Masks

precise option for cast. not original policier. but the unique art of characters definition. and a nice story. the vulnerability of Anne Brochet, new version of Audrey Hepburn, the charm of Philippe Niret, the flavor of mysteries old tales are pieces of a very interesting mechanism. nothing surprising, nothing complicated, only visual crime novel created in the limits of classic rules. image of each character - little jewel in Chabrol style, delicate intrigue and the precious details are elements of fine clock. and inspired ingredient for atmosphere. an old fashion movie and little more. maybe, a delight or just provocation for public.that is all.

Intriguing, somewhat old-fashioned thriller where no one is quite who he seems to be (though the revelations in themselves are hardly astounding); for what it is worth, I had to make do here with a TV-sourced version sporting French subtitles! In any case, the film virtually hinges on Philippe Noiret's excellent central performance as a larger-than-life TV presenter with a weakness for luxury. Evoking Walter Matthau to a striking degree, he manages all of the protagonist's various facets (transmitting in this way his talent for manipulation) – going from the charm he exercises on audiences and collaborators alike, to the tenderness he demonstrates towards his young female charge (whom he ostensibly took on out of compassion after both her parents perished in a car crash), the ruthlessness he eventually adopts in order to achieve his goals, and ultimately the breakdown he suffers 'on air' exposing him for the contemptuous bully he really is.

The plot sees a young reporter apparently approach Noiret for the purposes of writing his biography (he is actually investigating the disappearance of a woman who had been the old man's guest). At the latter's country-house, he meets and is attracted to the girl (leading a sheltered life due to her 'delicate' health), who even reciprocates his feelings – to Noiret's obvious chagrin (incidentally, Chabrol resists making him a lecher since he is only after the heroine's money). Bland Robin Renucci is only adequate as the amateur detective, but Anne Brochet's classical beauty (looking quite a bit like Emmanuelle Beart!) is ideally suited for the rather melancholy girl he determines to save from the evil clutches of her guardian. Also involved is Bernadette Lafont (middle-aged but still looking good and with hair dyed blonde) as a hanger-on at Noiret's estate who professes to tell fortunes.

MASQUES basically resolves itself in a battle-of-wills between Noiret and Renucci (and eventually the former and Brochet, when it finally dawns on her that what the young man – and the lady who went missing – had been telling her all along was true). In its expose' of bourgeois double standards and numerous scenes of carefully-built suspense, then, the film emerges to be extremely typical of its director (as well as being reasonably representative of his vast body of work).

A writer comes to a TV personality's country estate ostensibly to write his biography, but seems to take a special interest in the man's goddaughter, as well as another young woman who had lived there before disappearing. He's brought a gun and snoops around from the beginning, setting up a cat and mouse game between the two men played behind the politest of French manners. Chabrol is a bit by the numbers in the sense that this plays out as expected and could have done with a twist or two, but the tension with some of the scenes involving the goddaughter is pretty good. I wasn't as convinced about the love story which develops, which didn't seem realistic or even necessary to tell the story. It was fun watching the mask fall during the TV show though, with Philippe Noiret really leaning in to the performance.

The eighties were not that much a great time for Claude Chabrol.Most of the works of this era ,either have not worn very well (les fantômes du chapelier,poulet au vinaigre) or were not themes for him anyway (le cheval d'orgueil,Patricia Highsmith's "le cri du hibou")

"Masques " is probably his best since "Violette Nozières" (1978) and nearly matches the brilliance of the late sixties/early seventies heyday.

Completely unpretentious,it's full of humor,suspense and of course gastronomy (is there a Chabrol movie where they do not eat?).A marvelous spoof on these numerous TV shows which take dumbness to new limits, a detective story,this movie is much fun to watch.

Philippe Noiret,overplaying as hell -and he's thoroughly enjoyable-,plays the emcee of a broadcast for old people who sing songs of long ago,("les roses blanches" ,the most maudlin song of the whole French repertoire,crooned by an old man, can be heard on the cast and credits).By no means a caricature, because, we've seen worse on French TV.

And to crown it all,the host uses "HItchcock presents " music to enhance his horrible show.And that's not all!Philippe Noiret's character is Mister LEGAGNEUR (GO-GETTER)

The emcee is so full of himself he asks a young novelist (Renucci) to write his biography.They are to work in the country in Legagneur's desirable property,complete with court and chef .A delightful gallery of weirdoes hangs around:A couple,Roger Dumas ,a wine connaisseur, and Bernadette Laffont,who enjoys reading someone's cards and less commendable things -to think that Laffont was featured in Chabrol's very first ,"le beau Serge" ,in 1958!-;a deaf and dumb chauffeur;two strange servants, one of them relishes with Charlotte Armstrong's detective stories-like Chabrol ,who adapted this writer twice :"la rupture" (1970)and "merci pour le chocolat" (2000)-;and,last but not least,a strange girl (Brochet), Legagneur's goddaughter(sic).She seems very sick,or maybe someone helps her to be sick?

Actually nothing is what it seems .Everybody hides himself behind his mask,including the director ,who puts on his Chabrol mask this time.

Masks is a gothic mystery of antique origin, successfully updated for a world a century later. To breathe new life into a well-worn story takes style, inventiveness, and brio - all of which Chabrol, co-writer Odile Barski, and a well-chosen cast bring in spades. The traditional shadows and spandrels of the genre are discarded in favour of a uniquely saccharine creepiness.

Philippe Noiret fits his role as smarmy TV show host Christian Legagneur (literally "the winner") like a glove. His program - in which elderly romantics compete in dancing and singing - feels eerily plausible. We spend most of the film at his country estate, populated with familiars, where he has invited a young biographer to hear his story. This biographer, however, has a secret mission that only reveals itself gradually. The setup sounds implausible, but Legagneur is just egotistical enough to be seduced by the flattery of a biographer's attention, and just manipulative enough to welcome an extra puppet into his theatre, even if he suspects the ruse.

Robin Renucci, as the fake writer Roland Wolf, brings youthful brashness and self-assurance to the role, making him a worthy opponent in this quiet battle of wits. Other notables include Bernadette Lafont, gleefully hamming it up as the voluptuous tarotist-in-residence Patricia, and Anne Brochet as Catherine, Legagneur's ailing god-daughter.

It's tempting to think of Chabrol as a New Wave pioneer who drifted into less promising genre territory. But dig deeper, and you find a filmmaker with a remarkably acute grasp of the upper middle classes - particularly the collusive, self-perpetuating nature of class power. Legagneur is no rogue individualist. He gregariously surrounds himself with like-minded confederates who share in the spoils. To put it more simply: the rich don't rock the boat - they eat veal cutlets on the boat and sip fine wine.

Legagneur laughs easily, with his inner circle and at society. He is a law unto himself, creating a hermetically sealed, ideologically baroque world of his own. This is captured in a memorable image: he sleeps beneath an Arcadian tableau, recessed into ornate panelling - the physical manifestation of his dreams. We glimpse the structure he inhabits whether awake or asleep: a world entirely of his own invention and control. He is a dreamer wide awake. Or, to put it plainly: a powerful fantasist. Years before the world came to understand the true nature of TV host Jimmy Savile, Chabrol had already drawn the silhouette.

The 1980s were a relatively fallow period for Chabrol, but Masks - this opiated flower from an unmapped canyon of dreams - stands out.