“I have a dilapidated piece of mahogany veneer in dire need of renovation.”

The British film Personal Services directed by ex-Monty Python Terry Jones is based on the book An English Madam by Paul Bailey. The film begins with a disclaimer stating that it is not a true depiction of the life of the infamous British Madam, Cynthia Payne (Madam Cyn) and advises the viewer to read Bailey’s book for details of Payne’s life.

The protagonist of the film is named Christine Painter (Julie Walters)–an attractive, harried waitress in a London restaurant. Christine has a child in boarding school whose fees must be paid, and so she earns extra money by renting out rooms and subletting flats to prostitutes. Now, the idea is that the prostitutes will pay Christine rent, but Christine soon discovers that collecting rent is easier said than done, and before too long, Christine faces her landlord empty-handed. The landlord, however, is fully prepared to make an acceptable alternative arrangement, and Christina slides into prostitution.

The film details Christine’s foray into the world of prostitution where she offers a “personal service” to those older gentlemen who are in need of her unique talents. Christine begins by advertising in the local newsagents and working from a tiny flat. But the “future lies in kinky people,” and so Christine–learning on the job–begins including role-playing assignations, and moves on to sex parties, and the infamous Luncheon Voucher Programme–which entitled the bearer of the coupon to a meal and a girl.

This funny film glosses over the seamier side of prostitution and concentrates, instead, on Christine’s unique worldview, and the community of friends and customers she surrounds herself with. Christine’s friendships provide a great deal of amusement in this film–numerous transvestites, slaves, fellow prostitute, Shirley (Shirley Stelfox) the maid, Dolly (Danny Schiller) and the immortal ‘Morten’–(a retired RAF Squadron Leader played by Alex McGowan) who declares that he intends to “grow old disgracefully” and delights and entertains many of Christine’s partygoers with his comic attitude. Morten, by the way, boasts that during WWII he “flew 207 missions over occupied territory in bra and panties.”

The film has its serious undertones. Christine is initially portrayed as someone who longs for a husband and a home, and her flat sports a tattered poster of that faux-fairy-tale relationship–Charles and Di. It’s darkly amusing that these now-fallen icons of romance oversee the financial arrangements of the kinky assignments taking place in Christine’s flat. And this motif of royal romance is something Christine aspires to–even though part of her realizes that it’s just a fantasy. Christine actually has a very matter-of-fact, no-nonsense approach to sex, declaring “too many things can go wrong with sex. Too many bits and pieces.”

Several scenes illustrate the hypocrisy of British society, and this seems to be the thing Christine despises above all else. She never forgets the former vice copper who approaches her for sex, and she sees the illegality of prostitution as hypocrisy. She argues that her sex parties are “just a Tupperware party, really, but I sell sex instead of plastic containers.” And Christine’s circle of friends and customers share her view. Wing Commander Morten embodies the liberation of sexuality, and he argues: “Since my retirement I have devoted my life to transvestitism and the pursuit of sexual deviation. I am now a very happy man, having escaped an extremely overcrowded closet.”

Julie Walters excels in this sort of role–her personality shines, and she takes the role of Christine Painter and makes it her own. The book An English Madam by Paul Bailey is highly recommended for further reading. In this book, Cynthia Payne’s early, difficult life is explained, and many of the details fill in the blanks. Additionally, the film Wish You Were Here is the story of Cynthia Payne’s early life. It’s another marvelous film, and I recommend it without reservation.

Some great lines:

“The world is full of naughty schoolboys.”

“Snap it up now before senile dementia runs me down.”

“I intend to grow old disgracefully.”

“What’s the point of being old if you can’t be dirty?”

“Every naughty boy gets a spank on his bot-bot.”

“How could you bring a sexual pervert to your sister’s wedding?”

“Call it an indulgence, Madame, of an aging pillock in the autumn of his days.”

“My sister’s marrying a cop. Silly cow.”

“What’s sex ever done for me? Up the duff at 16.”

“Get your knickers into gear.”

 ”Know what makes a criminal?”

