A Very Private Affair

For the record, I saw the dubbed version. But for the first hour, there is so little dialogue, I don't think it could matter very much. This early Malle film spends so much time on Bardot's character's angst and yearning for her own time and space that you might be tempted to turn it off. Don't, but if you have it on tape, you may wish to fast forward. The second third of the movie is a never-ending cliche. As a reward, the ending is rich, vibrant, and celebratory.

This movie did a great job of showing the French lifestyle and the time during which it was made. Most of the comments here are negative, but I thought this was one of the best movies I've seen in many months.

Jill's daily life, shown in the opening sequence when she travels by boat and bicycle to see her mother and various friends, is a wonderful example of European life where things are much prettier and healthier than in the US. Individuals are free to be with nature without making a conscious effort to do so.

The story of the movie is OK, not great, but certainly ahead of its time in the portrayal of the media culture. Diana Princess of Wales should have watched this movie.

It was the dubbed version that I saw of this dreary little story about an actress (BB) who finds out, as is almost always the way, that her internal happiness is a sacrificial lamb to fame. Certainly good-looking - with La Bardot at her most luscious how could it not be? - but never very compelling.

The ending is, however, notable for going waaaaaay over the top. (Has anyone noticed how many Brigitte Bardot movies have unhappy endings?)

Reviewers have suggested that this is not among the best of Malle's output and that the two principals lack the fire of real heterosexual passion.

The second objection is perfectly right, because Jill seems incapable of a grown-up relationship with a man, just as she seems incapable of pursuing any worthwhile career beyond that of international sex-symbol. Being highly desirable and readily available may be huge fun in your teens and early twenties but does not lead to a fulfilling existence. Her trajectory is tragic, beauty that offers not life but a hollow illusion of life.

While Fabio cannot resist what he finds in his bed (few straight men could), his feelings for Jill seem more pity than lust. He wants to protect her from endless exploitation by others and from her own immaturity. But, having gained an international reputation for the magazine he edits and the play he is producing, he is not going to sacrifice his hard-won status for a bimbo. He is creative, adding to the world's culture, while she is merely decorative.

A relationship between two characters like this will be short of fire, and it would be Hollywoodian falsity to pretend that they are merely consumed with passion for each other.

As for the place of this piece in Malle's very varied body of work, his non-documentary dramas differ widely from each other with few overt links. Here one has to consider his own evolution: an artist's fourth picture made at age 30 does not compare with a mature and reflective masterpiece like "Au revoir les enfants" made at age 55. Films appreciated in Europe can be lost in America, particularly if mutilated by tone-deaf dubbing and puritanical cutting. Also, I would suggest, we might separate films set in the past or an imaginary future from films set in and therefore commenting on the present.

To show the real superstar Brigitte Bardot as a fictional empty superstar, virtually playing herself (compared with her more nuanced rôle for Godard a year later in "Le Mépris"), is satirical, poignant, and even, dare I say it, darkly comic. If you don't get the joke, though many would have in 1962, you may not rate the film highly.

Watching Louis Malle's La Vie Privée was an exercise in patience that finally managed to pay off. It wasn't even the bleak colors (remeniscent of the cheap color prints of the 60's) or the lack of chemistry between Bardot and Mastroianni that pushed the audience to the limit. It was perhaps the stilted dialog, made nearly unbearable by the fact that it was poorly dubbed into English. Maybe the film would have worked better in black and white or as a silent. Maybe not...The films final sequence (stretching over the last seven minutes) redeems nearly all its faults. The carefully composed shots, alternating between the faces of the stars and a play being performed on stage (with a remarkable backdrop of an old Spoletto basilica) empowered by moving music brings us closest to the characters. Once again, the so-called "silent" moment dominates the film, showing us the director's capabilities in full bloom. The tension is enhanced by an increased tempo in editing, leading perfectly to the climax. For what may be a deeply flawed film, I feel bad for the people that left early. Those last seven minutes define great film-making.