“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.

 “This tragedy comes as deliverance.”

Elective Affinities is set in 19th Century Italy. Widow Carlotta (Isabelle Huppert) and Edouard (Jean-Hugues Anglade) meet again after a twenty-year separation. Their interrupted love affair immediately resumes, and they marry quickly. The blissful couple retreat to Edouard’s Tuscany villa, but when he announces that he’s invited his friend, architect, Ottone to stay, Carlotta is concerned that their solitude will be ruined. And it is ….

Ottone spends an evening explaining how elements “give up original bonds and reform”, and he even draws a little diagram to illustrate his subject. This is so heavy-handed that it comes as no surprise when Carlotta decides to invite her stepdaughter, Ottilia is join the fun in the country–and the idea is, naturally, that the four people will be affected by each other and form new relationships.

At this point, I thought I was perhaps about to watch some sort of film with a free-love message–you know–a sort of 19th Century Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice complete with bed hopping. I was wrong. The film degenerated into an overly-sentimental, queasy, self-righteous story with a heavy moral message. The guilty twist and suffer, and the morally correct characters are, well … insufferable.

It was a little unsettling to see Isabelle Huppert play the role of Carlotta–rather a cold fish, and it was especially un-nerving to see her close-up dubbed speeches. Otto’s character was wooden, and Edouard rather unbelievable–his eagerness at several points in the film was quite nauseating. The one ’steamy’ scene was tepid at best–and again–extraordinarily heavy-handed.  From directors Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, Elective Affinities is based on the Goethe novel.

“In this house, I serve the chocolate.”

In Merci Pour Le Chocolat Mika Muller (Isabelle Huppert), the owner of a chocolate factory remarries Andre Polonski (Jacques Dutronc), a famous pianist. Their youthful first marriage ended in divorce, and Andre subsequently married Lisbeth. Three years after Lisbeth’s sudden accidental death, Mika and Andre remarry, and they live in Mika’s splendid house along with Guillaume, Andre and Lisbeth’s troubled teenaged son.

Jeanne Pollet (Anna Mouglalis), the daughter of a local foresic expert accidentally discovers that she was born in the same hospital as Guillaume, and that there was some sort of question of a mix up of the Pollet and the Polonski babies. Jeanne is also a brilliant pianist, and she is intrigued with the possibility of the mixed-up baby theory. She approaches the Polonski household and soon Andre takes her under his wing.

The first 3/4s of Merci Pour Le Chocolat is very strong. The stage is set for some nefarious deeds to take place, and the build-up of tension and suspense in the film was incredible. Claude Chabrol is one of my favourite directors, and so I really looked forward to the DVD release of this film. Isabelle Huppert is one of my absolute favourite actresses, and I try to get my hands on all of her films. She is really so wonderful with these sort of roles–perfect on the outside, but it’s the inner mind that proves most interesting and twisted. Mika Muller is just a little too nice to everyone. Why is Guillaume so estranged from his father? Why does Mika insist that everyone taste her own special formula of hot chocolate? Why is Mika so curious about Jeanne’s parentage? I was intrigued by this film, but then suddenly it was over. The denouement was not so much shocking as far too abrupt, and the reactions of the main characters to the events were just too wooden and unbelievable. This film could have been so much better, and that’s the really annoying thing. The acting was stellar (apart from the final scenes), and all the characters were interesting, but so many facets of the story led nowhere and ultimately it’s as though a big chunk is missing.

“Love hasn’t made you human.”

Isabelle Huppert seems to specialize in difficult roles, and The School of Flesh is yet another example of her superb and matchless talent. She seems to select and portray characters who are self-possessed and confident, but who are willing to surrender a portion of that worldly layer of independence to reveal the fragility and hunger lurking just beneath the icy surface.

In The School of Flesh Dominique (Isabelle Huppert) is a successful, single independent Parisian clothing designer. One night she drifts into a gay bar and makes eye contact with a young male prostitute/thug named Quentin (Vincent Martinez) who has a sultry pouty look. Chris–a transvestite who hangs out at the bar, notices the chemistry between this unlikely pair. Chris–who may or may not be Quentin’s pimp–encourages Dominique’s pursuit of Quentin and advises that it can be fun to pay for male company for a change.

In this relationship, Dominique has the money, power, and social connections–while Quentin has youth and amorality on his side. Dominique imagines that her money will simply remove any necessity Quentin may have to earn his own. A power struggle ensues and quickly becomes a game of destructive one-upmanship.

The School of Flesh is about the power centre that exists in every relationship, and in this film, the relationships show the nakedness of that power–the role of the pimp and the prostitute, the man who marries for money and the desire to have a normal life, and the male prostitute who accepts a keeper–all these relationships illustrate the inevitability and futility of attempting to control the love object. The acting is superb–special attention to Vincent Lindon as Chris–he’s at once sympathetic and sinister. Directed by Benoit Jacquot, The School of Flesh is in French with English subtitles.

