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| Director Michel Deville |
VOYAGE EN DOUCE A- France (98 mi) 1980 d: Michel Deville
What women talk about when men aren’t around. —film tagline
Michel Deville found great critical and box-office success in France, perhaps achieving his greatest success with LA LECTRICE (THE READER) in 1988, but was relatively unknown abroad, never to achieve the international notoriety of New Wave contemporaries like Godard or Truffaut. While made in 1980, this film is reminiscent of the playful spirit of the 60’s, which was a decade obsessed with frequent flashbacks, an aesthetic that felt so liberating at the time, like an ode to freedom, including the dizzying flashback sequences in Chris Marker’s La Jetée (1962), Federico Fellini’s 8 ½ (1963), Wojciech Has’ THE SARAGOSSA MANUSCRIPT (1965), Sergio Leone’s ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST (1968), or Robert Enrico’s ZITA (1968), and curious narrative experimentation in the early 70’s from Rivette’s Céline and Julie Go Boating (Céline et Julie vont en bateau) (1974), which this film emulates, where music seems to open an imaginary portal into the world of erotic daydreams through an elegant use of Beethoven Bagatelles (Beethoven: 6 Bagatelles, Op. 126 - 4. Presto - YouTube 4:18) played by Katia Labèque that provide a seductive, A Midsummer Night’s Dream spirit of reverie. The lightness of touch is compelling, essentially the story of two women, friends since childhood, who relate to each other with such a tender affection, exquisitely expressed by the performances of Dominique Sanda and Geraldine Chaplin, with Sanda so riveting in Bresson’s Une Femme Douce (1969) and also Bertolucci’s The Conformist (Il Conformista) (1970) and 1900 NOVACENTO (1976), while Chaplin, the daughter of Charlie Chaplin who is best known for her ditzy, off-kilter performances of unstable characters, worked with Robert Altman in Nashville (1975) and A Wedding (1978), as well as Alan Rudolph in WELCOME TO L.A. (1976). Hélène (Sanda) and Lucie (Chaplin) are both married, Hélène with two young children and Lucie childless, but like so many of us, their lives fall short of their youthful expectations. Deville shows a distinctive interest in developing the female characters by exploring personality traits, as the blond Hélène is bolder, more outwardly aggressive yet culturally refined and sophisticated, a writer of children’s books, showing endless signs of being curiously inquisitive, while the brunette Lucie is fragile, emotionally torn, more easily hurt and brought to tears, something of a drama queen and prone to exaggerate, pampered and groomed by Hélène, with both exuding a charm filled with alluring feminine mysteries, as Deville displays a unique ability to direct women onscreen. While this film is directed by a man, it’s a sensuous exploration of female desires and recollections, mostly seen through the eyes of Hélène, whose sexual fantasies are sensuously visualized on the screen, told in a very literary style, notable for its episodic flashback structure, derived from 15 different anecdotes by 15 different French writers of both sexes. There is no limit to the reach of fantasy, especially in contrast to the banality of our lives, yet this film allows a deeply repressed sensuality and sensitivity to resurface, showing none of the surreal sexual perversity of Buñuel, as this is more tastefully refined, more character driven, where the luxurious beauty of the sunny French Provencal landscape is cleverly integrated into the dreaminess of the storyline.
