As unpredictable as tennis

Without being an authority on all things French, The Perfume of Yvonne (or, Yvonne’s Perfume, or, Le parfum d’Yvonne) seems to be a very “French” sort of film; and not in the good kind of way. It has that fairly classic tragic structure perhaps most recently popularized in the French-derived musical Moulin Rouge. Beginning with a narrated voiceover from a depressed lover, the film follows the recent past of a passionate and doomed romance between an object and a subject, a banana and a monkey, a bribe and a politician: a woman and a man. The insane embrace of class elitism in this film is over-the-top, up there with the best of them. Victor’s aloofness is matched only by Yvonne’s complete flatness as a character. She is an image and nothing more; he is the one imagining, and nothing more. The camera enjoys watching them (her, really) in crowds, in public places, which apparently lends to a more dreamlike feel. The vibe is constantly that, to Victor and Yvonne, there is no one else who exists, no one else worth giving the time of day, and yet the camera remains an uncomfortable and sometimes strangely loud presence. This is not a cohesive film stylistically, and it’s empty thematically by virtue of its priority to viewer effect over content. The inevitable destiny of their “love” is a predictable tragedy for tragedy’s sake – except that it’s not really tragic at all. Yvonne’s abandoning of Victor discredits not only their affair but the film itself. But then what do you expect from a film with a line like: “It’s not just you. It’s also myself I drive mad.”

2003: Confidences Trop Intimes di Patrice Leconte

“Ancora una volta il regista francese ha saputo colpire al cuore” (MyMovies), “E’ il film più fine di Leconte” (Il Morandini), “Un piccolo capolavoro da non perdere assolutamente” (Il Corriere della Sera), “Patrice Leconte è un regista pieno di sorprese e, di stile, ne ha da vendere. Questo film ne è la dimostrazione inoppugnabile” (Repubblica).

Patrice Leconte è autore vari piccoli gioielli che è giusto ricordare: Tandem del 1987, Il marito della parrucchiera del 1990, Ridicule del 1996, La ragazza sul ponte del 1999, L’amore che non muore del 2000, L’uomo del treno del 2002, Il mio migliore amico del 2006.

In Confidenze troppo intime il regista parigino affronta una sfida che definire ardua è poco: attanagliare lo spettatore per due ore con una vicenda in cui l’azione manca quasi totalmente e che si svolge quasi sempre nello stesso chiuso (claustrofobico) ambiente. Ma Patrice Leconte vi riesce in pieno con un film che è un continuo omaggio a Hitchcock e che non ci consente un attimo di distrazione.

Un’opera dal ritmo serrato senza una scena di troppo, un racconto che incuriosisce e instilla nello spettatore mille dubbi e mille interrogativi, una trama (che non va raccontata dettagliatamente) arricchita da tante piccole notazioni intelligenti e di profonda umanità.

Un film sulla solitudine, sulla difficoltà di comunicare e di essere capiti, un film in cui ti senti coinvolto fin dai primi minuti, partecipe ed emozionato (un film che è un delitto spezzettare in primo e secondo tempo… ma quando la finiremo con questa cattiva abitudine di cui non si capisce il senso?).  Un film che finisce nel modo più inatteso ma coerente e credibile (alzi la mano chi non rimarrà sorpreso!). Sandrine Bonnaire e Fabrice Luchini offrono una performance eccezionale che non sarà dimenticata tanto facilmente.

Intrigante, ambiguo, sensuale, raffinato, ironico, leggero e profondo al contempo… “un thriller dei sentimenti” (Olga di Comite) che riconcilia col grande schermo e mostra in pieno la grande forza del cinema europeo.

Da sottoscrivere quanto scrive Gianni Merlin su Cinemovie: “Un invidiabile connubio fra sceneggiatura pungente, occhio cinematografico e bravura degli attori, come a dire forse le 3 principali doti di cui una pellicola deve dotarsi per la sua buona riuscita e che propriamente fanno di Confidenze troppo intime una piccola lezione di cinema”.

Note: Per questo film Patrice Leconte ha avuto la nomination al Festival di Berlino e agli European Film Awards

scheda

*Presque perdu dans la traduction: Almost lost in translation.

Films about pre-revolutionary France tend to share a kind of sadistic fatalism. They present a picture of boorish aristocrats too consumed in their own petty affairs to see the opposition and hatred fomenting beneath them. They’re tragic characters, but in some sense, they deserve whatever they get.

