Film review: LE CHARME DISCRET DE LA BOURGEOISIE (Luis Buñuel, 1972)

6 members of the French upper-middle class find that their best-laid plans to dine together are repeatedly and frustratingly scuppered, whether it be due to misunderstanding over the date, French army officers inviting themselves to their meal or suddenly getting arrested. Some of the most bizarre scenarios are revealed to be dream sequences in Luis Buñuel's Oscar winner of Best foreign film.

From the outset, the characters at the centre of Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie are an attractive, urbane bunch, who converse on the finer things in life are of good scruples. But the audience's perceptions are quickly shattered. One casually deals drugs whilst bedding his mate's missus. A couple, the Sénéchals, shimmy out of the window to have sex in the garden whilst ignoring their guests.

Buñuel obviously had a rollicking good time exposing the false dichotomy between the bourgeois and the proletariat that they so smugly like to compare themselves to, and for the most part, his film is enthralling to follow. A little more clarity of focus might have rendered this a more complete watch; some of the dream sequences are nested within dreams of other characters, but finding this out merely adds to the confusion rather than answering any narrative questions.

It's highly probable that the many and varied sequences in Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie wasn't supposed to make sense to the audience, and that the true interpretation of the movie is to be teased out on repeat viewings. If the watcher is to be merely amused and entertained,  then, Buñuel has certainly accomplished his goal. He sends the middle class up with far more flair and nuance than he poked fun of Christianity in La Voie lactée, not least because the vignettes in that film depicted characters that felt strawman-ish, whereas in Charme discret the funny parts are generally underscored by truth.

Surreal touches pepper the film. Fernando Rey (Tristana, That Obscure Object of Desire) is a diplomat for a fictional south American country, the Republic of Miranda, but, like the equally fabricated TV towns of Pawnee in Parks and Rec and Agrestic in Weeds, the country is evoked with such detail when characters discuss it, that the audience could easily believe it were a real place. A maid, played by an actress who couldn't be a day over 30, nonchalantly declares she's in her 50s, and no-one bats an eyelid. And, when hearing his wife is in his best friend's bedroom, the culprit coolly tells him to go wait in his car, and his missus will be out later.

In between displays of the director's signature playful dramatic irony, Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie juxtaposes some disturbing imagery. These arresting scenes of corpses haunting various people now look a tad outdated by 21st century cinema's tendency to depict gore on a hyper-realistic level, but it's because they're so out of the blue and jarring with the rest of the film's comedic tone that they manage to retain power.

Overall, Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie should be approached with caution; its wacky exposition and unconcern with tying up the plot won't be to everyone's tastes. But if you stick with it, it's a truly surprising movie, that will tickle and unnerve you in equal measure, and as a thesis on the power of dreams, it's a hell of a lot more gripping than Christopher Nolan's overrated Inception.

7.5/10

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This review marks my seventh of the eight DVDs in the Luis Buñuel boxset. Read my reviews of the other films I've seen of his here.

Film review: TRISTANA (Luis Buñuel, 1970)

Tristana (Catherine Deneuve), a recently orphaned God-fearing beauty, is given sanctuary by her new legal guardian Don Lope (Fernando Rey), a crusty old womaniser who hates religion, sympathises with the underbelly of society, and likes to backpat himself for being so anti-establishment. Much like the character Rey played in That Obscure Object of Desire, he develops an infatuation with the female lead, and it’s not long before he’s thrown caution to his wind regarding taking Tristana under his wing, choosing to take her under him instead.

From some of the other Buñuel titles I’ve reviewed, it’s evident that the man has got sex on the mind, but his depiction of Don Lope’s carnal instincts and Tristana’s grudging acquiescence to them in this film are surprisingly PG-rated (although, given the mature themes and disturbing imagery in this film, I thought the MPAA awarding this film a PG-13, made more sense) and visually restrained. The unsettling, Woody Allen-esque relationship is portrayed with a few fleeting shots of Tristana impassively getting undressed, before the scene ends. Surprisingly subtle for Buñuel, but it suits the atonal style of the film, and its messages about the double-standards of religious Spanish society.