Seesaw is a British television miniseries, divided into three parts, that explores the kidnapping of a teenage girl. Well-to-do business owner Morris Price (David Suchet) lives with his decorator wife, Val (Geraldine Price) and their three children in a huge sprawling house in the suburbs. Things have not always been easy for the Prices, but Morris has built his security business from the bottom up. When the film begins, the Prices pose in front of son Theo’s (Joseph Beattie) flashy sports car for a photograph.

Naturally, there’s rot inside the family structure, but it’s largely covered by material wealth. Val is harried by job demands and catering to clients, and she doesn’t have a great deal of time for her children. The Prices’ middle child Hannah (Joanna Potts) has a tendency to feel sorry for herself. She’s at an awkward age. Spotty and without a boyfriend, she considers herself fat and unattractive. She also feels resentful towards her parents and is convinced, at least on some level, that she’s neglected.

One evening, instead of doing homework, Hannah goes off to a nightclub, and she doesn’t return home….

About one third of the film is devoted to the kidnapping, and the family’s reactions to the kidnappers’ demands. The rest of the film is devoted to the far more interesting fallout. The film follows not only how the Prices cope, but also what happens to the kidnappers. The kidnappers are a mismatched pair–there’s the complex, dangerous, seductive Eva (Amanda Omms) who really belongs on the set of La Femme Nikita, and her somewhat unwilling but sexually entranced cohort Jon (Neil Stuke). Eva’s alarming obsession with tarty outfits is matched by her desire for material gain.

The film’s fault lies in some of the truly awful lines connected to the entire kidnapping/Stockholm Syndrome episode. Cheesy, clumsy, and clichéd, this section of the film–delivered in flashbacks–was enough to make me wince (I love you so much I could peel you inside out and lick your intestines. I know the real you, etc etc). That said, the film really excels at portraying the ugly dynamics of the Price family. Hannah’s kidnapping, for example, brings out the sibling rivalry between Hannah and her younger bratty sister Becky (Jade Davidson). As corrosive blame and guilt for the kidnapping and its fallout spreads throughout the family members, the family structure disintegrates. Just how the Prices cope with the aftermath of the kidnapping is original and believable.

Fans of British television mysteries should enjoy this drama. It certainly doesn’t follow the hackneyed plots of this type of story. Seesaw is directed by George Case and based on a novel by Deborah Moggach.

“You see things you thought were clues. Turns out they weren’t.”

Set in the frozen landscapes of a wintery Haddan, Massachusetts, The River King casts actor Edward Burns as small town policeman Abel Grey. Abel and his partner are called out to investigate a report of a body found in a frozen lake. The body is Gus Pierce, a student from an exclusive prep school located on the outskirts of town. Gus was a loner who never really fit in, and his one close friend was fellow student Carlin Leander (Rachelle Lefevre). Teachers at the school, with the exception of Betsy Chase (Jennifer Ehle) act as though the police investigation is a nuisance. But to make matters worse, Abel is railroaded into accepting Gus’s death as a suicide.

I like Edward Burns. Can’t explain it, but there’s just something about his screen presence. His performances are sincere and believable, but apart from that he is one of America’s directors who’s still trying to say something outside of the Hollywood machine. In The River King, Burns is excellent, and the fact that the story is told through his troubled eyes bolsters the film tremendously. With a subtle and typically low-key performance, Burns conveys discomfort and nagging doubts throughout an investigation marred by class and corruption. The film slides into clichés when uncovering the nasty little frat boy initiation ceremonies, but then that sort of silliness is clichéd no matter how you look at it.

While corruption rules, and an old-boy network effectively ensures that cover-ups continue, the film slides away from the less subtle predictability of plot, and instead lands squarely on the issue of the weight of guilt. Guilt and its long-term consequences lead Abel to make a decision, and whether or not he has the ‘right’ to make this decision is at the heart of this beautifully photographed film. Incidentally, the photography is from Paul Sarossy (The Sweet Hereafter and Affliction). Frozen landscapes covered in snow and sub-zero temperatures reflect some of the characters’ frozen emotions. Both Abel and his father carry a burden of guilt, but they refuse to examine it and they have chosen to ignore it for various reasons. The death of Gus Pierce, however, forces Abel, at least, to confront his guilt and grief over the death of his brother.