Patrice Leconte’s Academy Award nominated 1996 film Ridicule is no exception.

In the court of Louis XVI, wealth and status rule the day, but the real king is belle esprit – literally, “beautiful mind”. Belle esprit is what the aristocrats call a sharp, biting wit. They craft a perfectly brutal and entirely zero-sum situation in which the only way to advance one’s status in the court is to publicly and brilliantly humiliate another (and avoid being ridiculed oneself).

Entering the fray is Grégoire Ponceludon de Malavoy (Charles Berling), a small-time nobleman from the Dombes province who seeks the support of the king to rid his country of the horrible swamps that kill the majority of his peasants via mosquito-borne illnesses. He meets the Marquis de Bellegarde (Jean Rochefort), an aged aristocrat whose wits are no longer sharp enough to compete in court. The Marquis takes Malavoy under his wing, teaching him the use of repartée, word games, rhyming epigrams, and other clever bits of malevolent wordplay that will bring him ever-closer to an audience with the king.

But never puns, warns the Marquis. Puns are the “death of wit”. And never laugh at your own jokes.

Malavoy takes to these rules famously, despite conflicting strategic and romantic interests in the gorgeous and cunning courtesan widow, Madame de Blayac (Fanny Ardant), and the Marquis de Bellegarde’s breathtaking and scientifically-minded daughter Mathilde (Judith Godrèche). He also faces opposition by Madame de Blayac’s current companion, the Abbot de Vilecourt (Bernard Giraudeau). While the film’s hollowly-crafted love triangle is made a good deal more convincing by marvelous performances on the part of the three leads, this film’s effectiveness is made entirely by the brilliantly crafted court dialogue.

Rémi Waterhouse’s script shines in these scenes. If Aaron Sorkin wrote about old-world aristocratic politics, this is almost certainly what it would sound like. However, the film strikes a somewhat bizarre tone. It revels in the cruelty of these scenes in a fashion that is almost darkly comedic, but also feels the need to impress upon us how deeply misguided and out-of-touch these people are.

The court scenes also contain such precise and esoteric language that they raise an unfortunate and seemingly unavoidable issue that comes when bringing a film to a new language – inaccurate translation. At times, the English subtitles accurately conveyed the language, and at times they were adjusted as the scene required, such as a scene in which the characters are rhyming. However, the language would occasionally be oversimplified in a way that seemingly contributed nothing to the scene, and in some cases, completely changed the meaning of the original line.

A few examples…

There was an outcry back in March of this year when Magnolia Pictures mangled the subtitles of Tomas Alfredson’s brilliant Swedish vampire coming-of-age film, Let the Right One In. Having seen (and loved) the theatrical version, I promptly returned my copy of this film to Amazon when I heard the news about the faulty subtitles. It’s always a tough balancing act when deciding how to watch a film in a language you don’t know (or even a language I do know, in the case of Ridicule). If you choose the dubbed version, you get a caliber of acting typically reserved for cereal commercials, but at least you don’t have to read any subtitles. If you choose the original version, the acting is better, but you still have to contend with lazy translation. Some films, such as those of popular animators like Hiyao Miyazaki, receive solid translations and dubs with real actors. Just have to take what you can get, I suppose.

But I digress.

Ridicule is a solid film, competently shot, and feels visually authentic (with the period backdrops and costumes). It’s probably more enjoyable if you know a bit of French, but the acerbic wit and incisive jabs are delivered well enough to transcend the language barrier.

Details about Ridicule’s ending will follow.

Like the court scenes, the film’s ending is also tonally bizarre. It introduces a duel with a character that had not appeared in any prior scene, and seems to serve only to give Malavoy some minor triumph, or at least demonstrate his hypocritically selective pride. The love story is ended in a more satisfying manner, owing largely to Mathilde’s quite believable transformation (and Judith Godrèche’s brilliant performance), but the central conflict between Malavoy and Vilecourt is not resolved in any conventional sense. Vilecourt’s antagonism is compelling, but Malavoy only ever wins a few minor skirmishes. Vilecourt’s largely self-inflicted downfall seems to suggest that in such foul and petty company, it is quite possible to be too clever for one’s own good. Or perhaps, even more simply, the longer you spend in this court, the more likely you are to pass out of favor like last year’s fashions.

