Un dimanche comme les autres

This is the story of a love triangle between Dr. Hirsh (Peter Finch), Alex Greville (Glenda Jackson), and Bob Elkin (Murray Head). Hirsh is a dignified Jewish doctor, Alex is a frustrated office worker, and Elkin is an artist specializing in kinetic sculpture. Both Hirsh and Alex are in love with Elkin and he reciprocates in turn to each of them individually.

If being dated is judged by the physical environment of the early 1970s (dial land-line phones, 33 rpm records, antiquated fuse boxes, dated hair styles, and so forth), then, yes, this is dated. But the movie is not dated in terms of its themes. I think this could play out now pretty much as presented here, even in our somewhat more enlightened times. It would not be out of the ordinary for a dignified middle-aged doctor to withhold public advertisement of his sexual orientation, but none-the-less privately engage in a homosexual relationship. In fact it would not be all that unusual for such a person to remain in the closet. Consider that sodomy was a crime in fourteen U.S. states until a Supreme Court decision invalidated such laws in 2003, in a 5-4 vote no less. Homosexual acts had been decriminalized in England but a few years before this movie was made. And we have a current justice on the U.S. Supreme Court who even now, in 2012, makes such statements as, "If we cannot have moral feelings against homosexuality, can we have it against murder?"

Where the movie is perhaps even ahead of its time is in presenting all three participants as accepting themselves for what they are and honestly dealing with their situation without serious guilt or dramatic jealousies. The difficulties of sustaining such a ménage à trois are realistically detailed.

I thought the beautifully filmed Bar Mitzvah was crucial to the story. Until that event I was viewing Hirsh as an essentially lonely person, but seeing that he had a community of relatives and associates who respected him disabused me of that notion. And Hirsh did not view himself in an unfavorable light. The scene that had Finch talking directly to the audience at the end was a great piece of acting; when he so simply and sincerely said, "We had something," I really felt for the guy. Glenda Jackson fans will not be disappointed with her performance. She has a wonderful way of saying things without speaking a word.

I rather like how the story begins in the middle of things--it takes very little imagination to see how this situation could have evolved. What did Alex and Hirsh see in the shallow and ambitious Elkin? You don't have to have lived too long before the questions about romantic relations, "What does he see in her," or, "What does she see in him," occur. In this case, I suppose the question of "What does he see in him," should be added. Questions of love and sex are not easily explained.

The way we get to know each person in increments, with some limited use of flashbacks, I found to be effective.

Exploring its IMDb trivia page, I read an item suggesting that John Schlesinger's "Sunday Bloody Sunday", a "Brokeback Mountain" of its era, didn't win a single Oscar because of its controversial subject, and that Finch didn't win the Oscar because of that kiss with Murray Head. And so Gene Hackman won for "The French Connection" because he played a more 'macho' type of guy fitting the standards of Hollywood back then in 1971. Now, there are so many wrong assumptions I don't know where to begin.

First of all, the performance of Hackman was as critically acclaimed as Peter Finch playing Dr. Daniel Hirsh. Secondly, Schlesinger's "Midnight Cowboy", while keeping the relationship between Rico and Joe Buck closer to the 'bromance' archetype, left enough implicitness and ultimately won the Best Picture Oscar. Finally, I believe it would be missing the point to make "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" a movie about homosexuality, and I doubt that was the intent of John Schelinsger or screenwriter Penelope Gilliat.

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday" handles the same-sex relationship subject in such a casual and matter-of-factly way you can tell that it was a deliberate choice not to leap into spectacularity or voyeurism. Granted that one kiss we get from the beginning sets the tone and looks like Schlesinger opening the final lock that contained his narrative inhibitions; right after it, the film strikes for how restrained, reasonable and measured it is. It's a word I've encountered more than once in both Roger Ebert and Vincent Canby's reviews: 'civilized'. To some degree, there's something civilized in the three characters' upbringing that spilled over their adult life and incidentally to the storytelling approach, more polished than you'd expect.

Now, I won't be the reviewers' review and I wasn't disappointed by the film as much I was disappointed by my incapability to integrate what is so great about. I guess fifty years after its release, the shock factor has worn out and for me, the film became a sort of exercise in normality with scenes lingering on needless details especially during the expositional parts. We gather that Alex (Glenda Jackson) is the baby sitter to five kids who belong to a very bourgeois and liberal family (the parents accept the relationship with Bob) and Daniel is a middle-aged celibate who can't wait for the weekend to be with Bob.

