“Belle de Jour is the tragedy of a divorce -- between body and soul, between the
tenderest love and the implacable demands of the senses…..” proclaims its
trailer. You can’t blame them, I suppose – back in the sixties, Buñuel’s
adaptation of Kessel’s novel was a little too absurdist, a little too
psychoanalytical, and a little too frank with regards to that touchy topic of
sex to allow for any kind of interpretation other than a traditional one.
But the tale isn’t as simple as that. There is certainly a
sort of divorce, as the film’s protagonist, Séverine (Catherine Deneuve),
divides her identity into two: trophy wife by night and prostitute by day. Initially
fearful and repressive of the sexuality that she relegates to her fantasies,
she becomes increasingly intrigued; escaping the elegant and aristocratic Paris
of Haussmann that she knows, she ventures into a brothel - and a world of
discovery. It is here that she finds a haven without which she cannot live, here
that she goes through a sort of initiation into sexuality, introduced to the
most bizarre and humiliating of human desires by Madame Anais (Genevieve Page) and
her girls; it is also here that that she lives out her most depraved fantasies,
especially in the arms of Marcel (Pierre Clementi), a crook who’s just
sufficiently threatening for Séverine’s desires.
The separation here is not the simple divide between love
and lust, and that’s precisely what makes this film intriguing. In a highly
sexualized world, Séverine maintains an opposition between love and sex because
one represents the greatest tenderness, while the other rough violence. They
must forever remain at odds, in a paradoxical conflict in which sex can never
be the extension of love because their very natures are so different.
“It’s the other one that you love?” Marcel asks her once.
“Yes.”
“Why do you come here, then?”
“I don’t know. They’re two very different things.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you come here, then?”
“I don’t know. They’re two very different things.”
Unfortunately, Deneuve is hardly the perfect actress to incarnate
this duality: though her icy, pale, blonde beauty is undoubtedly fitting for a
virginal Maddona, she retains this frozen demeanor even in the scenes of
passion. If one believes the actress’s commentaries that are appended to the
DVD, she had very little idea of Séverine’s internal struggle and very many
issues with Buñuel’s artistic vision, which, quite possibly, is explanation
enough for her iciness.
Nevertheless, Buñuel’s film is a chef-d’oeuvre. It is
unflinching in its treatment of truth and also merciless in erasing the lines
between reality and imagination. Séverine’s fantasies are as disturbing as some
of her real escapades, and also indistinguishable from them. The film ends with
no clear moral message, no punishment for a woman’s adultery, but no
vindication of it either – in fact, Buñuel himself admitted that he doesn’t
understand the ending. The movie deals with a topic that has, no doubt, been
addressed to death by our day and age – female sexuality – but it also deals
with a grander human question, that ever-elusive nature of both love and sex;
the masterful ambiguity with which Buñuel unravels his story in what now feels
like the Paris of by-gone days is precisely why Belle de Jour remains a masterpiece even today.
This is an edited version of a review that first appeared at Blogcritics. This movie's a "classic" by now - what are your thoughts on what it "means"?