Ultimately, the characters’ collective machinations count for very little. And given the proximity of the film’s timeframe to the Reign of Terror, it’s probably better for Malavoy that he finds himself digging through the muck alongside his peasants in the end. Any success at court would’ve gained him, at best, a half-dug canal, and at worst, a guillotine blade to the back of the neck, courtesy of Robespierre.

But at least he met a nice young lady for his troubles.

FilmWonk rating: 7.5 out of 10

Quantas pessoas iriam ao seu enterro? Essa pergunta não deixar de ter o seu lado tétrico, mas pode nos revelar quantos amigos realmente temos. Ontem fizemos um Cine Debate com o filme “Meu melhor amigo”,  uma produção francesa que conta a história de um comerciante de antiguidades que é desafiado a apresentar seu melhor amigo em 10 dias, caso contrário perderá um valioso vaso grego que possui. É dirigido por Patrice Leconte e com Daniel Auteuil no elenco. Num primeiro momento, imaginei que o título fosse Fidélité. Na verdade, Fidélité é o nome da produtora, e o título original é Mon Meilleur Ami. Trata-se, na verdade, de uma feliz coincidência, como pude observar no próprio filme:  um dos personagens, Bruno Bouley, taxista extremamente simpático e serviçal, sofria por ter sido traído por seu melhor amigo, que fugira com a sua esposa. Às vezes, entendemos melhor uma virtude pelo seu oposto, como neste caso. Não são os três “s” (sorridente, simpático, sincero) que fazem uma amizade. Isso no máximo propicia a aproximação do outro a nós, pois nos fazemos amáveis (mas não amados). A verdadeira amizade é, de certa forma, construída e testada na fidelidade do dia a dia. O verdadeiro amigo é fiel, custe o que custar, nas coisas pequenas e grandes. Assim, devemos nos perguntar: quem são aquelas pessoas “fiéis” a mim, que são capazes que se sacrificar por mim, desde comprar um salgado na lanchonete, defender-nos e nos contar quem está falando mal de nós por trás, quebrar um galho no trabalho, ensinar o pulo do gato, até tratar a nossa namorada de maneira respeitosa, e isso tudo de maneira desinteressada? Estas são as minhas verdadeiras amizades.

È uno dei pochi film francesi che conosca davvero interessanti, tralasciando ovviamente tutti quelli del nouvelle vogue di truffaut. Seppur semplice e senza troppi livelli di lettura è veramente efficace: andare a parlare dell’amicizia e delle difficoltà che a volte presenta essa non è un argomento di uso comune nelle pellicole cinematografiche. È molto più usato e “commerciale” andare a parlare di love story e puttanate varie. Il film è proprio costruito bene, auteil si conferma grandissimo attore e dany boon viene presentato alle platee di tutta europa. In sostanza va a parlare di due persone prive di amicizie, l’una perché troppo dedita al proprio business, l’altra forse per la troppa estroversia. Ci dà un fermo immagine reale di come si vada a compromettere la vita sociale di tutti i giorni, senza banalità e fesserie. Davvero istruttivo.

a presto, Jurg

Ah le charme des bals du 14 Juillet à la campagne! Avec une surprise cette année : Patrice Leconte (le réalisateur de “La fille sur le pont”, “L’homme du train”, “Confidences trop intimes”, ou… , oui, aussi, “Les bronzés” 1, 2 et 3) qui profite lui aussi de la fête dans ce minuscule village provençal… Un homme très sympathique soit dit en passant…

Sinopse do fórum Making Off

La Fille sur le Pont é uma encantadora ficção e um clássico instantâneo. Desde o momento da escolha dos atores ao uso de um espectro fascinantemente preto e branco, é uma surpreendente expressão da maestria na arte de dirigir de Patrice Leconte. Cada lançamento de faca traz o suspense e o êxtase do medo através das personagens que passamos a amar. Este é um romance incomum que deixa o espectador iluminado e sentindo-se leve, sem sacrificar a crueza da realidade.

Minhas impressões

Realmente, o filme foge o lugar comum dos romances. Sem cenas de beijo, sem cenas de sexo. A relação é marcada pela sorte advinda após encontro do casal e pela confiança espabelecida pela jovem e o atirador de facas. A cena abaixo é uma das mais belas do filme.