As it turns out, there’s a significance to Abel’s first name, and this is an issue the plot chooses not to explore directly, but the subtext exists for those who catch the Abel/Cain connection. The River King wisely leaves this reference and its inferences for the audience to catch. Supernatural elements are also weaved through the story, but again, this is delicately done, and so we never really know if these moments really exist or are simply ghosts of the past.

Abel’s final decision is beautifully played, and I couldn’t help but compare this to the preachy deliverance of a fateful decision in Ben Affleck’s film Gone Baby Gone. Towards the end of Gone Baby Gone, Casey Affleck and Morgan Freeman hash out their respective moral positions ad nauseam in a scene that’s unbelievable, heavy handed and far too lengthy. The River King leaves the moralizing and the argument as to whether or not Abel has the ‘right’ to assume the responsibility of his actions to the viewer. Director Nick Willing obviously thinks his audience is intelligent enough to work out the intricacies of Abel’s behaviors for ourselves. Personally I prefer subtlety, and so I appreciate The River King’s low-key style, even if it has a less-than perfect story. Based on a novel by Alice Hoffman.

“Morality–What has that to do with the Law?”

“Peasants are so much more fun than respectable people.”

“These elderly clerics….They’re all pickled in port.”

The Barchester novels from Anthony Trollope are perhaps the best loved books of his long, prolific writing career. The DVD The Barchester Chronicles–seven episodes in all for a total of 374 minutes–covers two Trollope Barchester novels–The Warden and Barchester Towers. This made for British television drama is a marvelous transfer to the screen of Trollope’s delightful novels that explore the corruption, nepotism, and petty bickering of representatives of the Church of England. The stories are delivered with Trollope’s usual light hand and ironic, generous sense of humour.

The Warden is Reverend Septimus Harding (Donald Pleasance), perhaps the only decent, honest member of the clergy to be found for miles around. As the Warden, he oversees Hiram’s Hospital, an almshouse for twelve old men. Established by a medieval charity, the wardenship is granted by the Bishop of Barchester, and it’s considered a lucrative position. The wardenship comes with a lovely home, 800 pounds a years, and very light duties. Harding, a good, sweet-natured, unworldly man is horrified when local reformer, John Bold (David Gwillen) takes his accusations of corruption and nepotism in Barchester to the scandal sheet, The Jupiter. Harding, who feels tainted and ashamed by the implications, wishes to resign his post. Harding’s son-in-law, Archdeacon Grantly (Nigel Hawthorne) who just happens to also be the son of the Bishop of Barchester believes that Harding should remain in the lucrative position as warden of Hiram’s Hospital. Harding’s decision–based in a morality that his fellow clergy and legal advisors cannot grasp–becomes a matter of conscience.

Barchester Towers focuses on the machinations of the ambitious and loathsome Mr. Slope (Alan Rickman) as he wheedles his way into Bishop Proudie’s household. Bishop Proudie (Clive Swift) and his formidable wife Mrs. Proudie (Geraldine McEwan) now rule in the Bishop’s palace, and a struggle for control takes place between the slimy Mr. Slope and Mrs. Proudie. Barchester Towers concentrates on the role of women in the lives of the clergymen in the tale. There’s the exotic and scandalous Signora Neroni (Susan Hampshire) who “systematically destroys the moral fibre of every gentleman she encounters”, the beleaguered Eleanor Bold (Janet Maw), the widowed daughter of Mr. Harding, and the indomitable Mrs. Proudie, a woman who terrifies her husband, the Bishop.

If you are a fan of Trollope or just love British costume dramas, then prepare yourself for hours of delightfully witty entertainment. Exquisite acting matched with a marvelous screenplay creates a delightful experience for viewers. If you enjoy this DVD, I also highly recommend The Way We Live Now and He Knew He Was Right. Both are darker Trollope tales, but all three productions are marvelous adaptations of the novels. From director David Giles.

“The truth is so uncivil.”

