A Marquesa d'O

In this case, the question is not only who placed the seed that sowed the bun in the lady's oven, but how did he get into the kitchen in the first place?

The widowed marquise is saved from being attacked by a Russian Count, who soon declares his honorable intentions. But just how honorable is he?

Soon, her own honor is questioned, when she discovers she's with child, though swearing she's been chaste since her husband's death. There's a mystery to solve, as well as hurt feelings, false accusations, family turmoil, and an important question: if you love and trust someone, are you willing to stick by them and believe in them, no matter how questionable things appear?

Thoughts worth pondering.

Eric Rohmer, the great filmmaker, tries his hand at the kind of film that is everything that a Rohmer film isn't. Gone is the New Wave Modernism; the natural settings, hand-held cameras and dialogue that captures the quintessential nature of being human. Replaced instead with dowdy costumes, unmoving camera, and formal sets. Perhaps the original German flows with eloquent charm, but the English subtitles seem to have been translated by school children.

Merchant Ivory this isn't, and neither is it Rohmer.

If the romantic poet and playwright Heinrich von Kleist (who wrote almost at the same time as Goethe) could have imagined the cinema, he would have approved of Rohmer's filming of his novella. What we see here are not 20th century characters in costume, but early 19th century Romantic sensibilities reacting according to their way of looking at the world. It is as strange as time travel, and utterly charming. Rohmer frames them in sets like Caspar Friedrich or Fuseli paintings. This movie is a marvel.

This Franco-German co production is the weakest of Rohmer's historical movies (a group of films that includes such accomplished works as The Lady and the Duke, Perceval, and Triple Agent), perhaps because its subject matter seems hopelessly dated. Based on a novel by Heinrich Von Kleist and set during the Napoleonic wars, it tells the tale of a young marquise rescued during an assault to his estate by a brooding count (a young Bruno Ganz). Unfortunately, from that brief encounter the marquise gets pregnant, a huge problem during that time and on account of her position in society. Aside from a dated central conflict, the film is also dull and static, without the redeeming dialogue and interaction between the actors that one sees in other Rohmer films. The director, by the way, plays an amusing cameo as a French general.

There are those who maintain that this should be counted among Eric Rohmer's Morality Tales but I consider this masterly version of Heinrich von Kleist's novella to stand alone in his output.

The verbosity of some of this director's modern pieces is inclined to test one's patience but here it is acceptable in a nineteenth century setting and has been adapted by Rohmer himself, having learned German when writing a thesis on Goethe's 'Faust'.

The direction is both elegant and restrained whilst its sparseness and economy of gesture call to mind a certain Robert Bresson. It is not without eroticism and the image of Edith Clever as the title character stretched out sleepily on a red bed wearing a luminous nightgown is worthy of an Ingres or a David. Little wonder that she proves so tantalising to the Count F of Bruno Ganz.

The painterly compositions throughout are courtesy of Néstor Almendros who, like his fellow graduates from the Centro Sperimentali di Cinematografia, Storaro and de Santis, is a master of natural light.

The 'rape' itself has always been a subject for 'scholarly' debate and here Rohmer has left it to our imagination. Indeed he suggests by means of a single close up that the perpetrator might perhaps be the handsome devil of Leopardo the servant rather than the eccentric Count F.

Bruno Ganz is beautifully understated here but it is the touching portrayal by Edith Clever as the Marquise that lingers longest.

'Ambiguity' is the name of the game in Kleist's piece and as such suits Rohmer's style to a tee.