The Color of Lies

French movies are used to investigating human thoughts, behaviors. Chabrol makes it perfectly. As you might know, he is a typical French director, sometimes boring but specially relevant and with accurate analysis in this film. The feeling of jealousy and suspicion is perfectly depicted, Jacques Gamblin as a tortured painter is, as always, amazing and touching. The well known humorist for his Euro Trash show, Antoine De Caunes, is scheming and surprisingly good enough. It's true that Sandrine Bonnaire and Valeria Tedeschi are kind of insipid and correspond to the cold French woman stereotype I hate. Anyway, the film is perfectly directed and gives us some clues about the birth of jealousy.

Although Claude Chabrol has worked predominantly in the crime genre, and adapted much mystery fiction, very few of his films are straight whodunits. Crimes may be the central feature of these films, or the catalyst at least, and investigations may shape these narratives and bring them to their conclusion, if not resolution. But Chabrol is usually more interested in focusing on point-of-view, of the killer, the victims, the suspects, the community, than in any who's-the-killer games. So 'Au coeur du mensonge' belongs to a relatively marginalised (and recent) position in Chabrol's filmography; its most famous predecessors are 'Cop au vin' and 'Inspecteur Lavardin' (although there are important echoes of earlier Chabrol classics like 'Que le bete meure' and 'Le Boucher').

However, just because we don't know who committed the two murders until the end, this doesn't mean Chabrol is only interested in artifical games. The limits of the whodunit paradoxically give Chabrol the freedom from delineating the psychology of the criminal, to something much more interesting to him; in other words, the unknowability of other people, especially those we love, live with and think we know best.

Chabrol's films are so self-contained and remote, that it's rare to find him concentrating on 'topical' issues. Here the subject is the all-too-familiar paedophile rape and murder of a young girl in the woods. She was last seen at a lesson with her art teacher, Rene, and suspicion immediately falls on him, in one of those oppressive small towns where the Internet will never outpace malicious gossip. If we didn't know whodunits, we might think so too - he is lame, shifty looking, whiny, and a failed artist experiencing mental breakdown who thinks his masseuse wife, Vivianne, is having an affair with a slick media personality, G.R.

There are other suspects: G.R. himself, his criminal go-between, and Rene's friend, Regis, even, as the coroner cheerfully suggests, a woman with strong hands and gloves - an exact description of Vivianne earlier. But it is Rene everyone suspects, especially the new Chief Inspector, Lesage, whose personal stake in the case (she has a daughter of the same age as the dead girl) makes her determined to bring him to justice.

'Mensonge' is a psychological study in the guise of a mystery thriller. We are asked to follow Rene's reactions to the murder, social ostracism, artistic failure etc., and yet we're not told whether he's the murderer or not, or any of the other characters, which would surely be a crucial element in anyone's psychology! so these two impulses - towards psychological truth and towards a mystery story which necessarily precludes the audience having any access to the character's psychology, puts it with the same level of knowledge of characters as the other characters, making for an effectively tense film, which, beyond its mystery trappings, asks whether we can ever know anyone, when trust, or self-confidence, or faith in 'reality' is gone.

The film links the idea of lies (characters concealing truths, making realities out of lies), with art (painting - Jacques revels in panoramas and trompes d'oeil; the second murder is 'composed' like a painting). Throughout, various media for the diffusion of truth - painting, TV, books, recitals - as well as the police investigation, with its need for artistic resolution, are highlighted, interrogated and undermined (even a last minute confession is suspect, and the denouement, appropriately, takes place in a deep mist). Chabrol's blithely elliptical narrative style further compounds our uncertainty. As with every Chabrol, the surface every character sees, or creates, is as treacherous as a trompe d'oeil. As the child-murder in the forest, echoing 'Diary of a Chambermaid', suggests, Chabrol is letting out the closet Surrealist in him.

In this and some other of Claude Chabrol's movies, it is as though he sets out to defy himself and his audience to feel any emotion. The pace is even; characters rarely raise their voices or lose their tempers; there is no on-screen violence; and the sex is minimal and decorous. The colour is carefully orchestrated, with cool blue predominating; and though the film is set by the sea, this is not the warm, seductive Mediterranean, but the cold, off-putting Atlantic; when the weather deteriorates, there are no violent storms, simply thick fog.

Though superficially a drama about the rape and murder of a young girl, the real subject of the film is deceit and lying. From the trompe l'oeil paintings of the main suspect René Sterne (Jacques Gamblin), through marriage infidelity, to the smug hypocrisy of TV celebrity G-R Desmot (Antoine de Caunes), all is a sham. Nor does Chabrol shy away from reminding us that the film medium itself is based on illusion - a character reassures another "that's the sort of thing you only see in movies".

But for all the movie's careful construction, and despite my trying hard to suspend disbelief, some elements of the film remained deeply unconvincing and even ludicrous. In particular, I found it impossible to accept Valeria Bruni Tedeschi as a police chief with an ultra-mild demeanour and a penchant for pink knitwear. Also, the film ended so abruptly that I for one missed any final point made by Chabrol. Nevertheless, there may be viewers more discerning than I who will find more value in this movie.

In the provincial St. Malo, in Brittany, the nurse Vivianne Sterne (Sandrine Bonnaire) and her crippled and sensitive husband René Sterne (Jacques Gamblin), who is a drawing teacher and former painter, live in an isolated shore side house. When his 10-year-old student Eloise is found raped and strangled in the woods nearby his house, the Parisian new chief of police Frédérique Lesage (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi) investigates the case and René becomes her prime suspect. Consequently, his reputation and his life are destroyed and he loses his students. Meanwhile Vivianne is seduced by the arrogant and shallow writer and journalist Germain-Roland Desmot (Antoine de Caunes), who is a celebrity in Paris and is spending a vacation is his hometown, and is closer to him. Will Frédérique Lesage find the killer?

"Au coeur du mensonge", a.k.a. "The Color of Lies", is another subtle and witty suspense directed by Claude Chabrol, one of the best French directors ever. The story shows flawed characters; therefore, it is realistic and credible, and a study of human behavior in a small town. The performances are top notch and the conclusion is open to interpretation, a trademark of Chabrol. My vote is seven.

Title (Brazil): "A Cor da Mentira" ("The Colour of the Lie")

Note: On 10 January 2025, I saw this film again.

I never was a big fan from Claude Chabrol who said himself that for him movies have to be like stones. Chabrol is the master in so called psychological dramas and the problem with them is that the departing idea is interesting but that it never goes any further than an ordinary teleplay, and that's the same here. It's the story from some scandal in Bretagne. In a forest a child is found dead and as soon as the police arrives they accuse the man with whom the child was with the last time. The whole town is shocked and points a finger at an innocent man. The idea was inspired by Belgium's most famous crimestory, Marc Dutroux, a man (or monster?) who is accused for having kidnapped and murdered some children. A decade later the trial still hasn't started and the big question is of course : is he the one that has to behind bars? But good Chabrol doesn't even try to explain us such things, he just films everything in a cold docustyle and it's so slow you tend to watch your clock till it will end...