Thérèse Desqueyroux

Dir: Claude Miller

2012

****

Claude Miller’s final film, Thérèse Desqueyroux, is a fitting film to depart on. Critics have been comparing Miller’s work to that of his mentors François Truffaut, Robert Bresson and Jean-Luc Godard for years but Thérèse Desqueyroux is his and only his. Adapted from François Mauriac’s famous 1927 novel, which itself was inspired by the Henriette Canaby attempted murder case of 1906, the film has a freshness about it that isn’t typical of the genre but gives the overall production a feeling of heightened authenticity. Set in the south-west of France, in the late 1920s, Thérèse Laroque agrees to a marriage of convenience between wealthy families by marrying Bernard Desqueyroux, a bourgeois landowner. They then settle on his family's property, located in a vast area stretching over acres of pine forests. Bernard is a local man with a passion for hunting and defending with conviction the family traditions. However, Thérèse is quickly stifled by the monotony of her married life. She gives birth to a daughter whom they name Marie, but her boredom seems to grow every day. In her own words, she is looking "somewhere else". Bernard suffers from an unspecified condition for which he is prescribed arsenic. Thérèse takes the opportunity to attempt to poison her husband, but in forging a prescription, she is discovered. In addition to being dishonored by her own family, she is disowned by her husband's. She faces justice for the alleged murder attempt until her husband and in-laws, who intend to keep up appearances within their provincial society, make up their own version of what happened. The case is dismissed and Therese is confined to the house. Eventually, after many years, she is allowed to leave and live in Paris on the understanding that she will only return for weddings and funerals. The film is a faithful adaptation but there are differences in the narrative. The book is characterised by some unusual structural devices, including a long internal monologue which often switches perspective, revealing the thoughts of several characters but this is sensibly removed within the film. The vast majority of characters in the book are seen as quite unpleasant people; Thérèse's father is revealed to be a callous sexist more concerned with protecting his political career than looking after his daughter, while Bernard himself is portrayed as an emotionally unavailable man obsessed solely with hunting and serving the needs of the family. However, in the film there are glimmers of kindness and the characters feel far more forgiving than in the novel. As in much of Mauriac's work, physical imperfection signifies moral destitution and most characters have some sort of flaw – phrases such as "hard black nails", "short bow legs" and "fat little Hippolitus" all describe various male characters, just within the first few chapters but again, the film is far more forgiving. In the novel Thérèse is proud of her intelligence and self-perceived wisdom, as she is in the film, but the unrequited crush she has on former childhood friend and sister-in-law Anne isn’t as obvious in the film. It’s a shame really, as these tones are said to match Mauriac's own struggles with sexuality, so they really should have been respected but I also see why they would be toned down/removed. Mauriac once commented back in the early 50s that is novel used some devices that came from the silent films, such as a lack of preparation, the sudden opening, flashbacks. They were methods that were new and surprising at that time but of course wouldn't work in modern film. It is interesting though how a book would copy an old film and be copied, many years later by a film. Miller’s direction is faultless and the performances and chemistry between Audrey Tautou as Thérèse Desqueyroux and Gilles Lellouche as Bernard Desqueyroux is perfect. Tautou’s performances are always good but I’m glad Lellouche was given the right amount of space to develop his contrasting character. When a film is about one persons unhappiness then you have to give the source of that unhappiness just as much attention as the person themselves. While the film is ever so slightly slow in places, it absolutely drips class and just the right amount of pause. It’s a fitting tribute to the source novel and a great film to end a career on.

