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.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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...
3 comments
Read more

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...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more