...picks up right where the twisted “Belle de Jour” left off, digging into even more perverse territory.
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It´s rare that I get to write about a hundred year old director but, to be fair, Manoel de Oliveira was merely a lad of 97 when he made "Belle Toujours" (2006). Also to be fair, de Oliveira has to wait another 5 months before he officially makes it to 100, but considering that he has released two features and two shorts in the last two years and has one of each in production in the current year, he doesn´t appear to be slowing down any time soon. He made his first short film in 1931, and his first feature in 1942 after which his career was derailed for nearly 15 years, and he would not release his next feature film until 1963 when, at the age of 55, he finally got things cranking.
As if flipping off Father Time, de Oliveira has been more productive in the past decade than at any other time in his career, releasing 18 films (features and shorts) since 1998, nearly half his lifetime output. Please note that it is old hat (pun intended) to discuss Manoel de Oliveira´s age these days, but since this is the first opportunity I have had to write about this remarkable director, I´m entitled. I promise not to say a word about it over his next hundred years.
With "Belle Toujours," de Oliveira has made perhaps his oddest film, intended as a sequel of sorts to Luis Buńuel´s landmark "Belle de Jour" (1967). Except that "sequel" isn´t the right term; rather it´s an afterword written long, long after the main text. "Belle de Jour" is one of Buńuel´s most perverse and perverted films (and I mean that in a good way), the story of a bored housewife Severine (Catherine Deneuve) who loves her devoted husband but still chooses to spend her days working in a high-end brothel. She harnesses her inner masochist with the help of her husband´s best friend Henri (Michel Piccoli) and an array of twisted clients. This is the film that gave us the famous buzzing mystery box which has been copied in subsequent films, appearing most famously as the glowing suitcase in "Pulp Fiction" (1994).
"Belle Toujours" kicks off at a concert in which the much older but not necessarily any wiser Henri (played again by Michel Piccoli) spots the much older and possibly wiser Severine (played this time by Bulle Ogier) in the audience. He ogles her as if trying to mesmerize his former object of desire, but she proves elusive and disappears in a limo before he can speak to her. Henri is nothing if not dogged, however, and he soon tracks her down at her hotel. She has no interest whatsoever in catching up with her "old friend," but he persuades her to have dinner with him. While killing time, he also stops in at a bar to recount his story (the story of "Belle de Jour") to an easily impressed bartender (Richard Trępa) which isn´t really intended as exposition for the viewers, but further confirmation of Henri´s vanity.
You might be thinking this is a reunion story of sorts. That is, if you know nothing about Buńuel or de Oliveira which, apparently, is true of whoever wrote the summary at Rotten Tomatoes which ludicrously describes the film as "a short and sweet elegy on aging, sexuality, and the power of cinema." Pardon my French, but what the fuck?
"Belle Toujours" picks up right where the twisted "Belle de Jour" left off, digging into even more perverse territory. Henri´s patrician façade has no doubt fooled many a socialite into thinking him quite the gentleman, but his intentions to Severine are anything but honorable. Severine, we discover, has redeemed herself in the ensuing four decades, devoting herself to her husband and to God. Henri cannot let this affront to nature stand, and plays sadistic mind-games with her, and the real mystery for us to confront is whether Severine, despite her protestations, is every bit as much into humiliation as she ever was? Indeed, what else could she possibly expect when she (not so?) grudgingly accepts his invitation to dinner? De Oliveira´s subversion of the need for "closure" one might expect from a reunion narrative is his slyest, and cruelest, touch. Buńuel would be proud.
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