Lust for Life

Dir: Vincente Minnelli

1956

****

One of my favourite chapters of Kirk Douglas’s memoir The Ragman’s Son is the one where he talks about his experiences of working on Vincente Minnelli’s 1956 Lust For Life, a biopic of the famous Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh. A few pages in, Douglas remembers that John Wayne attended a screening of the film and was horrified at what he saw. "Christ, Kirk! How can you play a part like that? There's so few of us left. We got to play strong, tough characters. Not those weak queers,". Douglas tried to explain, "It's all make-believe, John. It isn't real. You're not really John Wayne, you know." Wayne, born Marion Morrison, looked at him oddly, as if Douglas had betrayed him. I wouldn’t say Lust For Life was Douglas’s best film or even his greatest performance but I would argue that it was the most unique and passionate performance of his career. There is certainly nothing wrong with Minnelli’s direction but this is Douglas’s film and he carries it on his shoulders. The story begins with Vincent as a young man, training to be a minister like his father before him. However, the church authorities find him unsuitable. He pleads with them to be allowed some position and they place him in a very poor mining community. Here he becomes deeply absorbed in the daily poverty and begins sketching daily life. The apostate religious leaders do not like his approach, and they frown on his social activism and care for the poor, scolding him for living like the people he was there to help, when ministers were to be seen as living comfortably. Immediately we understand Vincent and the maddening times he lived in. He returns home to his father's house. He falls in love with his cousin but she rejects him because of his inability to support himself financially. The infatuated Vincent follows her to her family home, where he holds his hand over a candle flame to prove his devotion, only to learn that she has said she is disgusted by him and doesn't want to see him again. A friend gives him paint and artist materials and encourages him to paint, and he heads to Paris. Here he takes up with a prostitute who eventually also leaves because he is too poor. His passion then turns fully to painting, which he pursues while agonizing that his vision exceeds his ability to execute. His brother, Theo van Gogh (played by James Donald), provides financial and moral support. Paul Gauguin (played by Anthony Quinn), whom he met in Paris, joins him in Arles and for a while life is good, but Vincent becomes too obsessive even for Gauguin's tastes and they argue, after which Vincent famously cuts off his own ear. Vincent begins experiencing hallucinations and seizures and voluntarily commits himself to a mental institution. He signs himself out, and with Theo's help returns to a rural area to resume painting. Out painting cornfields he is frustrated by the crows and ultimately shoots himself in despair of never being able to put what he sees on canvas. As a result, he dies a few days after shooting himself. To prepare for his role as the troubled painter, Douglas practiced painting crows so that he could reasonably imitate van Gogh at work. According to his then wife Anne Buydens, Douglas was so into character that he returned to home in character. When asked if he would do such a thing again, Douglas responded that he wouldn't. However, his role was so great and he was so focused on performance, he and Stanley Kubrick kept the momentum and made two of the greatest films of all time soon after (Paths of Glory and Spartacus). It amazes me that John Wayne still had a career up until his death in the late 70s as he never once changed his persona, while Douglas on the other hand developed his craft and pushed the boundaries as far as he could. He is still seen as a classical Hollywood actor, which he is, but they forget how dynamic and ahead of the game his performances often were. Both Anthony Quinn and James Donald are great actors but their performances were ten years behind Douglas’s. The film was shot on location in France, Belgium and the Netherlands and many of the set buildings are still there, indeed, I’ve sat opposite the little yellow house in France many a time (originally believing it was the original and not the film prop). Two hundred enlarged colour photos were used representing Vincent’s completed canvases; these were in addition to copies that were executed by an American art teacher, Robert Parker. Although it may look a bit muted in colour nowadays, the technique is still remarkable to today’s standards. I will admit that the presentation of the aesthetic controversy between Van Gogh (humane and intuitive) and Gaugin (intellectual and brusquely cynical) is both over simplified and somewhat misleading but Douglas’s performance is the greatest exploration of neuroticism captured on film at the very least. Plus, the film stars the great Lionel Jeffries in a minor role, and when all is said and done and when no one can truly say whether or not this was a true representation of a troubled artist, an appearance from Lionel Jeffries, no matter how small, instantly makes a film magical. In all seriousness though, it’s a great film, way ahead of its time with one of the most intense performances of all time.