The Unfaithful Wife

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.

"La Femme Infidele" is arguably Claude Chabrol's finest film and certainly one of the masterpieces of sixties French cinema. The adulterous wife is, yes you've guessed it, Stephane Audran and Michel Bouquet is the cuckolded husband who decides to confront his wife's lover, Maurice Ronet, with fatal results. Perhaps the gentle art of murder has never been as gentle or as artful as here. I don't think I've ever seen killers, victims or those caught in-between behave in such a civilized manner. The performances are brilliant, the script a constant delight and Chabrol's direction is pitch-perfect. Not to be missed.

In Versailles, the upper-class Hélène (Stéphane Audran) and Charles Desvallees (Michel Bouquet) live a boring and detached life in their comfortable house, and their only common interest is their beloved son Michel. Every other day, Hélène commutes to Paris and Charles suspects that she might be cheating on him. He hires a private eye and a couple of days later, his suspicion is confirmed. The investigator tells him that Hélène is having a love affair with the writer Victor Pégala (Maurice Ronet) and delivers a picture of her lover with his address to him. Charles visits Victor in his apartment in Paris and introduces himself as Hélène's husband; Charles lures him saying that he has an agreement with his wife that tells details of her encounters. Out of the blue, Charles hits Victor's head with a statue and kills him. Then he dumps the body in a dirty lake and comes back home. Soon, detectives Duval (Michel Duchaussoy) and Gobet (Guy Marly) interview Hélène explaining that Victor is missing and her name is in his address book. When Hélène finds the picture of Victor in the pocket of Charles's jacket, she destroys the evidence and learns that her husband loves her. But the police inspectors are coming to their house again to talk to Charles.

"La Femme Infidèle" a.k.a. "The Unfaithful Wife", is another magnificent thriller by the master of suspense Claude Chabrol. The story of a couple with a routine life lacking passion and sex that is revitalized by the adultery of the wife and the murder of her lover by her husband is sort of ironical and tragic. The open conclusion is left to the interpretation of the viewer and is also a trademark of Chabrol. In 2002, Adrian Lyne remade this film without the ambiguity of the original film and including an inexistent moral dilemma, as the usual pitiful practice of Hollywood industry. My vote is eight.

Title (Brazil): "Mulher Infiél" ("Unfaithful Woman")

Note: On 04 December 2024, I saw this film again.

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!

What Michel Bouquet does in his role as the husband to Stephane Audran's title character can only be described as an acting tour-De-force. MAGNIFICENT!

Audran is not bad herself, but a notch less than stellar. Or maybe her performance just pales in comparison to her co-star. As does pretty much everything else in the film. From a certain point onwards, it is Bouquet who becomes the co-auteur, as for as the viewer is concerned.

The film has a very remarkable score, which Chabrol uses effectively as if both checking, and challenging the Hitchcockian legacy of pronounced scores in the thriller realm.

With unmistakable, (still his kind of) nouvelle-vague elements, the film admirably reflects director's familiarity with the classic genre and its (then) modern subversion.

With unmistakable, (still his kind of) nouvelle-vague elements, the film admirably reflects the director's familiarity with the classic genre and its (then) modern subversion. The economy and brilliance of shots is such that viewer cannot take eyes off screen, not for one sec. The last shot alone informs a good lot more than an average novella. And demands a separate essay I am not gonna write. However, it becomes quite clear early on that this auteur, unlike some others, is not at all that keen on subversion for the very sake of it.

La Femme Infidele has all the bearings of a rebellion forgone, if you please. It definitely looks like the work of an auteur, but not just a rebel kind, but a mature mind, someone well on his way to become a real master of the medium: already he affords to be audacious, or flexible, every which way to fulfill demands posed by his art. This audacious flexibility in turn provides the auteur opportunity to comment, in his fashion, if not alter the rules of the genre that he is seen, here as well, rebelling against and compromising with.