Basically, we have two people passionately in love with a man and accepts to share him literally and figuratively. But Bob, being the bohemian artist sculptor acting his age, gives so little of himself with the exception of his body and a portion of his time, it's hard for the viewer to consider him as a fully-dimensioned character and I understand that his likability isn't the point. And I agree that the film isn't much about love than a sort of resignation from the two sad persons in the name of love. But their patience is challenged again with the opportunity offered to Bob to travel to America and show his work.

Schleinsger patiently, without making any fuss about the relationships show love between reasonable people, and it ironically leads to the film's most memorable moments involving other characters. This is the kind of film where a kid is shown smoking pot, a young Daniel Day-Lewis is among a street-gang keying expensive cars, a dog dies in a freak accident and two couples argue during charades... so many interesting things happening and yet the director is forcing us to bath in that muddy triangular love filled with more expectations and waiting than true moments of passions. Maybe because love is worth all the waiting and as Ebert pointed out, "something is better than nothing".

This is a strange film seriously, strange because there are so many powerful moments that hit the right chord, the opening dialogue between Daniel and his patient starts off very well until it's cut because Daniel has an important phone call. There's another discussion between Alex and her mother (Peggy Ashcroft) where she understands that marital life can be devoid of passion and she tried to leave her husband until realizing that there was more than a meaning to her life she needed, maybe a presence is enough. We never see the mother again. Then there's a great interaction between Alex and a client (Tony Britton) fired because of age discrimination and I could feel a deeper connection than with Alex.

Daniel is given other shining moments, one with a former lover with a heroin addiction. There's also an extended sequence where Daniel gets a little more density and we see his background during a Bar Mitzvah celebration, a tradition-bound jewish family trying to find him a wife and the pressure is obviously a hint on why he chose to live a rather recluse life and we can see what's easting him. Bob however isn't given no other interactions whatsoever except with Daniel and Alex, playing a double role as someone who drives and dampers, the lives of two good persons who'd do everything for him.

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday" insists on the fact that we sometimes miss a great deal of our lives because we're in love with someone who don't deserve it, but the consolation of being in love is paradoxically greater than the chagrin caused by that love. That's how intelligent and modern "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" is, raising some aspects of the modern couple that would ring even truer in our times of solitudes and Internet-driven desires, where love has lost a meaning while still being the meaning of everything.

But for all its capability to provide great and sober scenes, I'm afraid the film hasn't dated as well as many classics of the era. It is highly marked by the 1970s and the insistance on the social crisis never exactly finds a point of convergence within the story (liberal crisis? Freedom?), the film could as well have talked about IRA to seek relevance (though the title had me fooled)

You spend your time flitting from one nest to another, you kind of toss a coin, follow your nose, to find what you discover, could be Alex for a while, then might be Daniel's time to smile, the best of both worlds if you get time to recover. Alas, both partners find it trickier than you, as you leap from pad to pad one feels eschewed, because they want you to themselves, want you to put back on the shelves, the other copy, and close the door, as you withdraw.

A little bit dated but three fine performances that are as engaging as they were back then, although you may have a stronger connection if there are similarities in the characters plights that link to your own tale.

I first saw this at 17 in 1971 and was of course struck by the frankness in the portrayal of the relationship between Murray Head and Peter Finch. People in the suburban audience where I saw it SCREAMED when the two men first kissed. (Someone screamed at a director's screening of the film, much to Schlesinger's consternation. It turned out to be Finch's wife.) One of the reviewers complained about Head's acting, but he is playing a very shallow character whose youth and beauty attract Glenda Jackson and Finch. The film holds up really well today with its complex characters and lack of stereotypes and simple judgments about people. There is also enormous charm and humor in the film, especially in the supporting players. The imagery in the film stays with me--the dog killed by a car, the Mummy's milk in the fridge, the inner workings of telephone switching, driving through the rain in London, men and women making love, precocious children smoking dope, and so much more. It feels like life. It also made me a lifelong fan of Finch, who went on to win a posthumous Oscar for "Network," and Jackson, a two-time Oscar winner, who represents Hampstead in Parliament now. Probably my favorite film of all time.

Alex Greville (Glenda Jackson) is a London divorced working mom who is having an affair with modern sculptor Bob Elkin (Murray Head). Daniel Hirsh (Peter Finch) is a traditional Jewish doctor who is suffering from mysterious pains and is also having an affair with Elkin. Both know about the other relationship as well as having mutual friends. Both are willing to live with the situation but it can't really last.

For all the affairs going on, this movie is very cold. All three people are a little emotionally dead inside. It's not a fun movie. It does not make this a compelling watch. Their relationships are like slow sleepwalking in sadness. The constant emotional self-destruction grounded me down.