He Knew He Was Right is a BBC miniseries based on the Anthony Trollope novel. From director Tom Vaughan and with an excellent script from veteran scriptwriter Andrew Davies, this is entertaining, top-notch drama. With that said however, He Knew He Was Right, as one of Trollope’s dramatic novels, is not light fare, and with its subject matter, this is a dour tale with little of the humour that is often associated with Trollope.

In typical Victorian multi-plot fashion, He Knew He Was Right contains many tangled sub-plots which all revolve on the subject of love. Love is so rarely convenient, and it cannot be manufactured, but it can be abused. In this story most of the characters fall in love with the ‘wrong’ people, and the ideal marriage–approved and envied by all is poisoned by irrational jealousy and madness.

The main focus on the story is the relationship between husband and wife, Louis and Emily Trevelyan. When the film begins Louis (Oliver Dimsdale) meets and proposes to the spirited Emily Rowley (Laura Fraser) who lives in the Mandarin Islands with her father, the British governor. Sir Rowley (Geoffrey Palmer) is delighted when wealthy Louis agrees to take Emily back to his London mansion along with her younger sister, Nora (Christina Cole).

At first all goes well for Louis and his young bride. Indeed Louis’s best friend, journalist Hugh Stanbury (Stephen Campbell Moore) envies the Trevelyans their evident domestic bliss. But the Trevelyans’ happiness is marred by Louis’s growing irrational jealousy of the relationship between Emily and her father’s oldest friend, the dapper, vain Colonel Osborne (Bill Nighy). At first, this all seems to be some simple misunderstanding, with Louis and Emily both obstinately refusing to give up their side of the argument. But when the couple agrees to separate, it soon becomes glaringly apparent that this is more than a disagreement. Meanwhile, Emily’s family urges her to submit to Louis’s demands and to return submissively to her husband. Emily, who is the victim in the situation, is subject to censure, scandal and gossip from all and sundry. Judged to be in the wrong, no one, apart from Emily, really grasps how unreasonable and irrational Louis has become.

While the main focus of the story is Emily and Louis, other characters appear in delicious sub-plots. Dorothy, the younger sister of Hugh Stanbury, (Caroline Martin) goes to live with her elderly, wealthy cantankerous spinster aunt (Anna Massey). Aunt Stanbury plots to marry off Dorothy to slimy curate Mr. Gibson (David Tennant), but the amiable Dorothy, proves to be a stubborn subject when it comes to love. Meanwhile, Mr. Gibson’s amorous adventures with the ladies backfire, and the homely French sisters–Camilla and Bella–bitter rivals in love–battle over the spoils of their unrequited passion. Most of the film’s humour comes from the character of Gibson, an ecclesiastical fortune hunter who receives his just desserts.

In another sub-plot, Nora catches the attention of the wealthy, titled and chivalrous Glascock (Raymond Coulthard), but she’s attached to the penniless scribbler” Stanbury–a man who’s “tearing down Tory traditions.” To the impoverished Rowleys, Glascock is the ideal match, while Stanbury is deemed undesirable.

He Knew He Was Right maintains typical BBC standards–impeccable acting, marvelous costumes, and a flawless script. But it is the wonderful characterizations that make this film such a delight. Miss Stanbury, for example, is an interfering, selfish old lady who imagines everyone is after her money, and yet she becomes much more human in her love for Dorothy. Another great,although minor character, is the private detective Mr. Bozzle (Ron Cook) who refers to himself in the third person, and while he’s a bit shady, he’s redeemed at the end mainly thanks to the constant disapproval of his harried wife (Patsy Palmer).

He Knew He Was Right carries a proto feminist message, and this makes the novel, written in 1869, amazing for its time. Emily is seen as the victim of her husband’s deranged behaviour, and since she is virtually viewed as property, as a woman she has no legal recourse against the outrages committed by her husband. Trollope makes it clear that this is a social problem that’s central to the story.

“The world is changing fast and some of us understand it better than others.”

The marvelous BBC adaptation of Anthony Trollope’s novel The Way We Live Now is a must-see for fans of British television costume dramas. This version, directed by David Yates, and with a screenplay by Andrew Davies captures the essence and spirit of the novel. The 300-minute film, divided into four parts, explores human greed, corruption and hypocrisy through various characters and their intrigues.

