Author's Note: In revising this review 8 years after the fact (2003) for posting on Greencine, I made a few changes, including the removal of several "judgmental" asides, and the softening of several "spoilers". It is that review that you see here, first. It is followed by the original review (from The News [in Eureka, California]) published in 1995.
Version Two (Revised, 2003)
In this Rorschach-ink-blot-of-a-film, Catherine Deneuve portrays a virginal newlywed with a troubled past. In a series of momentary flashbacks we are privy to her childhood molestation. These intercut her gradual movement from her "cloistered" social position to her new-found work at a high-brow Parisian brothel. The transformation would seem highly suspect, but Buñuel manages to explain it while leaving some viewers room to dismiss it.
Severine's (Deneuve's) childhood abuse seems to have two basic influences on her adult life. First, she is uninterested in sexual intimacies with her husband of one year. Second, her fantasy life is filled with episodes in which her husband facilitates and, sometimes, witnesses the domination and degradation of his wife.
The first of these fantasy interludes opens the film. This sets the whole work on unreliable footing. One is never sure whether what is transpiring on the screen is "really happening." Later this doubt serves to minimize the shock of some of the more unpleasant episodes. But in this initial sequence (probably the film's most disturbing from a conventional standpoint) the viewer is caught unaware. One accepts the actions on the screen as diagetically "real."
The viewer is thrust into a position analogous to that of Severine. This opening sequence, the other fantasy sequences in the film, and the film's conclusion all allow one to entertain the possibility that none of what one sees on the screen is anything more than a dream or fantasy created in Severine's mind. Buñuel grants us the option of denial and escape from what might otherwise be a disturbing reality.
Alternately, by relegating only the most obviously "phantasmagorical" interludes to the realm of a "dream" or delusion, Belle de Jour becomes a portrait of a series of "social ills." There appear to be no obvious cures beyond the path Severine embarks on (psychological escape). Responding to Buñuel's "Rorschach" in this manner opens some complex issues, many of which are eloquently stated and then painfully unresolved by the film.
A short time after the momentary flashback that introduces us to Severine's childhood molester, a second momentary flashback captures the young Severine's rejection of the social conventions that have provided the context in which she has been abused. Repeatedly asked to accept the wafer during communion, she resolutely refuses. The implication is that Severine wishes to reject the myriad of ills being perpetrated on her. The molestation is the most concrete; the Church, the most symbolic.
Another telling pairing of interludes occur approximately one third and two-thirds of the way through the film. In the first instance, before she has fully explored the possibility of working at a brothel, Severine asks her husband whether he has ever been to "those houses." At first he politely misunderstands her. Then he describes briefly his experiences with prostitution. She shrinks at his brief description and the episode ends.
Later, after Severine has been thoroughly indoctrinated into various non-vanilla aspects of human sexuality (at least as "strange" as her unsettling fantasy life) by way of her work at the brothel, she reaches a new level of insight into herself, her sexuality and her husband/marriage. She says to her increasingly sexually satisfied husband that she feels like she is getting closer to him and that she is understanding him better and better each day. What she doesn't say to him (but what is clearly underlying her transformation) is that her time spent in the brothel is bringing her closer to her husband, who is ignorant of her "day job."
It is in this transformation that the film may be most interesting. Buñuel seems to suggest that a natural outcome of childhood sexual abuse is both an inability to engage in "vanilla" sex acts and a predilection for other sexual interactions. At the same time, Belle de Jour implies that one "solution" to such a situation is embrace non-traditional/"norm"al/middle-class sexuality. The inability of the thoughtful viewer to easily dismiss Buñuel's portrayal of this situation creates a complex, challenging Rorschach test that, as usual, says more about the viewer than about Buñuel.