© Vanessa Paradis par Mondino

© J.B. Mondino
Album “divine idylle” 2008

Albums CD de Vanessa Paradis :
Marilyn et John (1988)
Variations sur le même t’aime (1990) – produit par Serge Gainsbourg
Vanessa Paradis (1992) – produit par Lenny Kravitz
Bliss (2000)
Au zenith (2001)
Divine idylle (2007) – produit par Mathieu Chedid “M”

Vanessa Paradis au cinéma :
Noce blanche (1989 -Jean-Claude Brisseau)
Elisa (1995 – Jean Becker)
Un amour de sorcière (1997 – René Manzor)
1 chance sur 2 (1998 – Patrice Leconte)
La Fille sur le pont (1999 – Patrice Leconte)
Mon ange (2005 – Serge Frydman)
La Clef (2007 – Guillaume Nicloux)
et prochainement, “Sage femme” de Mabrouk el Mechri

Annecy- Jour 1.

Annecy est un monde après la pluie. Gorgée d’eau, elle exhale ce matin un parfum moite de désir. 

Après quelques formalités, guidé par le sourire des hôtesses du bureau des pleurs qui annoncent comme à regret mon statut ectoplasmique, j’obtiens la traditionnelle sacoche estampillée Annecy 09 -noire et constellée de Pin’s cette fois- et le badge de rigueur. Quelques minutes plus tard, je chevauche un vélo qui me mènera à un salon et une étrange rencontre.

“Mais qu’est-il arrivé à Patrice Leconte ?” se demandait Bernard Achour, le journaliste du Nouvel Obs dans sa critique du film La Guerre des miss. “Une infinie tristesse se dégage de cette cafardeuse comédie” renchérissait Le Figaroscope.

Patrice est là, devant moi, à Annecy. Devant la presse, décontracté du gland, le cinéaste qui honnit les critiques (ou l’inverse). Je lis distraitement l’article Wikipedia qui lui est consacré : ” [en 1975], Patrice Leconte commence à croire qu’il a fait fausse route dans le cinéma et accentue sa carrière publicitaire.” Mais les Bronzés déboulent, Patrice se sent obligé de continuer, se plante de nouveau, s’obstine, bifurque, s’essaie aux costumes, puis sort les Miss. C’est la guerre. 

“Vous avez raté votre vie ? Venez nous voir, ça pourra s’arranger.” Plaît-il ? Patrice en pleine conversation avec les Témoins de Jéhovah ? Non. C’est le pitch du nouveau projet de Patrice -”réalisable dans deux ou trois ans autant dire mon premier film posthume” (rires dans la salle)- intitulé Le Magasin des Suicides (professionnels). Les artistes mettent toujours du leur dans leurs oeuvres paraît-il. 

Vous l’aurez compris, puisque Patrice est à Annecy, c’est que son projet –15 millions d’euros de budget avec option 3D, oui c’est à la mode- est un film d’animation -nouvelle pirouette, ultime ? Adapté d’un roman de Jean Teulé par les soins de Patrice -”Quand Jean a lu l’adaptation il était sur le cul”- ce film pourra toujours servir à une pub de Dignitas. Soit “un magasin où l’on vend depuis dix générations tous les ingrédients possibles pour se suicider. Cette petite entreprise familiale prospère dans la tristesse et l’humeur sombre jusqu’au jour abominable où surgit un adversaire impitoyable: la joie de vivre.” Un petit garçon incarnera l’adversaire -Patrice courant après l’innocence-, tel “le vers dans le fruit du malheur et de la dépression”. Ca sent le vécu. 

Annecy n’est plus tout à fait la terre. A dans trois ans donc, laissons le vers grandir. Je pars pour ma première projection.

S.

Película de Patrice Leconte

Daniel Auteuil “apuñala” a Vanessa Paradis

Me he quedado mudo

La fille sur le pont en versión original. De Patrice Leconte (1999)

Un lanzador de cuchillos y una suicida, viven una aventura en maravilloso blanco y negro.

Daniel Auteuil y Vanessa Paradis y la mejor música que se pueda imaginar para una película donde el amor y la suerte lo son todo.

La películas románticas cada vez me gustan más. ¿Alguien adivina qué significa eso?

I was going to write about The Girl on the Bridge (La fille sur le pont), how beautiful and funny it is, about the fantastic performances by the two lead actors, Vanessa Paradis and Daniel Auteuil; I was going to mention a few other outstanding films by the French director Patrice Leconte — well, maybe some other time.

