Skip to main content

Breillat: "Last Summer"

 I have no idea if Catherine Breillat likes "Fatal Attraction," but I myself am a fan, and it's fun to see Breillat "updating" FA in her new film.


A woman (Anne) in her late forties has a reasonably happy life; she lives in comfort outside Paris, and she has two adorable adopted children. Her husband, Pierre, probably talks too much, and too dryly, about business, but that seems to be a small price to pay. And: Act One ends. A stranger comes to town.

The stranger, Theo, is Pierre's own son from an earlier marriage. Theo resents Pierre for having jumped ship. Theo also recognizes that he has sexual power over Anne, and he begins an affair, maybe to screw with his dad, maybe because of actual romantic feelings, and maybe because of a jumble of unexamined, chaotic impulses. (Theo is just seventeen.)

What follows is a power struggle. It's excruciating to watch. Anne knows she needs to disentangle herself from Theo, but she can't help herself; she is drawn to self-sabotage. Theo is wounded, and young, and stupid, but he figures out how to use the law, the clock, and the weight of family history to his own advantage. You begin to feel that the central characters (or at least a few) literally might not survive to play a role in the Third Act.

All of this is like witnessing a slow-motion trainwreck. Breillat makes things squirmier than you might expect. I'm haunted by Anne--and by her fate. And I recommend this one.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...