Version One (Original, 1995)Recently, Humboldt County was treated to the reissue of a classic Luis Buñuel film, Belle de Jour, at the Minor Theater in Arcata. In this Rorschach-ink-blot-of-a-film, Catherine Deneuve portrays a virginal newlywed with a troubled past. In a series of momentary flashbacks we are privy to her childhood molestation. These intercut her gradual movement from her "cloistered" social position to her new-found work at a high-brow Parisian brothel. The transformation would seem highly suspicious, but Buñuel manages to explain it while leaving the viewer room to dismiss it (if one so desires).
Severine's (Deneuve's) childhood abuse seems to have two basic influences on her adult life. First, she is uninterested in sexual intimacies with her husband of one year. Second, her fantasy life is filled with abusive episodes in which her husband facilitates and, sometimes, witnesses the domination and degradation of his wife.
The first of these fantasy interludes opens the film. This sets the whole work on unreliable footing. One is never sure whether what is transpiring on the screen is "really happening." Later this doubt serves to minimize the shock of some of the more unpleasant episodes. But in this initial abusive sequence (probably the film's most repulsive) the viewer is caught unaware. One accepts the actions on the screen as "real" until the film informs us that they are just one of Severine's (recurring) fantasies.
The viewer is thrust into a position analogous to (though tremendously less damaging than) that of the molested Severine. This opening sequence, the other fantasy sequences in the film, and the film's conclusion in which Severine imagines her husband's miraculous recovery all allow one to entertain the possibility that none of what one sees on the screen is anything more than a dream or fantasy created in Severine's troubled mind. Buñuel grants us the option of denial and escape from what would otherwise be a deeply disturbing reality. It would be difficult to blame one for taking this route out of Belle de Jour's (or our) world.
Alternately, by relegating only the most obviously "phantasmagorical" interludes to the realm of a "dream" or delusion, Belle de Jour becomes a scathing portrait of a series of social ills. There appear to be no obvious cures beyond the path Severine embarks on (psychological escape). Responding to Buñuel's "Rorschach" in this manner opens some frightfully complex issues, many of which are eloquently stated and then painfully unresolved by the film.
A short time after the momentary flashback that introduces us to Severine's childhood molester, a second momentary flashback captures the young Severine's rejection of the social conventions that have provided the context in which she has been abused. Repeatedly asked to accept the wafer during communion, she resolutely refuses. The implication is that Severine wishes to reject the myriad of ills being perpetrated on her. The molestation is the most concrete; the Church, the most symbolic.
Another telling pairing of interludes occurs approximately one third and two-thirds of the way through the film. In the first instance, before she has fully explored the possibility of working at a brothel, Severine asks her husband whether he has ever been to "those houses." At first he politely misunderstands her. Then he describes briefly his experiences with prostitution. She shrinks at his brief description and the episode ends.
Later, after Severine has been thoroughly indoctrinated into various bizarre aspects of human sexuality (at least as strange as her unsettling fantasy life) by way of her work at the brothel, she reaches a new level of insight into herself, her sexuality and her husband/marriage. She says to her increasingly sexually satisfied husband that she feels like she is getting closer to him and that she is understanding him better and better each day. What she doesn't say to him (but what is clearly underlying her transformation) is that her time spent in the brothel is bringing her closer to her husband, who is ignorant of her "day job" until the film's conclusion.
It is in this transformation that the film may be most troubling. Buñuel seems to suggest that a natural outcome of sexual abuse is both an inability to engage in "vanilla" sex acts and a predilection for degrading sexual interactions. At the same time, Belle de Jour implies that one (temporary? imperfect?) solution to such a situation is a retreat from traditional/normal/middle-class vanilla sexuality (which probably isn't as tame as our Victorian values would like to imply) combined with a prolonged exposure to (and participation in) "deviant," mechanical, "empty" sexual activity. "Weird sex" is offered as a cure for previous abuse. The inability of the thoughtful viewer to easily dismiss Buñuel's portrayal of this situation creates a complex, challenging Rorschach test that lingers on long after one would forget an inkblot smudge on a page.