One thing led to another; in this case, one song from the movie, performed by Marianne Faithful, led to another song of hers, supposedly from the French movie Roberto Succo (which I haven’t seen). So this is for those who love Marianne’s voice.

Enjoy!

‘Le Mari de la Coiffeuse‘ es una preciosa película que, en 1990, rodó Patrice Leconte con Jean Rochefort (el que iba a ser el Alonso Quijano de Terry Gilliam) y Anna Galiena, italiana voluptuosa como las mujeres neorrealistas de ‘Arroz Amargo‘ o las películas de Fellini, que en España ha trabajado con Bigas Luna por ejemplo.

‘El Marido de la Peluquera‘, que así se llama esta deliciosa película en español, cuenta la historia de Antoine, que desde niño estaba obsesionado con la peluquera que le cortaba el pelo cuando era un crío y acabó casándose con Mathilde, la nueva peluquera, siendo ya un adulto.

Así, Antoine hizo realidad su sueño se casarse con una peluquera, sueño que mantenía desde que, a los 12 años, vio un pecho blanco asomar por el escote de una bata entreabierta por el calor y el sofoco y decidió que el hombre que se casara con una peluquera sería el más feliz del mundo.

Más tarde, el cantautor canario Pedro Guerra decidió escribir una canción sobre la historia de Antoine y Mathilde, a la que le dio el nombre homónimo de la propia película, ‘El Marido de la Peluquera‘, que es un concentrado de la película de Leconte en lo que dura una canción: 3 minutos.

Preciosa canción que ilustra, perfectamente, una preciosa película.

De niño bailaba canciones del moro,
el baile venía de adentro y así se inventaban los modos.
De niño soñaba olores profundos,
las mezclas de espuma, colonia
y sudor de unos pechos desnudos.

Y abrázame fuerte que no pueda respirar,
tengo miedo de que un día ya no quiera bailar conmigo.
Abrázame fuerte que no pueda respirar,
tengo miedo de que un día
ya no quiera bailar conmigo nunca más.

“Le Batteur du Boléro” è un cortometraggio diretto da Patrice Leconte, presentato fuori concorso al 45° Festival di Cannes.

Il cortometraggio è costituito da un unico piano sequenza, che inizia da un dettaglio dei piedi del direttore di un’orchestra, si allarga all’intera orchestra, che esegue il celeberrimo Bolero di Ravel, vi gira intorno e si sofferma ad inquadrare il batterista (dalla sua destra) in un piano medio che dura per tutto il resto del cortometraggio.

Basta un po’ di inventiva, la famosa idea, per far diventare geniale qualunque cosa!

The BBC for London says Monday “heavy snow.” It is ICY cold outside. I’ve been laid up all weekend with hormonal girly afflictions so severe that I thought I was going to be sick while I wept yesterday, and tomorrow must be teleported to my new secret employment somewhere over London, snow or no snow, and basically I am still surviving on Nurofen. Last time that happened – the snow I mean not being laid up, that is depressingly usual – I got, if you recall, a blog post out of my ordeal trying to get to Victoria, which I illustrated with a photograph of Nanook of the North trying to claw his way into a frozen-over igloo. It represented me trying to get into Seven Sisters station.

On the other hand, I love the snow. And although I missed a party I really wanted to go to last night, I was very snug where I was – which was on the couch, watchinga DVD of Jean Vigo’s 1934 film L’Atalante. It is my new favourite film. I thought I might have seen it before, when I was a kid, because I’m sure I remember the baroque Maman going on about it, but no, I hadn’t. It turns out to be one of those things it’s just embarrassing not to have seen. Several movies I love are now recast in its light, including (majorly) Patrice Leconte’s The Girl on the Bridge and even the wedding sequence in last year’s You, the Living, by Roy Andersson. To say nothing of the works of Truffaut.

I want to say more about this movie when I’m less tired; let’s see when we get the time…

Meanwhile, here is what Mlle B did on her way home.

After seven months, 700 tags and several thousand keystrokes, The Seventh Art reaches its 100th post (or as many Indian bloggers would like to call it, my 100th ranting/rambling/musing). First off, my thanks to the handful of readers who have been increasing my hit counter over the months. It couldn’t have been possible without you (Well, it could have been, but thanks anyways). So being the 100th post, I would like to take the opportunity to scribble about an event that celebrated the number 100 in some other way.

