The Unfaithful Wife

Claude Chabrol is sometimes known as 'The French Hitchcock', and while the two didn't exactly make the same type of thriller; it's easy to see where the comparisons come from, and both of these great directors are masters of their crafts! This is only the third Chabrol film I've seen, but once again I'm extremely impressed and looking forward to seeing more! Though I have limited experience of his films, Chabrol's thrillers to me are more brooding and personal than Hitchcock's; and while they lack the brazen thriller element that made most of Hitchcock's oeuvre so good to watch, it's made up for in panache and intrigue! The Unfaithful Wife puts its focus on an upper class French family in a big mansion somewhere just outside of a big city. We follow them for a short while until it becomes obvious to the husband that his wife's constant trips into town are a clue that she is having an affair. The husband then decides to hire a private detective to investigate his wife, and after having his fears concerned; the husband turns up at the lover's house with murder in mind...

The film appears to be so relaxed that at times you may wonder whether you are actually watching a thriller. But that is what makes this film so effective; Chabrol often lets his film settle, but there is always tension bubbling beneath the surface and the film is always intriguing, even when there is little going on. I won't spend too long talking about the acting and production values as obviously both are thoroughly professional and give the film infinite amounts of credibility. Most of the action focuses on the couple inside their big house and this benefits the film greatly as we soon get to know the characters. The central scene is clearly the murder sequence, although again Chabrol focuses on the build up rather than the actual pay off and the murder is as cold and brutal as it was obviously intended to be. The Unfaithful Wife is clearly a lesson in how suspense cinema should be; even more subtle than Hitchcock, this film manages to be constantly fascinating in spite of the fact that not a great deal transpires over the course of the film, and once again it's another great film on Chabrol's resume!

'The Unfaithful Wife' is really about a faithful husband, who will kill to save his marriage. This kind of fidelity is a chilling exercise of power - the film's many point-of-view shots are mostly his - with adultery a rebellion, a bid for freedom that must be crushed. It's not enough that Charles uncovers his wife's lover, he must sit on the bed they make love on, drink the same drink...

Chabrol's most perfect film, where character inertia is expressed in blatant artifice, both in the home and in 'nature'; where a materialist filming of materialists conceals an austere spirituality, embodied in those Fateful policemen. Like his namesake Bovary, Charles sleeps when his exquisitely beautiful wife offers herself to him. He deserves what he gets.

Having located the man who his wife is having an affair with through a private investigator, a well-to-do Frenchmen pays the man an amicable visit in this slow burn thriller from Claude Chabrol. While the film ends on a strong note with a nicely ambiguous final shot, an emphasis on 'slow' really is required as the entire first half-hour moves sluggishly along until the point when husband and lover finally meet. The precious few minutes that the pair share together are unquestionably the strongest in the film with lots of tension and uncertainty in the air as the husband wins the lover's confidence by pretending that he has an open marriage. This intensity peaks as he listens to the lover talk about how gentle and loving his wife is, enlightening him to a side of his wife that he clearly has not seen for a while. The immediate aftermath of their meeting together is pretty riveting too, but following that the film again loses tension and slows down in its final third, never again achieving the excellence of the husband-lover meeting scene. The film almost feels a bit long in a way, but then on the same account, not quite enough time is dedicated to fleshing out whether love, lust or otherwise existed between the two adulterers. Michel Bouquet's towering lead performance goes a long way to keep the film afloat though. Same goes for Chabrol's fluid camera movements, Pierre Jansen's atmospheric score and the rather novel premise of husband and lover meeting on amicable terms. It is such a great idea that is no surprise to learn that the film has been remade no less than three times to date.

"La Femme Infidele", which was released in 1968, followed quickly on the heels of "Les Biches", (which, in a perhaps playfully arrogant way, is shown as playing in a cinema during the course of the film), and continued a glorious return to form for Chabrol after a too-long fallow period.

It was the first of a series of what could be regarded 'studies in adultery' starring his wife (and muse), Stephane Audran. In this one a loving husband suspects his wife of being unfaithful and, having had his suspicions confirmed by a private detective, determines to confront her lover.

Although he's often described as the French Hitchcock, Chabrol, while he has consistently proved that he has mastered the basic techniques of the suspense film genre, invariably has been at least as equally interested in the study,- indeed dissection, - of the mores and behaviour of the French bourgeoisie.

While this categorisation might suggest a tendency towards dry academic study, he has shown in his best features a masterful ability to employ a variety of techniques to present his case in a telling manner. In this instance he employs, variously, a combination of subtle character study,suspense film, Pinteresque drama, and some black comedy.

He is greatly assisted here by a clutch of exceptional performances: Audran and Maurice Ronet as the lovers, and, best of all, Michel Bouquet as the suspicious but loving husband.

