recommended, another fine work sitting comfortably amongst his ever expanding body of work; incredibly he’s still active and regularly churning out films at 79.
It’s hard to dislike the ending here too as a domestic setting - a neat inversion of the opening scene - is interrupted by the presence of the police again; slowly the view retreats, fading out to a nebulous conclusion marked by the strange counterpoint of the film’s final utterances – “I love you” twice offered, almost in apology.
Successful businessman Charles Desvallees (Michel Bouquet) seems to have a perfect life with his young son and voluptuous wife Helen (Stephane Audran). Something is amiss however, and Charles harbors suspicions about what his idle wife does during the day. In an early scene she’s caught on the phone, claiming a wrong number; waning sexual chemistry between the couple is also implied as impulsive gestures in the bedroom are negated by neutral responses that seem affected, more for the purposes of maintaining the thin veneer of married life.
After eleven years the geography of this marriage is slowly altering and Chabrol hones in on its frailties through the eyes of Charles who is itching to know the truth but suppresses his instincts, hoping they’re false and misguided. Even when he finally makes love to Helen again, after a boastful night out with friends, his wide-eyed, detached appraisal of her sleeping form in the night places further chilling emphasis on the state of his churning, troubled mind.
Finally, he's overcome by a need to act and hires a man, Bignon (Serge Bento), to follow his wife and report back on her activities. Armed with the evidence he's most feared unearthing, he makes the daring decision to confront his wife’s lover Victor (Maurice Ronet) under the benevolent guise of being complicit in a supposed open marriage; he’s merely satisfying his curiosity and comes with his wife’s approval, he tells Victor, who's completely disarmed, of course, by Charles’s empathetic smile and gentle curiosity.
An irretrievable action will doom this feted meeting however and things swiftly head downhill as Chabrol turns the screw, initiating a familiar psychological game of maintaining appearances under sufferance. A deluded notion of amoral actions for the greater good re-surfaces again and again in Chabrol’s films, with the blighted rationalizations of his often, admittedly sympathetic, protagonists cutting to the heart of his most favoured themes.
In bed but not much happening for Helen (Stephane Audran) and husband Charles (Michel Bouquet)
Two police officers begin snooping around to complicate the couple’s lives, putting everyone on edge, but Chabrol’s fascination never wavers: opulent surroundings are hardly a barrier against the impulse generated by aberrant psychological motives; prise open the lid on jealousy, subjecting its contents to intense scrutiny, and the inevitable cracks are suggestive of flaws as plausible and relatable to the bourgeois as to the unwashed masses.
Both Bouquet and Audran are excellent as the couple resisting their faltering marriage. Adding immeasurable to the tension is Pierre Jansen’s pared-back score, replete with its icy, tinkling piano runs filtered through increasingly off-kilter strings and unnerving, discordant notes as the film progresses.
Other than a single jarring scene – a ludicrous course of action taken in daylight and full view of a suburban street – Chabrol’s austere film is highly recommended, another fine work sitting comfortably amongst his ever expanding body of work; incredibly he’s still active and regularly churning out films at 79.
It’s hard to dislike the ending here too as a domestic setting - a neat inversion of the opening scene - is interrupted by the presence of the police again; slowly the view retreats, fading out to a nebulous conclusion marked by the strange counterpoint of the film’s final utterances – “I love you” twice offered, almost in apology.
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Comment by Matt Shea
Comment by quatro
Secret Writers Business
Thanks for another interesting summation.
I haven't seen the ghost and Mrs Muir yet.
Not enough hours in the day..
Catch you soon.
QUatro
Comment by David O'Connell
20/20 Filmsight
Screen Fanatic
He's made so many damn films though, there's plenty more I'd love to see too!
Hey Alex, good to hear from you, that's what happens when you have a real life! Hope you find time to sit down and a watch a movie again some day!