It is now a widely accepted fact that the Lumiére brothers are the fathers of the seventh art, though a few films had already been made as early as 1888 (Roundhay Garden Scene, Dickson’s experiment, Carmentica et al). Their series of films starting in 1895 notably Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat and Employees Leaving the Lumière Factory have become pieces of historical interest. It is said that the audience fled the theatre thinking that a real train is heading their way!

Take a look at the piece:

Cut to 1995. To commemorate the event of 100 years of cinema, a project called Lumiére et Compagnie (Lumiére & Company) was undertaken. Its intention was to gather the most important contemporary directors at one place and give them a task – To make a film using the same camera that was used by the Lumiére brothers!. Not just that, there were three more rules:

1.    The movie should not be more than 52 seconds.
2.    The directors should not used synchronized sound
3.    Only 3 takes allowed!

The film as such follows the directors making their films with the bizarre device interspersed with miniature interviews upon various questions including their views on mortality of cinema and their own motives for taking up the medium in order to express themselves. Some interesting opinions come out during these sections.

The list of 41 directors by itself is mind boggling with the likes of Abbas Kiarostami, David Lynch, Theo Angelopoulos, Michael Haneke, Zhang Yimou, Wim Wenders and many more (See Tags for the list!). The result- 41 minute films with totally different perspectives. Abbas Kiarostami’s “Dinner for One” is typically his style as he makes an omelet.  David Lynch’s bizarre piece, as usual, set in a quiet little suburban town that has more mystery than meets the eye is an instant hit. Zhang Yimou’s “cultural piece” near the China Wall, Gabriel Axel’s tracking sot of the various arts and Wim Wenders’ extension of Wings of Desire are all immensely amusing to watch.

Here is David Lynch’s piece for you:

And Spike Lee’s cute one:

The film by itself is not very extraordinary. But it is all about the event and the massive operation of bringing all the masters under one place and putting them under such constraints that no one else would dare to in any other year. A celebration of Cinema and one for the cinephiles.

Freitag, 05.09.08 | 22.25 – 23.55 | 3SAT | F 1998 | Regie: Patrice Leconte

Messerwerfer Gabor (Daniel Auteuil, aktuell im Kino in “Dialog mit meinem Gärtner” zu sehen) rettet Adèle (Vanessa Paradis) vom Brückensprung und setzt sie für seine Profession als lebensmüde Zielscheibe ein. Aus der zufälligen Begegnung entwickelt sich eine intensive Beziehung, die weit über ein Liebesabenteuer hinausgeht.

Ko tur daudz liegties, laikam jau pēdējo divu dekāžu Galvenā Filma Par Mīlestību, “new wave” un turpat vai Verhūvena naratīva neprognozējams sajaukums, kas tieši šī iemesla dēļ tā arī izsit no sliedēm. Pēc noskatīšanās gribas nekavējoties piecelties kājās, iziet ārā un sameklēt Lekontu, lai paspiestu viņam roku – programmas turpinājumā paredzēta piedzeršanās krogā ar Seržu Frīdmanu (scenārijs + dialogi), “čuvak, kā tu varēji kaut ko tādu uzrakstīt?!”. It just takes a girl on the bridge with the big sad eyes.

in 2008 martcore says
afigkino++

På analyssoffan

Den franske regissören Patrice Leconte förnekar att han vet någonting om psykoanalys. Om det är sant, är det fascinerande hur han lyckas fånga så pass mycket av den psykoanalytiska ramen, hållningen och relationen i sin förväxlingshistoria, Intima främlingar.

Själva titeln: Intima främlingar skulle kunna vara en beteckning i koncentrat för den psykoanalytiska relationen analysand och analytiker emellan. Intrigen är enkel: En kvinna söker upp en psykiater för att få hjälp med sina äktenskapliga problem. Hon tar fel dörr och hamnar hos en skatterådgivare, som först perplex sedan alltmer fängslad lyssnar på hennes berättelse.

