Choses secrètes

Sexual politics in the workplace are nothing new to the movies. It can be terrific stomping ground for social satire. But, rarely have I seen it given a worse treatment than in Jean-Claude Brisseau's good-looking but shallow SECRET THINGS.

Two French hotties, Sandrine and Nathalie, are booted from the bar where they both work for refusing to have sex with a patron and defending that decision, respectively. Soon, they're moving in together and engaging in an endless series of sexual exploits themselves to prove they aren't like everyone else. If they can screw in public and get away with it, what _don't_ they have the nerve for? Both women are unemployed, and both have healthy sexual appetites. Why not use what they have to get what they want -- in this case, climb the corporate ladder? It's a logical step, I guess. But, then Sandrine seems perfectly competent in her new job without the sex stuff. Sure, all the men want her, and without having to so much as flash a smile their direction, she's on her way to being promoted. So, why the insistence on manipulating men, too? I mean, aside from the bar incident, have they been wronged in some way? What makes these women tick?

The film doesn't quite know, and it _has_ to. Otherwise, it's just sex scenes strung together in no discernible order for no apparent reason other than to be titillating on top of intellectual. Only, it isn't either, really. It's far too talky, for one thing, and it doesn't make a great deal of sense; someone please explain to me why there's a wedding in this film. If not for the occasional display of the female form in all its glory, SECRET THINGS would be unendurable. The overheated episodes between Sandrine and Nathalie (mostly the masturbatory variety) are energetic but redundant, and there's an EYES WIDE SHUT-esque orgy scene that comes out of left field, for no apparent reason other than two minutes have gone by without a sex scene. Then again, this movie hits narrative bankruptcy long before. And the ending, if you can stay awake long enough, is absurd.

SECRET THINGS is not nearly as brazen or interesting or complex as it thinks it is. I don't have the energy to hate it, nor would I waste it if I did. The projector stopped about three times throughout an interminable hour and fifty-minute running time; I wish it had stopped more.

Nathalie (Coralie Revel) is an exotic dancer, and Sandrine (Sabrina Seyvecou) is a bartender. They get fired by their scumbag boss and move in together where Nathalie teaches Sandrine how to use her femininity to capture men. They devise a plan to move up in the corporate world using sex to succeed.

They both get hired at the same bank and set their sights on Christophe Barnay (Fabrice Deville), as he will inherit the firm one day. She has no idea how twisted he truly is.

First, Sandrine gets a position under Delacroix (Delacroix), and uses her charms to completely captivate him. She gets Nathalie moved to the office, and soon they are a menage a trois for one night, as Christophe catches them and dismisses Delacroix, while promoting the both of them to higher positions.

Sandrine becomes involved with Christophe and his sister in another menage a trois. This leads to marriage and an amazing ending after his father dies.

Brilliant cinematography and music, and a fascinating story.

[S P O I L E R S]

Either because they were too shocking, or too bad, or just too French, Jean-Claude Brisseau's previous nine films (some just done for TV) haven't made it to the US. Choses secrètes (Secret Things) is having some limited distribution here. The film seduces initially with its intelligence and its elegant look; then it betrays us with tendentiousness, tedium, and numbing excess. If you loved Luchino Visconti's The Damned or Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò, you will have to see this. If you respected Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, you may want to consider Choses secrètes, which some think does its moral consideration of sex and its orgy scenes better.

Whereas Dangerous Liaisons (the Choderlos de Laclos classic as well as its various film adaptations) involves the plot of a man and a woman to demolish a powerful and wicked female, this film involves two women out to get men in general. Brisseau's Nathalie (Coralie Revel), a stripper, coaches Sandrine (Sabrina Seyvecou), a barmaid, on how they can both become powerful through exploiting their own sexual daring. They've just been fired - literally thrown out on the street - from the club where they both work for refusing to have sex with customers afterward. Nathalie persuades the naïve, penniless Sandrine to move in with her and next day outlines her plan for the two of them to conquer the Paris business world.

This is all to be done through sex, and from scene one, there's plenty of masturbation -- orgasms, real or faked, come as often as explosions in action flicks -- and plenty of nudity, but only female in each case. Nathalie's simplistic, rather old-fashioned rule is that if they can give themselves pleasure, they need never be enslaved to any man. The typically French rationality of Nathalie's exposition of her plan undercuts the obvious softcore aspects of the film - for a while, that is.

And so does Choses secrètes' splendid appearance: the beauty of the two young women is set off by handsome cinematography and a generous use of sumptuous, richly colored drapery that makes the décor a pleasure to look at. One wishes American filmmakers could generate effects of taste and elegance with such simple means. But there is more to cinema than the visuals and this movie begins to seem little more than a Vogue shoot.

