LA PEAU DOUCE (The Soft Skin, 1964) *** With Truffaut at the helm, how long until adultery is afoot? Yeah, not long. I don't think that Alfred Hitchcock invented certain film techniques, so much as noticed and perfected them, and it is through those techniques (weird close-ups, disjointed cuts, impatient camera) that Truffaut endows the prelude to adultery with a suspense that is more ominous than carnal. It's technically fantastic, and works even better as a psychological character study. As any successful liar will tell you (and isn't great fiction just a form of lying in which poetic truth is revealed), it's the little things that make the sale. The performances are worthy of Truffaut's treatment, and Nelly Benedetti worthy of something even better. The problem, for me, is that it doesn't work at all as entertainment. It would be awful enough having one of these people approach me as a friend, for advice. Truffaut's profound insights and technical prowess only make me feel like a peeping tom on people that I'm not interested in. It's painful watching them make bad decisions, it's sad to see their imperfections spread out on celluloid for the world to gawk at. It's not without an element of humour, and maybe even karmic inference. Take in the final looks on the faces of Benedetti and Jean Desailly, not to see if any good can come of such things, but to see if there may be some sort of cosmic balancing that transcends even tragedy. I don't necessarily believe that there is, but they're profound shots no matter what. Delerue's musical theme is simple and effective, and listen to how he tweaks it just a bit, enabling it to do things like accompany the sound of a vintage Citroen.
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