Central to this multi plot miniseries is Augustus Melmotte (played with savage ferocity by David Suchet). Melmotte arrives in Victorian England amidst rumours of financial shenanigans that led to the downfall of a European bank. Various members of the British upper class gather to discuss Melmotte, and while some vow to shun the newcomer, others believe that Melmotte has the Midas Touch and will make fortunes for his friends.

Melmotte’s domestic situation is unpleasant. His wife is a pug-toting nincompoop who has no notion of how to act in civilized society, and his daughter, the very peculiar, hostile and diminutive Marie (Shirley Henderson) is rumoured to possess a sizeable dowry. Given Melmotte’s lavish lifestyle and his excessive speculation, some suspect that Melmotte is a fraud, but most of polite society take Melmotte at face value. And since Melmotte says he’s a millionaire, and acts like a millionaire, that means that his daughter must be one of the most eligible heiresses in England.

One of Marie’s most persistence suitors is Sir Felix Carbury (excellent performance from Matthew Macfadyen), a useless wastrel whose utter fecklessness sticks out even in the circle of his like-minded friends. Confident that his superior charm and good luck will win the day, Sir Felix haphazardly courts Marie while simultaneously seducing a country wench who lives near his cousin, Roger Carbury’s (Douglas Hodge) estate. Sir Felix’s long-suffering mother, novelist Lady Carbury (Cheryl Campbell) pampers her spoiled son while pressuring her daughter Hetta (Paloma Baeza) into marrying Roger. A wealthy marriage will save the fortunes of the Carburys–an impoverished but titled family who can’t even pay their wine bill.

Hetta, however, has a mind of her own, and she’s attracted to Paul Montague (Cillian Murphy). An engineer by trade, he plans to build a railroad in America that is to be financed by Melmotte’s company. Their romance is further complicated by Paul’s liaison with a notorious American woman, Mrs. Hurtle (Miranda Otto).

The acting in this drama is superb, and while the story may not quite end the way we would chose, this is still a delightful adaptation. Clever photography and film editing underscores Trollope’s comic tone, and the film maintains a light playfulness in spite of its depressing undertow. The story continually emphasizes the idea that England is changing, and that this is The Way We Live Now. And apparently not all changes are for the better. The younger generation, of which Sir Felix is a leading light, is seen as a pack of spoiled, useless brats who spend their nights gambling and boozing while their parents gamble with shady business ventures, and agonize about the family estate and ways in which to cover expenses. Yes, there’s progress underfoot–but not all progress is good, and Melmotte’s crafty, ambitious, and unprincipled schemes epitomize all that’s wrong with the age.

The film works so well mainly thanks to the knockout performances of Shirley Henderson as the desperately lonely, hysterical Marie Melmotte, and David Suchet as the grasping, monstrous Melmotte–an intelligent man who uses his brain to defraud others through shady speculation. Crafty Melmotte becomes seduced by the idea of becoming an English gentleman, and in this fashion, he’s destroyed by his own greed–allowing his fantasies of belonging to the gentry to override his self-serving cunning (”They should be grateful to me that I decided to become an Englishman, but they’re not”). Toad-like at times, he grunts and groans, surveying all of the greedy upper class who grovel at his feet. With appalling table manners, the venture capitalist Melmotte knows how to throw a party, and the bottom line is that we all tend to conveniently overlook the glaring faults of the most appalling people when those faults are gilded with money and influence.

“We found a body.”

Jindabyne is a small, rural Australia community with a strange history. The old town is buried under a lake, and the residents now live in the new town, which is built around the lake’s shore. The town’s residents accept this very matter-of-factly–although of course the viewer wonders just what happened to the people who lived in the old town that’s now several feet under water. Did they move away? Were they all drowned? There are elements of life and history hidden beneath the lake’s shimmering, clear surface, and there are buried stories and histories in the pasts of a great many of the film’s characters. But the plot only gives us a few answers to the questions it poses, but then that’s not too surprising, as the film doesn’t seem particularly concerned with providing solutions. The film refuses to tie up the plot into a neat little ending, and this may prove frustrating to some, but for me at least, the film possesses a strange, haunting quality that’s difficult to forget.