 The role of responsibility in love.

In the French film The Lacemaker, Isabelle Huppert plays the role of Pomme–an innocent 18-year-old Parisienne hairdresser. After Pomme’s adventurous work mate, Marylene is dumped by her married lover, Pomme and Marylene go on holiday to Normandy together. Marylene promptly meets another man, and Pomme is left to her own devices. One day, Pomme meets Francois (Yves Beneyton), a young male literature student. Pomme is quiet, unassuming, sincere, and docile. Francois–a snotty stick insect-finds her very approachable, and her lack of experience emboldens him.

Upon returning to Paris, Francois and Pomme extend their summer romance into everyday life. The relationship between Pomme and Francois is based on a chance summer meeting, but back in Paris, it becomes increasingly obvious that vast gaps in education and class create an abyss between the lovers. He wants friends and family to approve of Pomme, and he eagerly seeks their approval. Some of the very best scenes occur as Francois tries to gauge approval from his friends, and a trip to the family mansion underscores the discontent Francois feels but won’t acknowledge.

Isabelle Huppert was only 22 when she snared this role. In some scenes, she looks as awkward and as unfinished as a 13-year-old, but for other scenes, she appears to be in her 30s. In the beginning of the film, the simple joy she finds in devouring an ice cream cone is delightfully sincere, and although Pomme has no emotional outbursts, Huppert’s facial expressions and body language alone are superb. The Lacemaker isn’t my favourite Huppert film, and Pomme isn’t her greatest role, but it is a very good example of her acting ability. Joy and despondency are portrayed equally with quiet simplicity. For fans of Huppert’s, this film really should be seen. Many of Huppert’s later roles encompass much bolder behaviour (The Piano Teacher, and The School of Flesh for example), but The Lacemaker shows Huppert acting her heart out in the role of a subdued, sensitive 18-year-old. If you can get your hands on a copy of this film, it’s definitely worth watching. Directed by Claude Goretta.

“You can afford lingerie, but when your kids need money, you’re out.”

The Belgium film, Private Property, is a tale of a destroyed, dysfunctional family. Apart from the fact that there’s a divorce in the background, we don’t really know the details of exactly what happened in the past. When the film begins, Pascale (Isabelle Huppert) lives with her two adult sons, Thierry (Jeremie Renier) and Francois (Yannick Renier) in an old farmhouse. In many ways the three of them share an idyllic setting. The farmhouse is large, situated on a chunk of property, and there’s a river that runs nearby. Pascale’s ex husband lives nearby, and he’s remarried with a small child.

The first scene sets the tone for the film’s tense atmosphere, and it’s soon clear that the relationships between these three–Pascale and her two sons–are pathological. She takes showers in front of Thierry while he covertly eyes her nude reflection in the glass. Thierry and Francois, who are twins, bathe facing one another in the tub. This might have been alright when they were five, but now it’s downright peculiar. All they lack is a rubber duckie to make it complete. There’s a great deal of violence brewing beneath the surfaces of these relationships. Thierry, the dominant brother of the two, is belligerent, accusatory, insulting, and he treats both his mother and his brother very badly. Attached to his absent, disgruntled father, Thierry himself as some sort of surrogate, and he assumes the moral superiority of an indignant parent. He isn’t capable of a normal conversation with his mother. Francois, on the other hand, is quiet and kind to his mother, and he frequently intervenes between Pascale and Thierry. Pascale’s relationship with her sons is odd too. She more or less ignores Francois. Perhaps it’s because she can.

It’s clear that these three people share an unhealthy life, and this becomes even more obvious as the plot continues. Pascale’s ex feels perfectly free to waltz in and out of Pascale’s home and bedroom, ignoring the fact that he no longer has the right to do so. His soured relations with Pascale spill over onto his sons, and we see the corrosive results in Thierry’s explosive resentment.

Pascale drops a bombshell on her sons when she announces one day that she wants to sell the farmhouse and move away. It seems that she’s always wanted to open a bed and breakfast. She doesn’t tell her sons, however, that she has a relationship with the neighbour, and they’ve planned this project as part of their new life together. Thierry, who treats his mother like a bad child, doesn’t take her seriously, but when he sees that she’s moving forward with her plans, he reacts violently.

