France drama
1981
color 106 min.
Director: Francois Truffaut
CLV: $49.95 - available
           1 disc, catalog # CC1388L
VHS: available from Home Vision Cinema
The French do not have to take crash courses in order to deal with
the man/woman thing. It is in their blood and in their
civilization. Hence, they do not have to compensate for a habitual
sexism with extravagant portraits of adventurous Amazons and
Superwomen. What I always enjoyed about the French cinema even before
the nouvelle vague was its keen sense of fun in the deployment of
desire. I enjoyed also the Gallic infatuation with language for its
own sake. With The Woman Next Door, Francois Truffaut not only
continued a grand tradition of sensibility, he broke new ground in his
own career. The Woman Next Door is clearly Truffaut's most Jamesian
film in its mastery of oblique narrative and ironic perspective. From
the opening shots of Madame Jouve (Veronique Silver) framed
incongruously against a background of tennis players, to the closing
shots of the devastating denoument viewed from an overhead angle that
is compassionate rather than condescending, the narrative never loses
its thrust or tension, despite repeated shifts in the point of
view. First, there is Madame Jouve, with her somber fatalism augmented
by Georges Delerue's mournful melodiousness. She knows all about the
mad love of Bernard Coudray (Gerard Depardieu) and Mathilde Bauchard
(Fanny Ardant). They had been lovers seven years before the picture
begins, and they parted violently. Each married and each had a son
named Thomas. Then one day in Grenoble the Coudrays discover that they
have new next-door neighbors named Bauchard. An aside in the narration
tells us that many movies are about a house, and that The Woman Next
Door is actually about two houses. This aesthetically self-conscious
digression also provides us with a rationale for the improbable
contrivance that is required to set the tragedy into motion. It is
essential that Bernard and Mathilde meet again after seven years
without any premeditation on their part. As their reunion takes one
disastrous turn after another, Truffaut weaves an intricate tapestry
of background detail. Madame Jouve watches the intrigue unfolding from
her privileged vantage point in her tennis club. We learn that Madame
Jouve is permanently crippled because of a failed suicide leap years
ago when her lover abandoned her for a marriage and a career in New
Caledonia. When he returns from New Caledonia to see her, she hides in
Paris not to see him. Her own emotional misadventures thus endow her
with mystical insights into the tortured destiny of Bernard and
Mathilde. A further link is established between the narrator and the
subjects of her narrative when Madame Jouve's homosexual confidante
Ronald Duguet (Roger Van Hool) decides to publish Mathilde's
illustrated children's books. Truffaut thus continues to make cinema
even with the very incidental information about what the various
characters do for a living. Mathilde is seen in the process of drawing
pictures, her husband Philippe (Henri Garcin) in the process of going
to work as an air controller, and most visually of all, Bernard, as an
instructor of sea captains, in the operation of small-scale model oil
tankers, an implied continuation of childhood play that is a possible
key to his neurotic behavior. Yet, in the end, The Woman Next Door is
not about what people do but about what they feel and think as they
plunge into the abyss of their uncontrolled emotions. Unfortunately,
the timing of the two lovers is way off. And since they are never
really in synch with each other, Madame Jouve proposes as their joint
epitaph, "They could never live together, and they could never live
apart." In the old days of factional film criticism, Truffaut might
have aroused doubt about his tendency to juggle the humanist and
noir-ist tendencies in his artistic personality. Today, however, when
so much of the screen is saturated with mindless violence and
paranioa, his viewpoint seems more merciful than morbid. For myself, I
have not been so moved by a Truffaut film since Shoot the Piano
Player. All the best of Truffaut's obsession with women and love of
narrative cinema is to be found in The Woman Next Door. Not since
Bernardette Lafont of Les Mistons and Marie Dubois of Shoot the Piano
Player had Truffaut come up with two such exciting new female faces as
Fanny Ardant (Mathilde) and Veronique Silver (Madame Jouve). In the
realm of psychological analysis, few films can match Mathilde's
chilling self-appraisal after her nervous breakdown. It is almost
superflous to say that Gerard Depardieu as Bernard Coudray remains one
of the axioms of the contemporary French cinema. After The Woman Next
Door, Truffaut's detractors had to abandon the argument that he had
remained encased in his autobiographical shell. With Bernard,
Mathilde, and Madame Jouve, Truffaut broke out with grace and
eloquence. --Andrew Sarris
CREDITS
Director: Francois Truffaut
Screenplay: Francois Truffaut, SuzanneSchiffman, Jean Aurel
Cinematography: William Lubtchansky
Editor: Martine Barraque
Music: Georges Delerue
Art direction: Jean-Pierre Kohut-Svelko
Costumes: Michele Cerf
TRANSFER
This edition presents The Woman Next Door in its
original aspect ratio of 1.66:1.
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