Deserted, winding roads lead in and out of the town of Jindabyne, and from the photography, it seems to stuck in the middle of nowhere. It’s a small town–the sort of place in which everyone knows everyone else–or at least they think they do. But the size of the town and the residents’ relationships with one another mask some rather ugly, sharp divisions within the community. The aborigines are separate from the whites, and in the white community, the males tend to stick together and rally around one another. There’s almost an old-fashioned sense to the women’s roles here–kitchen, house, community, and school. But then the murder of a young aborigine girl draws attention to the unhealthy divisions within this small knit community.

Central to the plot is the marriage of Stewart (Gabriel Byrne) and his wife, Claire (Laura Linney). Stewart owns and operates a small petrol station in the town, and there are references to his past as a driver. This is only alluded to, and we never really know how Stewart and his wife ended up in this little town. Stewart and Claire have one child together. Their marriage is fraught with tension, but the cause seems unclear–perhaps it’s due to long-term resentments, or perhaps they’re just incompatible….

Stewart plans his annual fishing trip with three male friends. This trip is a big deal for the men–a chance to get away from the women and just have a good time. Shortly after the men hike up in the backcountry, however, they discover the body of a young aborigine girl. Rather than call an end to their fishing trip, they make the decision to leave her body where it is and keep fishing. When they return to town, the men then collectively concoct a story to cover the delay in reporting the body.

Most of the film is concerned with the fallout from this incident and the ramifications on the four men who found the body and chose to delay reporting it. But the film also shows the wider ramifications of the incident as the men’s callous reaction ripples through the community. Claire is particularly affected by her husband’s actions, and all the rot, the resentment and the simmering rage in their relationship float to the surface

Based on a Raymond Carver story, Jindabyne is from director Ray Lawrence. In some sense, the film’s style is reminiscent of Lantana–although Jindabyne isn’t as good a film. The fact that the murdered girl is aborigine introduces a racial element to the film, and this shifts the film’s emphasis in another direction. The implication is that the men would not have abandoned the body of a white girl, and I’m really not sure about that….

“Women are like eggs, my darling. When they’re good, they’re good. When they’re not….”

When Ladies Meet is a 1941 remake of the 1933 version of the film which starred Ann Harding, Robert Montgomery and Myrna Loy. This was originally a stage play, and that shows in many of this film’s light witty, comedic scenes. Joan Crawford plays popular romance author Mary ‘Minnie’ Howard. Her longtime beau, journalist Jimmy (Robert Taylor) returns from an assignment only to discover that he’s been supplanted in Mary’s affections by her new publisher, Rogers Woodruff (Herbert Marshall).

Woodruff is a married man, but his wife remains just a vague idea and an obstacle to Mary. She’s convinced that she loves Rogers and that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. To her, they “live in a world apart.” If she ever stops to think about Rogers’ wife, Mary imagines that she must be a dull housewife, an intellectual inferior.

The film scenes have perfect timing, and this shows best in the sparkling scenes between Mary and Jimmy. Mary is busy working on her latest novel that revolves around a love triangle between a married man, his wife and his mistress. Mary and Rogers avidly discuss the novel and its happy ending, and while they are supposedly discussing characters in a book, it’s very obvious to everyone around them, that Rogers and Mary are discussing the possibility of a future together. Jimmy, a realist who sees Rogers as a weak roué, can’t stomach the sort of double talk alluding to a great romance that passes back and forth between Mary and Rogers. Robert Taylor really does well in this role, and Jimmy is seen as a straight shooter who is under gunned in the romance department, but who wins hands down when it comes to sincerity.

Like a great many love affairs, Mary’s is rooted in fantasy, and Jimmy manages to spoil these fantasies on more than one occasion with a few ill-timed visits. While Mary’s dingy friend, the addlepated Bridgie (Spring Byington) tries to provide Mary with an alibi for a weekend in the country, Jimmy manages to disrupt the great love affair when he arrives with Mrs. Woodruff, played by a very elegant Greer Garson. At first the two women, Mary, the mistress and Claire, the neglected wife are oblivious to each other’s identity and significance, but all that changes in a single weekend when everyone descends on Bridgie’s ostentatious country home which she shares with her designer gigolo housemate.

