Die Verschwiegene

Christian Vincent is said to be an admirer of Eric Rohmer however on the basis of this film Rohmer could learn a lot from Vincent. Although the narrative which Vincent co-wrote features some loose strands, Vincent's actors never appear to be as indulgently improvisational as those of Rohmer, nor do they ramble to the point of exhaustion. Vincent's control is necessary for this tale to work. The plot predates Neil Labute's In the Company of Men, with a womaniser seeking revenge on womankind by trapping someone only to hurt them so he can enjoy their pain. However Christian's agenda isn't as cruel as LaBute's, since the man is made to be a writer who will keep a personal diary of the progression of the affair. We also anticipate an unexpected result from the casting of Fabrice Luchini as the writer and Judith Henry as his prey. Luchini's physical plainness reinforces the double standard where he is only interested in women are look like supermodels, so when he meets Henry and finds her "hideous" when we can see that she has an Audrey Hepburn-ism charm, we're prepared. It also helps that unlike the deaf and painfully vulnerable Stacy Edwards of LaBute's film, Henry gives the impression of experience and that she is aware of Luchini's plan. The title is explained by Luchini as a form of makeup that women used to wear to hide a mole, and since Henry has a mole, at first it seems to suggest her true self will be destroyed by the contact. However a later connection is created which is more interesting where she confides something of her past to Luchini. The subtle tone of Christian's allegory is underlined by the music, Jay Gottlieb's arrangements of Schubert sonatas, and the pleasure to be had from the plan unfolding reinforced by Luchini's continual reporting back to the publisher who has agreed to produce the diary, with it's dates recorded over the scenes. Christian provides a Hitchcockian Mcguffin with an early conversation drowned out by the sound of a train, a tunnel backout for the dawning of a recognition, and the image of Henry sticking her head out of the window of a driving car.

Another instance where movieland gets a charming girl to play a person whom the other characters refer to as "hideous" and "ugly." I suppose that's a film-making aside for the audience to see her inner beauty to which the other characters are blind. I'd like to see a film where the supposed ugly character is played by a truly "ugly" character actor : that way, our values and perceptions are challenged to overcome surface beauty as much as the characters on screen are challenged to.

Jean and Antoine's relationship is interesting. Jean symbolizes an omniscient force in Antoine's setup match with Catherine. Antoine continually consults Jean for the next move in the relationship. One gets the feeling Antoine and Catherine are pawns in a chess game Jean is playing. But who is Jean playing against?

There is a pattern of repetition that is established from early on in the movie. Antoine's daily visits to the cafe, his visits to Jean, the retyping of manuscipts. I got the sense that there are cycles within cycles in an interlocking machine of fate. Do we know who is controlling the destiny of Catherine and Antoine's relationship? Is it Jean, is it Antoine, Catherine?

The little anecdotes Antoine tells are the subtext/footnotes to the storyline.

Catherine walking alone on the countryside to Domenico Scarlatti's K87 sonata is a gasp of quiet solitude that subtly expands her loner narrative.

I almost wrote as summary: The best Rohmer film that Rohmer never made, but I am not sure this qualifies as a conte moral in the Rohmer tradition. Although the hero talks quite eloquently, and at great length, about his états d'âme, the theme of vengeance is what puts this tale in the Dangerous Liaisons school. The editor, Jean, is responsible for getting the game underway; his friend Antoine, the writer, is the passive agent for seduction of the innocent girl Catherine. That the scheme goes awry--and believably so--is a tribute to the talents of Christian Vincent, who co-wrote the script and directed.

It's a good thing the talk is so witty and enjoyable, otherwise this film would be static and very difficult to watch. Vincent does not move his camera much, preferring the close-up on Luchini as he tells yet another amusing story, or a tight two-shot with Luchini and Henry on a couch or in bed. The performances are wonderful; everybody is at the top of their game, particularly Fabrice Luchini.

An egotistical writer is unexpectedly jilted by his girlfriend (before he has a chance to do the same to her), and in a moment of self-pity accepts a bizarre proposal from his publisher: seduce a woman at random, dump her at the moment of conquest, and keep a running diary (to be published afterward) of the entire affair. Not surprisingly, he finds himself at first annoyed, then intrigued, then attracted to his chosen victim, but what could have been just another variation of a sentimental romantic formula becomes, instead, a witty and often cynical portrait of male vanity and vulnerability. This is one of those rare examples of a near flawless script matched to a director able to maintain a genuine sense of style, without all the phony, flashy technical showmanship so popular with young filmmakers eager to make a quick impression. The finished film walks a fine line between the credible and the contrived without once missing a step, softening its already sharp (and sometimes savage) observations behind an understated, gently deprecating tone.