Det här är som ni förstår ingen actionfilm utan den vänder sig till oss som gärna ger oss tid att reflektera över det märkliga spel vi människor leker med varandra. Här figurerar sju personer, Kvinnan, Hennes make, Skatterådgivaren, Hans separerade sambo, Psykiatern, Sekreteraren och Patienten. Alla bidrar precis så mycket som behövs och inte mer till att klargöra berättelsen. Lecontes filmestetik är exakt och rensad från allt onödigt. Han regisserar komedier och farser när han inte gör film, något som kräver precision. De filmer han är mest känd för här hemma är Fula gubben och Hårfrisörskans make, bägge handlar om rätt ordinärt folk som blir intressanta helt enkelt genom att de får en så koncentrerad uppmärksamhet av Leconte. Det är skickligt, vackert och underfundigt.

Om ni tycker att det låter otroligt att Kvinnan tar fel på en psykiaters och en skatterådgivares responser, har ni inte tagit i beaktande förföreställningens (till redaktionen: OBS, ingen felskrivning: ”förföreställning” är ett begrepp) styrka. Vi ser det vi vill se och upplever det vi kan. Häri ligger förklaringen till att de allra flesta av oss är så urusla vittnen när det kommer till kritan. Kvinnan tror att hon är hos en doktor och är uppfylld av sitt behov av att få berätta hur hon har det. Det skall vara någon som hon inte behöver ta hänsyn till och som inte ska involveras i hennes liv. För att hon ska våga utlämna sig själv och sin relation till maken krävs det en neutral lyssnare. Skatterådgivaren försöker förgäves klargöra situationen, men Kvinnan vägrar lyssna, hon har äntligen tagit sig över sitt eget motstånd mot att ta emot hjälp, hon tänker inte låta en bagatell som att hon kommit till fel sorts expert hindra henne. Här anar man att farsmakaren har ett finger med i spelet. Men i filmen blir det inte skrattretande utan ett rörande tecken på hur svältfödd Kvinnan är på att få odelad uppmärksamhet. Hon blir också alltmer frigjord och hennes förändring medför, som vi så ofta erfar, att även maken förändras. De återfår kontakten och det resulterar så småningom i att de beslutar sig för att gå skilda vägar. Något som inte heller är så ovanligt efter genomgången behandling.

Kvinnan inser motvilligt efter hand att hon gjort ett misstag. Hon har inte alls talat med någon psykiater, men hon struntar i det. Hon har funnit vad hon sökt – en tålmodig lyssnare som endast ställer klargörande frågor. Hon får hjälp att se sin belägenhet ur nya perspektiv och ana sin egen del i att hon är en fånge i äktenskapet.

Även Skatterådgivaren förändras: Vi får bevittna en ensam dans till musik, där han släpper loss sin sensuella sida efter att han blivit varse hur mycket han njuter av att få Kvinnans förtroenden. Han är annars genomgående stelt iklädd sin formella dräkt, inte bara slips och kostym utan också en oförmåga att reagera spontant och ta risken att bli avvisad. Hans personliga dilemma, anar vi, är att han av livet lärt sig att avvakta och förbli iakttagare. Han lever kvar i sina föräldrars lägenhet där han också tagit över faderns praktik. Han har inte mognat till självständighet och lämnat boet – men gör det i slutet av filmen.

Skatterådgivaren tar hjälp av den psykiater som Kvinnan egentligen hade en tid hos och får då upplysningen att ”vi vet allt om oss själva, utan att veta om det”. Återigen ett koncentrat av psykoanalytisk kunskap. Vi bär vår självkännedom med oss, men det mesta är omedvetet. Ibland behöver vi hjälp att förlösa kunskapen så att den blir möjlig att tänka över och handla efter. Det är därför rådgivning är så malplacerad enligt psykoanalytisk teknik och praxis. Det patienten själv kommer fram till är så mycket mer förankrat i henne, att det blir direkt användbart.

Kvinnan stöter då och då på en av Psykiaterns patienter på väg till en session. Han lider av hissfobi och tvångssymtom. Allteftersom Kvinnan blir mer och mer sig själv kan hon också hjälpa Patienten att våga ta sig igenom ångesten och åka hissen ända upp.

Skatterådgivaren involveras mot sin vilja i Kvinnan och Hennes makes äktenskapliga tvekamp. Kvinnans make har en föreställning om att om någon bevittnar den sexuella akten, blir han fri att genomföra den. Han arrangerar således så att Skatterådgivaren genom fönstret får se hur Kvinnan och Hennes make återfår sin sexuella lust tillsammans i en hotellsäng. I enlighet med Lecontes raffinerade estetik, utan att exponera scenen för oss i publiken. Det är via ombud vi får vara med. Det enda vi behöver veta är att det skett och vilken frigörande vrede arrangemanget väcker hos Kvinnan. Hon ser tydligt sin makes perversion och vägrar fortsätta ge näring till den.