When Deville decided to become a film director, he asked Cahiers du Cinéma magazine editor Éric Rohmer, whose articles he appreciated, to cowrite his first film with him, but Rohmer was already working on The Sign of Leo (Le signe du lion) (1959), so instead he decided to work hand-in-hand with editor Nina Companeez, who was particularly gifted in dialogue, and the two ended up collaborating on 12 films together. He also discovered another major influence, costume designer, assistant, producer, and cowriter Rosalinde Damamme, who he ended up marrying, so there is a distinct woman’s touch in this film. Opening with a sensuous concert performance of Brahms Lieder by British soprano Valerie Masterson, Christa Ludwig sings Brahms "Sapphische Ode" - YouTube (2:59), it opens yet quickly departs from the conventional male gaze, where a point-of-view shot of a man sitting in front row seats next to Hélène drifts to the singer’s cleavage, where it appears she’s singing just for him, with everyone else erased from the room, ending with a long shot of the concert hall where all have left except this privileged male viewer and the singer still onstage locked in his gaze. This diversion from reality sets the tone, disconnected from the rest of the storyline, but it does exemplify how the mind wanders into its own realm, as if on its own, where the essence of this film blends eroticism into elaborately realized flashback sequences, with men primarily relegated to the background, becoming more of an attempt to explore the female psyche. Afterwards Hélène discovers Lucie sitting outside her door, terribly distraught and in tears after an argument with her husband, convinced its time to leave him, though what she describes hardly seems like grounds to break up, instead she’s unhappy with the trajectory of her own life, and he’s easiest to blame. Hélène listens intently, but has to laugh when she discovers much of what she hears is completely made up, thinking a road trip is the right medicine, that it will nourish and revitalize the soul, so the two women decide to take a road trip from Paris to southern Provencal in search of a summer house to rent. The brief glimpse we have of Hélène’s home life paints a portrait of domestic happiness, yet it also feels equally restricted by societal convention. So their trip is defined by an exchange of fantasies and flirtations, both real and imagined, which are smart and engaging, though nothing is ever clarified or spelled out, with reveries and flashbacks replacing a conventional narrative, as both women attempt to fill an emotional void, tenderly narrated by each women, opening up a more adventurous and risky world that has been notably absent from their more cautious lives, where the journey is an opportunity to taste undiscovered freedom, filled with eye-opening, voyeuristic revelations that may haunt viewers for years to come.
Once they hit the road, a passing train, like in an Antonioni movie, evokes a fleeting childhood memory that suddenly resurfaces with its intensity intact, with Marion Gautier (Hélène at fifteen years old) and Myriam Roulet (Lucie at fifteen years old), offering personalized insight that literally teases audiences with a provocative sexual subtext, recalling the innocence of Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Valerie a týden divu) (1970), though channeled through a modern sensibility when expressed as an adult. The closeness of the women is never in dispute, displaying surprising tenderness and affection, with titillating signs of a lesbian romance that is only hinted at and never realized. Sanda is exquisitely sensual in her aloof beauty, appearing soft and cool, while the nervously impatient Chaplin is allowed to expand her range, delivering one of her career best performances, as the women flirtatiously dance around each other throughout their escapades. In one encounter, Hélène coaches an adolescent male waiter delivering room service, both lying in bed in their hotel room, on the proper technique to kiss a woman, instructing him to pay attention to the surrounding erogenous zones, inflaming her desire merely by insinuating what’s about to occur, which has the effect of stimulating his own desire, which they teasingly make fun of, taking advantage of his youthful inexperience, exiting in a flurry of embarrassed humiliation. In another rather amusing yet inflinching moment, Hélène sits around a table of elderly grandmothers sipping tea and starts masturbating, which they don’t even notice. This sense of manipulative provocation empowers both of them, taking delight in exploring the beauty of the French countryside as they visit several picturesque houses, with Hélène photographing Lucie in the idyllic surroundings, who gets in the mood by getting au natural before the camera, telling stories that are tinged with fantasy, allowing them to play out in the viewer’s imaginations through the eloquent narrations while also seeing a luminous visualization, with the Beethoven piano music beautifully providing the texture of these sensitive stories. As they explore their friendship, which encapsulates their lives, the mood shifts on a dime as Lucie recalls a horrific rape, which is heard on audio only, playing out the excruciatingly ugly details, think Gaspar Noé’s Irreversible (Irréversible) (2002), while Lucie and Helene are seen in a series of elegantly composed long shots walking slowly through the countryside in an idyllic setting of pastoral serenity. The chilling effect of how this moment is realized is simply stunning, as it taps into a full range of raw emotions that defines just how well executed this small gem of a film really is, remaining imprinted into our imaginations, even after the passing of nearly half a century. By the end of the film we return to the male gaze, and it feels so astonishingly different, with the women switching places, as the two personalities blend into one, having reconsidered and reevaluated their lives, with Lucie dutifully returning to her husband while Hélène sits on the landing outside her own door, having shed that former persona, now seeing herself in a new and completely different light. Boldly adventurous, daring to go where few films are willing to go today, as the use of nudity is sparing, but effective, an unforgettable experience from such an impressionistic, female-forwarded film that resounds with such astute artistry.