Deneuve and Rey, two of Brunel’s favourite collaborators, prosper under his direction. As the eponymous lead, Deneuve alchemizes Tristana’s spirit effortlessly. At the beginning, she is a carefree, wide-eyed young girl who just wishes to honour her mother's love of pray. By the end, and not altogether surprisingly given what she has been through,  as her character develops, she is a resolute and cold-hearted, and absolutely God-less.

It’s evident that she’s repulsed by her legal guardian’s grabby hands (not the first time a Guardian's been handsy, amirite?), but she grins and bears it in a disquietingly silent manner. As in Belle de Jour, Deneuve portrays her character taking everything just accepting what comes to her under a façade of equanimity, which only leaves the audience more tantalised about what she’s really thinking.

Fernando Rey portrays a monster with more than a small touch of Humbert Humbert. Tristana is an unusual story because it’s not so much a case of Stockholm Syndrome, as the woman coming back to take revenge – revenge by mistreatment – on the man who so impulsively, selfishly, debased her. And her interpretation of the best kind of justice is to simultaneously be with him (in legal union) and not be with him (in emotion and physically).

The central dynamic between Tristana and Don Lope is fascinating. Despite the fact that he defiled her and she rightly resents him for taking her innocence, this is juxtaposed hatred is with her inherent Christian grace towards him, which consists of gratitude for taking her in when she was destitute, as well as a giddy sense of triumph later when he gets older and more pathetic, and she, more beautiful. These emotions come together to create a cocktail of power that she lauds over him.

Buñuel is known for his surrealist elements, but that was the component I liked least about Tristana - Don Lope’s decapitated head swinging from a bell was off-beat but now looks dated. Tristana also lacks the moments of playful levity that The Diary of a Chambermaid and That Obscure Object of Desire had, rendering it a more straightforward piece of storytelling, although in doing so, it doesn't quite reach the peaks of those two titles. Finally, the fact that the film was shot and set in Toledo, Spain, yet the characters speak French, is a tad jarring.

It’s not the best spin on Lolita in a film I’ve seen - that would be Sam Mendes’ incredible American Beauty, but, like That Obscure Object of Desire, survives the test of time well in its astute dissection of gender politics and the blurred, and often confusing, line between love and hate. 

Buñuel  for all his seedy voyeursim, understands that sex is just as much about emotional control as it is about physical lust, and his detached, capable direction, Deneuve’s suitably frosty performance (quite literally, given the film's aloof coda) and the compelling story make for a bizarre, but thoroughly watchable experience.

7.5/10

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If you enjoyed this, all my film reviews are collated here.

8 Days of Buñuel, Day 3: That Obscure Object of Desire (Luis Buñuel, 1977)

That Obscure Object of Desire is a film about shagging. In it, aging wealthy man Mathieu (Fernando  Rey) has his eye turned by Conchita, his young, inexperienced maid. He tries to kiss her one night, and the next day, she's gone. Three months later, post-random hold-up, he sees her again and is again, besotted, plying her with cakes, coffee, frequent visits and sweet nothings. She in return gives him a coy kiss now and then, but resolutely refuses to give him what it is he wants the most: a good lay.

Hence, the film, wherein he tells the people in his train cabin about his long and treacherous blue-balled time with her, is a journey of the sexual politics between rich older man and poor young woman, who has to survive on her sexual prowess. In doing so, she's conniving, cold, mercenary, mean, and a massive cocktease, but, as demonstrated by the closing scenes, perhaps she was right to act like a complete cow.

Two different actresses play Conchita, one for the day and one for the night (drawing subconcious links with yesterday's title, Belle de jour, perhaps), and such is Mathieu's physical longing for Conchita that it is interesting that there are two women playing her, implying, perhaps, that he is so enamored that he doesn't even realise what's going on right in front of him. 

I thought the observations of the film were absolutely amazing, way ahead of their time; despite being made over 30 years ago, this film knows so much about men, women and our carnal desires. On Conchita refusing to lose her virginity, stating that he'd no longer love/respect her if she gave it up, Mathieu purrs suggestively "there are ways to pleasure a man without having sex", but Conchita, looking disgusted at the request, turns around and ignores him, without giving him so much as a handjob. 

My kinda girl, and my kinda movie. Boom.

9/10