The main theme in When Ladies Meet is adultery and what happens when one very accomplished ‘other woman’ meets the very accomplished wife of her lover. The film takes a different look at an old situation, and Mary meets and likes Mrs. Woodruff before she knows that she’s met her rival. These two women appreciate each other, and in so doing, Woodruff emerges as the villain of the piece–a man who’s betrayed a number of women. This is a very different take on a familiar theme–we so often see the spouses fighting, and this is an almost passionless disintegration of a marriage that manages to be poignant.

Special mention here for Greer Garson’s elegant performance conducted with grace, dignity and subdued emotion. This is quite possibly one of the least passionate adultery films I’ve seen, but it’s quietly effective and surprisingly sweet. Directed by Robert Z. Leonard.

“Thanks for the party, kid. Any night, you feel like you want it, come on over.”

Bizarre, perverse and subtly subversive, The Woman Chaser from director Robinson Devor is difficult to define and will, unfortunately appeal only to certain tastes. If I knew you, I’d take a guess whether or not you’d appreciate this unusual gem, but instead, read this review and decide for yourself whether or not you want to take a chance.

I recently came cross The Woman Chaser reviewed on the marvelous Film Noir of the Week blog (see link on blogroll or http://filmnoiroftheweek.com ), and I’ll happily accept the genre of noir in order to categorize this strange yet wonderful film. Based on the pulp novel of the same name by Charles Willeford, The Woman Chaser is the story of Richard Hudson, a used car salesman who “possesses a pimp’s understanding of the ways in which women (and men) are most vulnerable–and justifies his seductions with a highly perverse logic.” I took that definition, by the way, right off the back of the VHS box. This isn’t something I normally do, but this description is so perfect, I can think of none better.

Anyway, Richard (played brilliantly by Patrick Warburton) arrives in L.A. and buys an existing used car lot for his San Francisco based employer. He then hires a manager, and then sets out to start raking in the money. He’s halted, however, in his drive, by a different kind of ambition–the creative urge. Richard becomes obsessed with the need to create something. He returns to his home–his bizarre, vain and self focused ex-ballerina mother (Lynette Bennett), and his stepfather, Leo (Paul Malevich), a has-been director. In Richard’s mind, Leo is the only man he knows who possesses any principles. Richard comes up with an idea for a film, and he wants Leo to direct. Together they approach the Man at Mammoth Studios….

I don’t know what I expected when I watched this film, but The Woman Chaser was so good, so unique, so damn peculiar that I watched it three times in a row–each time seeing something new and catching subtle things that I’d missed before (at one point for example, Richard is reading a book titled Much Ado About Me). I think it’s sadly quite possible that a great number of people could watch this film and dismiss it as campy trash, but it isn’t. The Woman Chaser is pure genius.

The main character, Richard, uses people–particularly women–without the slightest remorse whatsoever, but as he uses them, he rewrites his actions, and his motivations in the most off-kilter style. This is all achieved by a heavy voiceover narration by Richard throughout the entire film. This allows the viewer into the most peculiar corners of Richard’s twisted thinking. He’s a living, walking example of moral dissonance, and he unabashedly, proudly boasts of exactly how he manipulates people into getting what he wants.

Richard’s film, his baby, is called The Man Who Got Away. It’s a slim story about an angry, anti-social truck driver who runs over a child and her dog, and then proceeds to lead the police on a chase throughout California. It’s unclear whether or not the truck driver commits his crime deliberately out of a sense of misplaced rage or whether it’s just an accident. Richard grasps so many accuracies of human behavior, and yet the utter perverseness of his plot (which reflects his nature) seems to elude him.