Unfortunately although the film has a very strong beginning, it fails to explore the fascinating darker aspects of the relationships. There’s so much here beneath the surface. Pascale argues that she has the right to a life of her own–she’s raised her sons and now it’s time to move on. There’s nothing wrong with that argument, but her sons are socially and emotionally immature. Pascale’s boyfriend argues that Thierry and Francois are men and should be out working. Well yes, he’s correct, but there’s a strange dependency between Pascale and her sons that’s never explored. The sons are isolated at the farmhouse and dependent on getting lifts from their mother in order to get to town. Both Thierry and Francois see Pascale as a resource, and neither one of them wants to let her go. Whereas Francois is pliant, Thierry tries to control his mother by bullying. While they act like bad children, there are hints that Pascale has hindered their maturity, and now that she wants to move on with her life, she would prefer them to grow up overnight. Why Pascale thinks it’s acceptable to shower in front of her adult son, for example, is never explored. Instead the film dissolves into cliches. The film nails so many aspects of the pathology of familial relationships, but then drops the subject half way, and instead we are left with the tantalizing, darker issues unexplored. In French with subtitles, Private Property is directed by Joachim Lafosse.

“I can’t fight imagination.”

Cesar (Yves Montand) seems like an affable, gregarious tycoon–the life and soul of every party. He excels at entertaining a room full of people. His long-term girlfriend, divorcee, Rosalie (Romy Schneider) works for him, but maintains her independence by living separately with her small daughter. When the film begins, Cesar and Rosalie attend a wedding of a friend, and Rosalie runs into the dark, brooding David (Sami Frey), a cartoonist she had a serious relationship with years previously.

Cesar seems to sense that something exists between Rosalie and David, and there’s an immediate rivalry between the two men. Cesar is the aggressor, and David seems mildly amused by the situation more than anything else. Cesar is confident and rich. David, on the other hand, is younger. The scene for the basic love triangle is set. Which one will Rosalie chose?

Cesar and Rosalie is an early film from French director Claude Sautet. The dynamics of the love triangle are explored in some detail here. Cesar is so threatened that his actions initiate a reaction from Rosalie. Cesar is the most interesting character of the three–bullish, and self-destructive when crossed, he abruptly erupts when he can’t buy what he wants. His explosively violent temper goes beyond the bounds of acceptability. The film surprises at some moments, and the plot is not easy to predict. While Cesar’s character is perfectly developed, Rosalie’s decisions are not explored to the same extent. The film was made in the early 70s and is a little dated. This is most evident in the roles of the females. Rosalie is ordered to serve beer to Cesar and his poker-playing friends in one scene, and when she spends the evening with David, she’s immediately consigned to coffee making. Another female (Rosalie’s ex-husband’s lover) is summarily ordered to make an omelette, so perhaps it’s not surprising that Rosalie’s character isn’t explored fully. However, I cannot fathom why on earth David–who seems to be the rational person in this trio–continues to be involved. Cesar and Rosalie is not the subtly perfect film Un Coeur en Hiver–a much later Sautet film, but one can see that both films are from the same director. Un Coeur en Hiver, however, is the perfect mature work from Sautet–whereas Cesar and Rosalie–while good–is less polished and flawed.

Fans of Isabelle Huppert should keep an eye open for her in a very early small role. She plays Marite and even has a few lines.

 “I want to be normal.”

La Vie Promise is a showcase for the considerable talents of veteran French actress, Isabelle Huppert. Huppert plays prostitute Sylvia who lives and works in Nice. One day, her epileptic 15-year-old daughter, Laurence (Maud Forget) shows up. Sylvia is callous and cruel, but Laurence, who has run away from a foster home, doesn’t take the hint, and sneaks into her mother’s flat. After a physical altercation with a pimp, Sylvia and Laurence are on the run. Mother and daughter don’t exactly have a loving relationship, and their companionship is derived from expediency. At first, Sylvia has no clear destination in mind, but after contacting an old friend for help, Sylvia decides to look for the reliable husband and son she abandoned years before.

So far, so good …

At this point, the film begins to unravel and the plot grows increasingly more sentimental. A petty quarrel causes Sylvia and Laurence to separate, but they search for each other as they wander around the French countryside. Surely the chances that they will re-connect are slim to none, but in La Vie Promise, the impossible happens. Sylvia and Laurence do re-connect, and what’s even handier is the mysterious Josh (Pascal Greggory) they reel in on their travels.

Isabelle Huppert’s performance salvages the film. As always, Huppert seizes the role, and makes it her own. She plays a formidable Sylvia–with bleached blonde hair, and pale make-up, she looks as washed out as we know she feels. Unfortunately, along with the film’s over-reliance on sentimentality and co-incidence, there are additional problems with the plot and also with Sylvia’s character. The film starts out focusing on the relationship between mother and daughter. After the first opening scenes, Laurence (literally) takes a back seat to the drama, and the troubled relationship between Sylvia and Laurence is never explored. The film meanders towards a tepid romance, and there’s even about 2 minutes of action thrown in as mystery assailants follow this troubled trio. The mystery assailants suddenly appear, but this is another plot element that emerges and then is dropped. Finally, Sylvia’s miraculous transformation is just not credible. Sylvia is established within the first 5 minutes of the film of being utterly heartless, but then the heady combination of the countryside and childhood memories cause Sylvia’s catharsis. The film’s cinematography is eye-catching–especially when focusing on the fields of wild flowers. Ultimately, La Vie Promise fails to deliver, and the viewer’s enjoyment hinges on the acceptance of sentimentality, and whether or not Sylvia’s conversion to humanity is credible. In French with English subtitles.

