Belle de jourOur obsessions can define us even when we refute them. At times, we do this because that which we find desirable cannot be easily explained, may be shocking or shameful, or doesn't fit in with how we want the world to see us. Séverine Serizy (Catherine Deneuve) is a beautiful--yet frigid--young housewife who has fantasies about being degraded and humiliated by men, a bondage fantasy which she does not tell her conventionally wholesome husband, nor anyone else. But when the existence of a secret apartment brothel is made known to her, she finds an avenue to indulge her erotic compulsions in secret.
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Describing Belle de Jour in terms of plot would lead one to presume that it is but a torrid "erotic" drama, the word too often associated with titillation and explicit content to stir the loins. On the contrary, Belle de Jour is genuinely rooted in the principles that true eroticism is kept in the imagination. From the first scene in the film--which is revealed to be a fantasy of Séverine's--it is clear that Séverine's life has left her wanting, although she is unsure how to obtain satisfaction. While her husband is interested in sex, it is Séverine who puts him off and avoids physical contact. Her fantasies suggest someone who longs for a disciplinary hand and her concept of eroticism is tied to a kind of forceful dominance. In other films, this would be an excuse to solicit long, protracted scenes of leather and chains, and so on. In contrast, for a story about a young woman discovering her sexual appetite working in a brothel, there is nary a single sex scene, because for Séverine, the excitement is all in her fantasy. It is also a form of empowerment for Séverine, who finds that although she does not so much choose her clientele, she has chosen to be in the environment not because she needs money, but the stimulation that it brings, even if she is reluctant to admit it at first. Séverine often puts on an act which becomes more evident as we get to know her; the first scene fundamentally sets the stage for us to see through her false countenance. She tells her husband that she dislikes how his friend Husson (Michel Piccoli) eyes her, and he later confesses his attraction to her pristine and innocent nature, in a matter of fact way. It is when her friend tells her in a cab ride that another mutual friend of theirs makes extra pocket money as a prostitute that it becomes clear that Séverine will find a way to place herself into a position where she cannot say no to the liberating experience.
Belle de Jour is a transgressive film not because of content but context. Séverine represents a woman who has sexual desires which some would define as deviant, especially so not only for her society but also the time. Made in 1967, sexual liberation was still in its infancy, and conventional gender roles were still the standard. Belle de Jour presents Séverine not as a perverse and wanton woman who is ultimately punished for her desires, but as one who finds herself a more complete person by exploring her compulsions rather than repressing them. The sense that this is something not commonly accepted from women is expressed at points by Husson--who talks about the frequency with which he has visited houses of ill-repute--as well as even her husband, who mentions that he had been to see prostitutes in the past, although he found the experience not to his taste. Séverine wears a mask, although it becomes increasingly difficult to see which "Séverine" is the real one. The answer to that is that there is no "real" Séverine; to assign her a static persona would imply that she is a flat, simple character, which her vivid fantasies and complex desires prove her to be otherwise. She loves her husband, and admits to herself that her experiences have in fact brought her closer to him. But until she can come to terms with that sensation, she wears the mask of "Belle de Jour", a moniker assigned to her by her the bordello's madame, Anaïs (Geneviève Page), with regards to her need to be finished at the apartment brothel by five in the evening. This alter ego is a safe asylum for her to be a different person, and deflect any sense of shame she feels at her need to understand her sexuality better. Flashbacks offer insight into the stimuli that arouse her, and her fantasies are generally preceded by the sound of bells. Filmmaker Luis Buñuel's signature surreal style shows through in Séverine's fantasies, where dialogue and images are vaguely real, but decidedly not, just like a dream should be. Séverine finds in her work at the apartment a kindred spirit in the form of a young criminal, Marcel (Pierre Clémenti), an arrogant and hot-headed young man who Séverine feels drawn to and aroused by so much that she even offers not to charge him. It is ultimately Marcel who is incapable of rationalizing his emotion, and ends up stalking Séverine, and shooting her husband, Pierre (Jean Sorel), putting him in a wheelchair while he recovers. One of the more ambiguous elements of Belle de Jour is the ending, where following Husson's revelation to Pierre of Séverine's afternoon moonlighting, Pierre makes a miraculous recovery. Certainly, Séverine is no stranger to fantasy, and the denouement plays out like one; but on the other hand, it is also possible that it is a metaphor, reinforcing that old axiom which belongs at the foundation of any good relationship: "the truth shall set you free".
Recommended for: Fans of a clever and forward-thinking film about attitudes of women's desires and needs when it comes to eroticism and sexual satisfaction. One imagines that at the film's debut, audiences expecting a tawdry film about a nubile housewife turning tricks were instead surprised to find a romance with feminist overtones. Well played, Buñuel.
Belle de Jour is a transgressive film not because of content but context. Séverine represents a woman who has sexual desires which some would define as deviant, especially so not only for her society but also the time. Made in 1967, sexual liberation was still in its infancy, and conventional gender roles were still the standard. Belle de Jour presents Séverine not as a perverse and wanton woman who is ultimately punished for her desires, but as one who finds herself a more complete person by exploring her compulsions rather than repressing them. The sense that this is something not commonly accepted from women is expressed at points by Husson--who talks about the frequency with which he has visited houses of ill-repute--as well as even her husband, who mentions that he had been to see prostitutes in the past, although he found the experience not to his taste. Séverine wears a mask, although it becomes increasingly difficult to see which "Séverine" is the real one. The answer to that is that there is no "real" Séverine; to assign her a static persona would imply that she is a flat, simple character, which her vivid fantasies and complex desires prove her to be otherwise. She loves her husband, and admits to herself that her experiences have in fact brought her closer to him. But until she can come to terms with that sensation, she wears the mask of "Belle de Jour", a moniker assigned to her by her the bordello's madame, Anaïs (Geneviève Page), with regards to her need to be finished at the apartment brothel by five in the evening. This alter ego is a safe asylum for her to be a different person, and deflect any sense of shame she feels at her need to understand her sexuality better. Flashbacks offer insight into the stimuli that arouse her, and her fantasies are generally preceded by the sound of bells. Filmmaker Luis Buñuel's signature surreal style shows through in Séverine's fantasies, where dialogue and images are vaguely real, but decidedly not, just like a dream should be. Séverine finds in her work at the apartment a kindred spirit in the form of a young criminal, Marcel (Pierre Clémenti), an arrogant and hot-headed young man who Séverine feels drawn to and aroused by so much that she even offers not to charge him. It is ultimately Marcel who is incapable of rationalizing his emotion, and ends up stalking Séverine, and shooting her husband, Pierre (Jean Sorel), putting him in a wheelchair while he recovers. One of the more ambiguous elements of Belle de Jour is the ending, where following Husson's revelation to Pierre of Séverine's afternoon moonlighting, Pierre makes a miraculous recovery. Certainly, Séverine is no stranger to fantasy, and the denouement plays out like one; but on the other hand, it is also possible that it is a metaphor, reinforcing that old axiom which belongs at the foundation of any good relationship: "the truth shall set you free".
Recommended for: Fans of a clever and forward-thinking film about attitudes of women's desires and needs when it comes to eroticism and sexual satisfaction. One imagines that at the film's debut, audiences expecting a tawdry film about a nubile housewife turning tricks were instead surprised to find a romance with feminist overtones. Well played, Buñuel.