Film Review
After Claude Chabrol and François Truffaut, two prominent staff
members on the film review magazine
Les
Cahiers du cinéma, had made a successful start to their
filmmaking careers, effectively launching the French New Wave as they
did so, fellow critic and co-founder of
Les Cahiers Jacques Doniol-Valcroze
entered the fray with his own offbeat auteur offering,
L'Eau à la bouche.
Whilst the film was very well-received by its author's peers it lacked
the popular appeal of the films of his Nouvelle Vague contemporaries
and what longevity it has it owes almost entirely to its famous theme
song, which was contributed by none other than Serge Gainsbourg near
the start of his illustrious career (in fact this was the first film
that the musical Titan lent his talents to). Doniol-Valcroze made
only half a dozen films over the course of one decade, his best known
work
La Maison des Bories (1970)
being very different to his early films, which have a far more
subversive and ironic edge to them.
L'Eau à la bouche
probably ranks as Doniol-Valcroze's most inspired film, a mischievous
comedy of manners which mocks the sexual mores of its time with an
acerbic wit that is typical of its author. With its elegant
tracking shots across the empty spaces of an opulently furnished
country château and unsettling zooms, which always seem to hint
at something nasty beneath the polished surface of respectability, the
film possesses a haunting dreamlike quality that resonates with Alain
Resnais's
L'Année dernière à
Marienbad (1961). As in Resnais's film, the characters
appear more like marionettes than real people, well-carved automata
mechanically performing the rituals of love in a setting that seems to
be more fairytale than real. The film is both strongly evocative
of the French New Wave and yet it feels eerily different, with a
distinctive lyricism that has elements of Cocteau, Renoir and
Buñuel.
As an echo of Renoir's
La Règle du jeu (1939),
the cool romantic intrigue that is played out by the upper-crust idlers
is mirrored by the below-stairs shenanigans of an oversexed valet and a
provocative chambermaid. Whilst Françoise Brion (the
director's future wife) and Alexandra Stewart are enjoying a
(supposedly) civilised game of romantic mixed doubles with Jacques
Riberolles and Gérard Barray, confining their amorous exploits
to the bedroom to the accompaniment of organ music by Bach, Michel
Galabru lecherously pursues Bernadette Lafont all over the
château, looking like a salivating hound in hot pursuit of a
juicy little fox. The seemingly friendly game of cat and mouse
ends with a shocking payoff when Galabru finally catches up with Lafont
and comes within an inch of raping her, only to be humiliated once she
has eluded him one more time. Far from disapproving of Galabru's
lascivious antics, his haute-bourgeois alter ego (who later turns out
to be a fraud) offers him some friendly advice, and it is by uttering
the magic words 'William of Orange' that the lusting valet gets to
unlock the chambermaid's chastity belt. As one primitive mating
ritual is tidily resolved, the ones being played out 'above stairs' are
about to end in bitter discord and recrimination as deceptions are
unveiled and tempers start to fray. The characters are apparently
familiar with Alfred de Musset's observation
on ne badine pas avec l'amour but
seem to take little heed of it. There's no end of badine-ing
going on here and you wonder which is more worthy of censure - the
games of deceit enacted by the immaculately turned out representatives
of the civilised bourgeoisie or the Benny Hill-style sex farce
supplied by their wildly uncivilised servants.
More intellectual and stylised than the early films of Chabrol and
Truffaut,
L'Eau à la bouche
has an unmistakable Nouvelle Vague feel to it, which manifests both in
the film's design (some dizzying camera motion, abrupt editing and
dramatic fades to black are obvious nods to Truffaut's
Les 400 coups) and in its
subversive handling of familiar themes. It features rising star
Bernadette Lafont, the most emblematic actress of the French New Wave,
and a stunning Alexandra Stewart, who would make a memorable appearance
in Louis Malle's
Le Feu follet (1963).
Production was by Pierre Braunberger's Les Films de la Pléiade,
which supported several Nouvelle Vague films, including
Truffaut's
Tirez sur le pianiste (1960)
and Godard's
Vivre Sa Vie (1962). And yet
the film somehow stands apart from the films by Truffaut, Godard, et
al. It anticipates later work by Eric Rohmer and Woody Allen, who
would have far more success with the sophisticated rom-com formula that
Doniol-Valcroze experiments with here. Whereas the debut films by
Chabrol, Truffaut and Godard proved to be phenomenally successful, with
both critics and audiences,
L'Eau
à la bouche came and went without fanfare as a
comparatively minor auteur piece. A public sensation it may not
have been but it undeniably had an impact on the French New Wave,
through the directors who admired it for its artistry, eroticism and
darkly humorous probing of the human psyche. Gainsbourg's music,
so intensely evocative of its era, is just the icing on a very tasty
gâteau.
© James Travers, Willems Henri 2014
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Film Synopsis
In the East-Pyrenees, Milena lives in the baroque castle of her
grandmother, Lady Henriette, who lies on her deathbed. Miguel,
the family solicitor who once had an affair with Milena, is to read the
will after the old woman's death. Before he can do so, Miguel
must round up two other grandchildren, Séraphine and Jean-Paul,
who were brought up outside Milena's family. The solicitor makes
the mistake of inviting Séraphine's lover Robert instead of her
brother. As soon as she sees Robert, Milena switches her
interests from Miguel to him, an exchange which appears to satisfy both
men. Amidst all this to-ing and fro-ing, the butler César
begins to take a more than professional interest in Prudence, the maid
he has just hired...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.