Film Review
The popularity of
Poulet au vinaigre
(1985) led its director Claude Chabrol to do something he had only ever attempted
once before (with his
Le
Tigre films of the mid-1960s) - to mount an immediate sequel.
Jean Poiret was more than willing to reprise the role for which he is now best
known, the unconventional crime investigator Inspector Lavardin. No
doubt too strongly influenced by the
Dirty
Harry movies of the previous decade, Lavardin sees himself less like
an honest seeker of truth and more like an angel of justice, one who is all
too willing to intimidate suspects and distort the facts to achieve an outcome
which he deems morally correct. Lavardin's humourless charm and habit
of beating up his suspects makes him a striking counterpoint to more genial
detectives in the Columbo and Poirot line, but what most sets him apart is
his resolve to punish wrongdoers, irrespective of whether they actually committed
the crime or not.
Lavardin was among Chabrol's favourite creations, and it is not too hard
to see why - he is the director's fictional alter ego to a fault. Like
Chabrol, the Rottweiler detective has an unfettered loathing for the bourgeoisie,
particularly that putrid stratum of this refined class that is content to
wallow in the most blatant exhibitions of hypocrisy, and like his creator,
he takes a sadistic pleasure in exposing these failings, seeing what others
cannot see: the rottenness beneath the surface of well-honed sham respectability.
Played with evident relish by Jean Poiret (previously better known for his
comedic roles, in films such as Jean-Pierre Mocky's
La Grande frousse), Lavardin
continued in this vein for another four made-for-television films, in a series
entitled
Les Dossiers de l'inspecteur Lavardin - two of which were
directed by Chabrol:
L'Escargot noir (1988) and
Maux croisés
(1989).
.
If Lavardin's abrasive methods were shocking when first encountered in
Poulet
au vinaigre, in his second screen outing they are downright reprehensible,
crossing the line into what is surely flagrant immorality. Not content
merely to bully and bait his bourgeois opponents, Lavardin now sees himself
as God, using the murder of a local celebrity as an opportunity to weed out
the most malignant member in a Breton community and arrange matters so that
this individual is inculpated for a crime of which he is completely innocent
(not only that, he also provides the evidence which identifies the real killer!).
The film isn't just a tongue-in-cheek all-out attack on the bourgeoisie,
it is also serves as the wriest of commentaries on modern police methods,
which all too often start with a presumption of guilt and end with an innocent
party (invariably one outside the bourgeois clique) being chewed up by an
inherently biased judicial system.
Aided and abetted by his astute co-screenwriter Dominique Roulet, Chabrol
gets to kill two birds with one stone - scorning both France's self-serving
middle classes and a police institution whose main function would appear
to be to protect their interests. So tangled is the relationship between
the moneyed elite and the supposed guardians of law that cock-ups are bound
to happen, especially if subversive elements like Lavardin enter the fray.
In his attempts to cover up lesser crimes, a supposed pillar of the community
- a stomach-turningly slimy Jean-Luc Bideau - provides a jury with all the
ammunition it needs to convict him of murder. The egg-munching Lavardin
doesn't have to work too hard to turn a corrupt system against its corrupt
beneficiaries.
Bideau's odious nightclub owner Charnet is not the only character to get
his just desserts in this slick, meticulously crafted crime drama.
In the sequence leading up to the killing, the murder victim (a Catholic
writer of the most offensively sanctimonious kind) is seen undergoing a truly
horrific transformation - from a man of unimpeachable morals to a disgusting
animal, a slobbering, snorting, lust-consumed pig that totally deserves his
brutal end. The Church is another institution that Chabrol delights
in pillorying in this film, giving Buñuel a good run for his anti-clerical
money in the almost surreal climax to this delightfully pungent drama.
How Chabrol films this shock revelation is interesting. It begins with
a static overhead shot from a hidden camera, echoing an earlier scene in
which Lavardin attempted to reconstruct the murder. The unseen all-seeing
voyeur as an agent of judgement
crops up in several of the director's films - none more so than his earlier
L'Oeil du malin (1962) - but
here it is especially pertinent, incarnated in the form of Lavardin himself,
the only character in the film who is capable of seeing, or even willing
to see, the truth. A bizarre collection of glass eyes staring unseeingly
at the spectator provides a darkly humorous metaphor for the collective blindness
exhibited by the population of a town that refuses to take in what is happening
in their crime-ridden community.
Lavardin has most fun when he is badgering his designated victim, but he
is no less merciless when it comes to dealing with the lesser characters
in the drama, who include the openly gay brother of the woman he once (supposedly)
loved and a drug addicted, sexually ambiguous youth with a penchant for blackmail.
The former is played with his customary élan by a long-time friend
and collaborator of the director, Jean-Claude Brialy, whose debonair Cary
Grant-like charm and carefully cultivated camp eccentricity make him a more
than plausible murder suspect.
Brialy starred in Chabrol's first feature (
Le Beau Serge, 1958) alongside
Bernadette Lafont, so it is a delight to see these two actors, unfading emblems
of the French New Wave, reunited as brother and sister in
Inspecteur Lavardin,
Lafont's slyly nuanced and understated performance makes her Hélène
the only sympathetic character in the film, her purpose being to provide
a moral impetus for Lavardin's appalling actions. As in many previous
Chabrol films, the character named Hélène turns out to be the
dramatic lynchpin of a muddled intrigue, most often the prime-mover
of a savage assault on the kind of bourgeois hypocrisy which the director found so
repugnant. Inspector Lavardin's methods may not be nice to
look at, but you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, and this is
a man who loves his eggs. It's a shame he has to concuss so many chefs
along the way.
© James Travers 2022
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.
Next Claude Chabrol film:
Le Cri du hibou (1987)
Film Synopsis
In a small town on a drab stretch of the Brittany coastline, the renowned
Catholic writer Raoul Mons leads an exemplary life, intent on upholding moral
standards in the district. He leads an austere life, sharing his large
secluded house with his wife Hélène, in what is nothing more
than a marriage of convenience. Also living in the house are Hélène's
daughter Véronique from a previous marriage and her brother Claude
Alvarez, who is an obsessive collector of glass eyes. Not long after
the pious writer prohibits a local theatre company from performing a play
which he deems blasphemous, his naked corpse is found lying on the beach,
stabbed to death and with the word 'porc' inscribed on his back in red lipstick.
The murder is investigated by Inspector Lavardin, who has recently been transferred
to the area after getting into trouble in his previous posting. Lavardin
is delighted to be reunited with Hélène, an old flame of his,
but is struck by the odd coincidence that her first husband also died in
tragic circumstances, ostensibly drowning in the course of a boating trip
which also cost the life of Claude's wife. In truth, Véronique's
father is still alive and well, living in another country with Claude's wife;
he returns to the area once a year to meet up with his daughter in secret.
The most likely murder suspect is Max Charnet, the owner of Le Tamaris, a
vibrant nightclub which is frequented by all of the young people in the region.
Ignoring Charnet's claims to have contacts in high places, Lavardin persists
in harassing him, and soon discovers that he is mixed up in drugs trafficking
and prostitution. The most damning evidence against the entrepreneur
is that he provided the murdered writer with a private room where he could
entertain young women without his wife's knowledge. A large bloodstain
on the carpet in this room, along with the discovery of the dead man's clothes,
would seem to confirm Charnet's guilt, but the sudden appearance of a video
cassette showing how Mons met his maker proves otherwise. Unwilling
to see the real murderer punished, Lavardin arranges things so that a more
worthy villain is put behind bars...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.