(As an aside, and I'm not sure whether she served any function in the film other than mere decoration, but the husband's mini-skirted secretary appeared to me to have wandered onto the film from an adjacent French farce. But then,perhaps,it was just a case of Chabrol conforming to the norms of the day.)

Among the superbly-crafted high-points were the confrontation between lover and husband; the various domestic conversations between husband and wife where the nature of their relationship is carefully and beautifully delineated; the various conversations with the investigating policemen; and a masterly final scene (where even the briefest explanatory description would be too cruel for those who've yet to see the film).

Overall, however, what ultimately elevates the film to greatness is the way in which Chabrol presents his subjects as determined to maintain the domestic equilibrium, irrespective of, and almost oblivious to, temporary 'crises' and 'inconveniences'. And in the way in which, he, as director/puppetmaster, while at times apparently mocking, simultaneously persuades us to sympathise with his subjects

Quite possibly his finest film: but certainly quintessential Chabrol.

Men tend to conceptualize women's nature as either beauty or sexuality. Charles and Victor, the two male protagonists of Chabrol's "The Unfaithful Wife," adhere to this pristine practice. To Charles, his wife, Helene, is a romantic figment, up on a pedestal, sublimely apportioned, and temptation denied. To Victor, Helene is is a type of erotic object, a cinematic material dream, who he pencils in on alternate days--with the understanding that he's servicing a sensually deprived suburban wife.

The unfaithful woman in movies and literature is almost invariably married to a rich older man, or to an unimaginative bore. Charles, the husband, is spelled out as the latter: he's restrained, formal, spiritless, and timid; he's on the flabby side, and is always fully clothed. To underscore this, Helene is considerably more attractive, modern, youthful, and enticing. Their marriage is on hold, featureless, and passionless. Helene lives the insular life of a housewife, in a cultural vacuum away from Paris; she doesn't drive; her Paris time is limited to routine glamour shop appointments; she loves her 10 year old son; she's bored stiff; she displays a subtle aversion toward Charles, but adjust her persona on his behalf--and she chiefly seems to be in a state resembling a trance.

When Charles seriously suspects Helene is seeing a lover, his first and final consideration is not the stifling nature of his orthodox upper class family, nor his own part in this stalled relationship, nor is it trying to come to terms with his wife's sterile life. It's rather Helene as a sexual suspect, and his pending loss of a prized possession. Of course, his own masculine image is also much at stake. But it's his narrow and stingy perception of his wife that edges her out of the picture, and leads Charles to hiring a private eye.

Which, of course, leads to his classic encounter with Victor, Helene's lover. Charles begins by fabricating an open, tell-all marriage to cover up his shameful spying, and to account for his peculiar visit. His manner with Victor is self-deprecating, simpering, conciliatory, and defensive. Victor, for his part, the cynical misogynist, gives us both a solicited and an unsolicited picture of Helene. He tells Charles that he met her at the cinema; he was sitting close to her, and he "noted a certain... availability." Here's where the fraternizing kicks in: "Is she satisfactory?" "Not at all bad. No complications." He calls her a "good kid." Charles breaks in to remind him that they've been married for 11 years. To which Victor responds "I was married to a bit*ch." Charles complies with a snigger: "I don't doubt it." Victor continues "You know what I like about Helene is her softness. She doesn't look it, but she's very sweet & tender... unbelievable."

It's obvious that both Charles and Victor--their subject being decidedly absent, refuse to validate her as a person.

Just as Charles can't face his dissociated wife, so too is his failure to confront Victor. And his self-belittlement gets transferred onto his wife. Victor too shuts Helene out. It's true that he chides Victor for choosing Versailles over Paris, the perfect fit for Helene. But his view of Helen is patronizing: she's precious, acquiescent, and accommodating, not that much different from Charles's secretary, Brigitte, the frolicsome, eye-catching, sex bunny to him and Paul. And more importantly, Victor admits to no wrongdoing in the affair. He simply takes what's available. He does exactly what Charles, performing the modern sophisticate for Victor, pretends that he himself does. What Helene amounts to is the unfaithful wife possessed by a husband and a lover who control and circumscribe her, and who have projected her identity as an item of exchange, or that which both men have, have had, and by all expectations, will have.

But the finale of the encounter, of course, bodes otherwise. However, it makes no impact on Helene's erasure other than to boost it. Only Charles' strange and seemingly perverted (to Victor) request to tour the flat seems to be free-willed, and what it sets off is his orchestration's crash. First it's the blue sheets, then his anniversary gift lighter. Trepidation takes over as if Charles's mind is splitting, his compressed and accumulated torment exploding into a blunt murder. His blows are obviously not those of love defended but rather the bloody language of power; his insane jealousy being the proof of his failed marriage--and of the overbearing sexual politics behind his madness. Helene's closure is sealed--a similar closure to that Charles himself is about to experience in the form of dread, isolation, and mental stunting in a prison cell. "I love you like mad" are Charles' final words as he submits to arrest.