Filmed in glorious black and white (which is perfect for this film), Patrick Warburton plays Richard as if he was born for the part. Operating with the sociopath’s emotional detachment, Richard is a large man, confident, with a large black hole when it comes to conscience. He is a frightening construct of all that’s wrong in society. Perfectly happy to dominate, intimidate and manipulate his way to the top (and to the bedroom), he’s crushed when the same thing is done to him. And one of the film’s great ironies is that Richard, the master manipulator, who understands just what fears, vices and vanities appeal to the human consciousness, finds himself outmaneuvered and out manipulated.

I was so intrigued by this film, that I chased down a copy of the book wanting to see if the novel was as perverse as the film or whether the film’s off-kilter look at life through Richard’s warped perceptions was the creation of the filmmaker. I was thrilled to discover that the film is amazingly like the book with the dialogue taken directly from the novel. That said, the film does add one embellishment in creating a very well done frame story, but at the same time the film leaves out one very disturbing detail that takes place between Richard and his secretary Laura (Emily Newman). Too bad this was cut from the film as I think this act of Richard’s really puts his moral depravity in a nutshell. Special note too for the film’s fantastic camera shots: Chet Wilson throwing a match into a puddle in which the clouds are reflected, front shots of Richard’s car, the lift traveling to the basement of the L.A. Museum, the angle of the camera during the scenes with the head of Mammoth Studios….

Anyway, The Woman Chaser is brilliant, bold and one of the most faithful adaptations of a novel I have ever come across. I suspect author Charles Willeford, who died in 1988, would be satisfied with the film version of his “psycho-pulp” classic.

Quotes:

I didn’t want Becky involved with some immature, tattooed youth who’d work the word love into his pitch. That would be unnecessarily emotional for her.

I had saved the girl from any physical or emotional involvement for a long time.

When a man starts doing stuff like that, he needs a woman in the worst way.

His evil parody made the notion of love and tenderness obscene.

Somehow, I had got dreams mixed up with reality.

I felt as though I was an unreal person creating a reality that might become unreal.

This movie isn’t cynical, it’s bitter.

“What does it mean to know someone?”

Gabrielle, a film from director Patrice Chereau is a showcase for the talents of the marvelous actress Isabelle Huppert. Set in the early 20th century, the film begins very strongly with Jean Hervey (Pascal Greggory) leaving the train station and smugly musing on the merits of his most excellent wife of ten years, “well bred and intelligent” Gabrielle (Isabelle Huppert). Jean is a very wealthy man who has recently acquired a newspaper. This has led to the Herveys’ including a number of artistic types in the frequent soirees held at their lavish Paris mansion.

Jean’s musings on the merits of his wife, Gabrielle, turn into shock when he discovers a note from her explaining that she’s left him. But his shock turns to anger and recriminations when Gabrielle unexpectedly returns after discovering that she cannot, after all, leave her husband.

The majority of the film covers the ensuing hours between Gabrielle’s return and a dinner party held in their home. While the film at first presents Jean as an admiring, happy husband, subsequent bitter recriminations reveal that the Herveys’ marriage is not what is seems. With a cold, passionless relationship based on appearances, just how will this unhappy couple ‘appear’ cordial to one another in light of Gabrielle’s adultery? Gabrielle, was, before her adulterous affair, just another one of Jean’s possessions, and he admits that he loves “her as a collector loves his most prized possession.” Jean’s emotional detachment degenerates into passionate hatred while Gabrielle reveals defenses even rage cannot surmount.

This is a beautifully realized film based on the story, The Return from Joseph Conrad. The Herveys’ mansion resembles a museum rather than a home–footsteps echo in cold marble floors, and one could so easily become lost in the empty rooms. Even the dinner parties, which at least bring hordes of humans into the Herveys’ home, seem stilted and false. At times the elegant crowd constructs a tableaux rather than a room of living breathing people engaged in social intercourse. Perhaps this is accentuated in part by the dirge-like music played rather heavily by a morose guest.

At times, particularly in the early stages of the film, I anticipated a Rohmer-type quality dialogue. Unfortunately, the film never reached these intellectual heights. Wonderfully acted, the film strikes some discordant notes at several points–I found Gabrielle’s dialogue with the servant implausible, for example, and the ending unsatisfying. In French with subtitles.