Wilder and prettier: that's the two girls' selling point. On the strength of a certain provocative appeal, we're to believe, they're hired at a major financial corporation, Nathalie in personnel, Sandrine in the top administrative office. Again the film's seductive: the sudden rise may be far fetched, but you want to see what happens.

Sandrine follows Nathalie's instructions and rejects a younger executive who wants to marry her: a big mistake; but she sticks to the program. Instead of dating the sincere young man, Sandrine seduces Delacroix, the firm's married, bored fifty-year-old (but handsome and lean) manager. Delacroix falls hopelessly in love. Sandrine fakes everything. Nathalie ignores her own rules and has a secret lover who hurts her. We have to guess who he is; but it's not hard: we know that Christophe (Fabrice Deville), the aged, ill boss's son, who's heir to the corporate fortune, is a gorgeous seducer who's literally driven women to commit suicide right before his eyes - and enjoyed watching. Christophe has a preposterous back-story to explain his moral emptiness.

Things go rapidly downhill when this monster of evil begins to dominate the scene. It doesn't help that the slightly corpulent Christophe looks more like last year's model than a real person. Looks and sound effects have started to take over Choses secrètes at this point. There haven't been such scenes of elegant depravity since Visconti. But there are too many orgies with Bach and Vivaldi masses played at top volume for background. It's over the top: the film self-destructs before one's eyes. And the old-fashioned moral tale - replete with blatant titillation over the `hell' it depicts - morphs into an increasingly tedious and surreal scenario. There's an angel of annihilation, a face transfixed by death, a bird of prey pecking at a bleeding chest: we're on the wilder fringes of the French imagination. Cocteau did this sort of thing much better.

In a final scene several years later Nathalie and Sandrine, now on separate paths, have a brief final meeting. One has a wholesome life and the other has become a pampered princess: using a stretch limo to suggest the latter's wealth was a genuinely bad idea. Both women look exactly the same as ever: like this year's models. The movie has completely disintegrated. There is nothing left to care about.

But I did love the drapery in Nathalie's bedroom. It promised better things.

For an infinitely smarter and ultimately more chic French film about love games, if you don't want to go to the source, de Laclos' Dangerous Liaisons and its film versions, rent a copy of Benoît Jacquot's School of Flesh (L'École de la chair), with Isabelle Huppert at her most sublimely disdainful. Nathalie and Sandrine combined aren't fit to dust her shoes.

"Secret Things" is about two beautiful young women, a stripper and a barmaid, who find themselves unemployed and decide to use their sex appeal as a tool to get on the fast track to success in the corporate world. Their scheme works well until they run up against a man who is even more cunning, ruthless, and base than they are. "Secret Things" opens with a nude autoerotic dance and appears to being going somewhere until it self-destructs in a crescendo of ponderous nonsense. The sagacious female protags become clueless dupes, the male antagonist turns into something so perverse it's almost funny, a black veiled figure with a bird appears and hangs out like some sort of specter, and the film quickly loses its credibility. "Secret Things" is chock full of sex which is obviously staged and the psychodramatics simply aren't believable. A coulda/shoulda been better example of when less would have been more. (C+)

The French do lyricism and erotica well, maybe it's the accents or the actors; more likely, the language itself. Mind you, had this been Demi Moore and Julia Roberts frolicking about, I'd have laughed myself silly; as it is, the two female leads - especially Sabrina Seyvecou - successfully show how powerful a currency sex appeal is. It begins as a feminist fable - the two girls thrown together at a strip club, consorting, exhibiting and daring one another to ever greater public displays of pleasurable posturing between hands and genitals -supposedly, in the belief that, with training, Sandrine can get an office job and sleep her way to the top.

Now, had this been tongue in cheek - and I'm not saying whose tongue, in whose cheek - had M Jean-Claude Brisseau, the director, used a lighter or defter touch, the sensual side would have melted our Haagen-Dazs and there could still have been a thought-provoking moral aspect, reflecting the power of, well, the femme fatale.

As it is, the film gets lost towards the end, implying that the playboy office boss is the real manipulator and the girls are mere pawns. The joyous, impish scenes when the two women dare one another to surreptitiously remove their underwear whilst seated in the subway, are long forgotten. Thankfully, Sabrina Seyvecou's natural charms are sufficient to blot out any significant disappointment. She could conquer my office any time.

I think the Haagen-Dazs has left a stain. At least, I think it's the Haagen-Dazs...