Ute ur biomörkret finns det utrymme för vidare reflektion över filmens allegoriska beskrivning av en psykoanalytisk process. Skatterådgivarens bidrag är att vara mottagare för Kvinnans berättelse. Psykiatern står för kunskapen och före detta sambon för vanligt bondförnuft. Sekreteraren hävdar vikten av proffessionalitet och Kvinnans make åstadkommer oförutsedda ageranden som bidrar till förändringen. Patienten slutligen får representera det motstånd mot förändring som alltid finns hos var och en av oss. Hellre en välkänd hämning än en oförutsägbar frihet. Och kanske blir det kontentan av Lecontes film att vi egentligen är fria att ta vara på de oförutsedda möjligheterna vi bär inom oss, om vi bara ger oss hän. Men att våga ge sig hän kräver erfarenheten av en fungerande relation som hållit för påfrestningar. Det är en sådan relation som psykoanalysen erbjuder.

 “Young girls can be so unpredictable.”

Based on the Georges Simenon novel The Engagement, Monsieur Hire from director Patrice Leconte is a dark tale of isolation and obsession. Set in modern Paris, the film begins with ominous sounds set against a dark, blank screen–birds caw, a train rushes past in the distance, a car pulls up, and we hear footsteps. Then we see the body of a young girl sprawled on the ground. The police inspector (Andre Wilms) in charge of the murder investigation seems to feel regret at the death of such a beautiful young girl. To him, her death is “an error.” At one point when the girl’s body is in the morgue, there’s a moment when it appears as though he may even lovingly and longingly kiss the dead lips of the murder victim, Pierette.

It should, therefore, come as no surprise that the inspector takes the death of Pierette somewhat personally and that he takes a hostile approach to his suspect. Very soon after the body is discovered suspicion falls on Monsieur Hire (Michel Blanc) a middle-aged man who lives alone in a small flat right next to the plot of empty land where Pierette’s body was found. This is a working-class neighbourhood, and somehow Hire seems out of place. Hire has no friends and leads a solitary life–going back and forth to work where he keeps a few pet mice.

Hire is a creature of habit. Everything in his flat is kept neat and clean. A slight figure, middle-aged, balding, and wearing a long black coat, he stands out as a detested, strange figure in the noisy neighbourhood he lives in. While it is the inspector’s job to dig around and turn up clues, Hire’s manner draws suspicion. Not only is he disliked by everyone in the neighbourhood, but he’s also anti-social and averse to the inspector’s questions. While most people would at least pretend to comply with the police investigation, Hire makes a point of insulting the inspector. When ugly details about Hire’s past emerge, it seems possible that Hire may the murderer.

Each night, Monsieur Hire indulges his voyeuristic tendencies by watching a young woman named Alice (Sandrine Bonnaire) in the opposite flat. He has a perfect view, and watches many intimate moments–until one night she spots him staring at her. Most women would run, scream, call the police or buy curtains–but not Alice, she approaches Hire very tentatively, and so their sad and bizarre relationship begins.

Love is so rarely sensible and this is exemplified by the tragic love triangle that emerges. Alice is in love with a young hood named Emile, and while she is fully aware that the relationship is one-sided, she acknowledges that she loves enough “for both.” So while Alice loves a man who’s unworthy of her, Hire is passionately devoted to a woman who disregards him.

Michel Blanc is one of France’s finest actors. He doesn’t get the roles of the romantic leads. He usually gets the character parts, and in this film, he really shows how talented he is. Blanc plays a frozen, stunted human being whose loneliness cannot be breached easily. While Hire longs for human contact, he also loathes and fears intimacy. Blanc conveys all this with tremendous skill.

The films of Patrice Leconte often explore the unusual and difficult-to-define relationships that occur between human beings. These are the relationships that occur by accident (Intimate Strangers, Man on a Train), or the ephemeral relationships based on fantasy (The Hairdresser’s Husband, Rue de Plaisirs). Monsieur Hire with its subdued eroticism is one of Leconte’s finest and most controlled films. The excellent and haunting musical score is by Michael Nyman.