Bluebeard

Given the four Catherine Breillat films I'd seen, I was expecting Bluebeard to be far more intense and/or confrontational, possibly even borderline lewd given the subject manner and age of the female protagonist. The subject manner being an adaptation of Charles Perrault's infamous fairy tale, the age of the actress playing his child bride being 15. To my surprise, Bluebeard ended up being a restrained, visually imaginative, deceptively straightforward rendering of the tale.

Breillat demonstrated how a period piece can appear ornate and believable on a modest budget, via a precise eye for detail and astute decision as to what to include and exclude from the frame. Ridley Scott's excellent The Duelists also does this well, and having watched it the week prior, probably made me more aware of this aspect in Breillat's film. Most period films, especially pre-19th century European-set films, love to indulge in at least one market scene, in which the costumers, set designers and director love to show off the fruits of their meticulous research and antique shopping sprees. This can be fun, but it has become such a cliched thing to watch for, usually accompanied by jaunty music and a cacophonous mixing of "market sounds" as the protagonist strolls through the stalls, it can be distracting, a bit of a joke. Breillat forgoes any such showy exposition, the two scenes requiring more than four actors in the same frame at once being a brief funeral and a necessary dancing/gathering scene. The use of diegetic period music makes it all the more believable, and if I recall correctly, no other music was used during the film, except for opening and end credits.

Two other famous French films it immediately recalls are Bresson's Lancelot du Lac and Rohmer's Perceval, two singular stylistic works that it would seem impossible for Breillat not to have been informed by to some extent. Specifically, Bluebeard's framing and laconic pace recall Lancelot, while the music and costumes bring to mind Perceval. In addition to being exquisitely photographed, the film features several slow, almost still shots that function as tableau vivants which recall paintings, and the red headed sister of the bride has a distinct Pre-Raphaelite appearance.

Having been so effectively reworked in a feminist vein by Angela Carter and others, the Bluebeard tale is treated in a similar, though subtler, feminist manner by Breillat. The most unexpected and radical notion is the almost sympathetic portrayal of Bluebeard as a misunderstood, lonely ogre. (Though I haven't watched any of the Shrek films in their entirety, what bits I've seen of them couldn't help but come to mind.) His child bride is most certainly an innocent, but perhaps not as much as we might expect. After the death of her father, she decides to take the risk of marrying the bad boy (or in this case, serial killer) so she won't have to live a life of deprivation, something her older sister — who seems to detest poverty and her mother's defeatism even more than her sibling — refuses to do. And I don't exactly detect sympathy from the film for the arguably pragmatic but inarguably opportunistic mothers presented here. The framing device of two small girls reading the tale in a contemporary setting is inspired, adding another layer to the film, particularly during the story's climax.

Any film that takes as it subject matter a well-known story, doesn't alter the narrative of the story in any dramatic way but still manages to surprise and cast new light on old themes is impressive. Bluebeard impresses for this reason, but anyone approaching it with little or no knowledge of its source will surely by drawn in and hypnotized by its visual beauty and near flawless execution .