“I don’t want your love unless you know I am repulsive.”

You’d have to go a long way to find a group of people as unpleasant as those depicted in Christophe Honore’s film Ma Mere. When the film begins, Pierre (Louis Garrel) arrives from boarding school in France to spend the summer with his wealthy parents in Gran Canaria. His father (Philippe Duclos) rattles off some sort of heart-to-heart talk with his son about not really being the sort of person he’s become, but Pierre is clearly bored and spoilt, and asks, “can I go now?”

Pierre’s father returns to France and is abruptly killed in an accident. This leaves Pierre alone with his mother, Helene (Isabelle Huppert) and their two long-suffering servants. There’s no period of mourning–although Pierre does discover–and foul–his dad’s secret stash of naughty magazines, but then the film settles in to its main theme–the tortured Oedipal relationship that exists between Pierre and Helene.

With Pierre’s father gone, Helene is clearly unleashed, and together with Pierre, this mother-and-son team begins the odyssey of Pierre’s total and complete debauchment. Apparently this isn’t difficult to achieve in a city full of holidaymakers and swingers who bravely sport outfits consisting of jockstraps and sequins. Plus Helene spares no time in introducing her son to her friend, Rea (Joana Preiss)–who is, apparently, “the wildest woman” in Helene’s wild acquaintance. Helene acts sometimes as a voyeur to her son’s debasement, and sometimes as a participant. And it’s all rather no-holds barred, revolting stuff.

Isabelle Huppert is known for accepting risky roles–consider The Piano Teacher for example–a marvelous film that stretched boundaries. Ma Mere does more than stretch boundaries–it’s an over-the-top kinkfest that sinks rapidly into scene after scene of revolting, purposeless and demeaning encounters. The only joy to be had here is the silly self-righteousness one occasionally indulges in from watching the antics of the filthy rich who have nothing to do all day but engage in depraved activities. Huppert, as always, acts her heart out, but after a while, the film just becomes an exercise in how much the viewer will tolerate. In French with English subtitles.

“He has friends in high places.”

Claude Chabrol’s film Comedy of Power stars Isabelle Huppert as Judge Jeanne Charmant-Killman. Known as the “Piranha” her job is reportedly the “most powerful” position in France, and this certainly seems to be true when she begins a corruption and tax evasion investigation of wealthy businessman, Michel Humeau (Francois Berleand). While Jeanne digs up facts about Humeau’s spending habits–including details about an expensive mistress–Humeau becomes increasingly agitated and nervous, aggravating his skin condition. But Humeau’s distress doesn’t bother Jeanne as she continues to probe coldly and relentlessly into his life.

Comedy of Power examines various power structures within society–the power structure in the workplace, the power structure at home, and also the invisible power network between business and politicians. This latter sort of power is seen as the most insidious and strongest form of power that exists, and yet it’s elusive and largely impossible to track-except for the trail of money, bribes and favours that litter these corporate-political relationships. The term `comedy’ is ironically applied in Chabrol’s examination of power. Although Jeanne, for example, is deemed the most powerful woman in France, thanks to her job–where exactly that gets her is the subject of this fascinating film.

This is a splendid role for Huppert. Career-driven, obsessive and unemotional, she keeps her husband at a distance. At one point in the film, Jeanne’s husband (Robin Renucci) tells her she lacks only one thing, and he promises to tell her what that one thing is sometime in the future…Naturally this statement eats away at the otherwise unflappable Jeanne and she even asks her nephew Felix (Thomas Chabrol) what it is that she’s missing. She’s admired, envied, and feared, but the idea that she’s missing something nags away at her psyche. By the time the film concludes, however, we realise what it is that Jeanne lacks. Humanity. There again, it’s not a requirement for her job.

Comedy of Power examines Power as an intangible mechanism, an invisible, corrupting commodity. It can be acquired by fair means or foul. It can be possessed. Power is also a relative term, so while one may wield a certain amount of power, if pitted against a more powerful opponent, the one with the least power will still be crushed. Power can be stripped away through a series of circumstances, or it can simply vaporize like smoke, and we see exactly how both scenarios occur before the film’s end. And this is where the term comedy comes in. You may think you have ‘power’ but it’s only when you no longer possess it that you realise it’s gone. And then what was the point of it in the first place?

Based on a true story, this is one of the best Chabrol films in years. The corruption thread is a little muddy, but Huppert keeps our attention until the conclusion of this intriguing film.