Bluebeard (2009 Catherine Breillat film)
May. 20th, 2012 08:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marinessI'm alternatively compelled and repelled by the story of Bluebeard, that cheerful little tale about a serial killer, his young wife, and her completely useless freaking sister Anne. So when Catherine Breillat's Bluebeard film popped up on Amazon, I figured I'd give it a try.
And now I'm half regretting that decision.
Because the original tale is extremely short, Bluebeard the film tells and intertwines two stories: the fairy tale, set in some vague Renaissancy time period, and that of two 20th century sisters telling the tale. It is dull and disturbing and distracting all at once, but I was mostly enjoying it until the end.
Dull? A fairy tale about a serial killer? Well, sometimes, yes. After a very confusing beginning (intended, I think, to blur the line between reality and fairy tale), the film slows. To, at times, almost a mind-numbingly slow pace, particularly when people are singing. We start with the Rennaissancy sisters in a convent, where they find they are suddenly half orphaned and poor. After several long minutes, they meet Bluebeard. The younger sister marries him. All very. very. slowly. (I was astonished to realize later that this is a 78 minute film – it feels much longer.) A minor subplot jumps up and then never reaches a conclusion. I kept thinking, shouldn't Bluebeard be telling the girl about the whole not unlocking the door thing already?
And yet he doesn't, not already. Meanwhile, the 20th century girls talk, about fairy tales and marriage and reality, and we begin to learn a few additional things about them, and then suddenly the film packs a rush of tension and action into the last five minutes.
If it works at all, and I'm not sure it does, it's thanks to two factors: one, the film assumes that we already know the Bluebeard tale (and even if we don't, the 20th century sisters make it clear that it is not exactly a Happy Story) so we don't exactly need a full buildup to the ending. Two, the various disturbing and distracting bits. In the initial convent scenes, for instance, the two Renaissancy sisters are shown in boots, high black socks, full convent veils in typical traditional nun style – and short skirts, with their legs exposed; that, with the huge veils, makes them look as if they are not quite in proportion. The Little Mermaid is named as a Charles Perrault tale. And so on. Most of these occur in the Renaissance part of the tale, and along with occasional odd moments of camera work are, I think, deliberately intended to make us question exactly what we are seeing.
But I was still distracted as hell.
More disturbing is the relationship between the younger sister and Bluebeard. This film casts Bluebeard as a large, heavy man in, I think we are meant to think, in his fifties. The younger sister is supposed to be about 14 or 15, possibly a little younger. In some shots with him she looks about 12. He wants her, sexually. He agrees not to sleep with her until she turns 20, but still prepares a small bed for her at the foot of his bed. The camera angles slowly make the bed seem smaller and smaller and smaller. She demands a room of her own, finally heading into a small room about the size of a closet, where Bluebeard cannot enter (the door is too small), saying she has never had a room, a place entirely of her own. She later steals in to watch him undress, and stares at him as he sits, mostly naked, unmoving, on the bed. His eyes keep following her. The camera and placement of the actors keep demonstrating her youth and smallness as they touch and hug. So, a nice touch of pedophilia to go with the serial killing. Yay, you're welcome.
(I'm aware that historically 12 year old and younger aristocratic girls were married off to older men for inheritance/financial reasons, although the men often delayed consummating the marriage until the girls were slightly older, mostly to insure healthy pregnancies. It was widely known that girls usually needed to be at least 14 before they could hope to carry a child safely to term and still manage to have more children later. So, historical accuracy, yes -- but this girl has no money whatsoever, and the camera angles and the actor clarify that something else is going on here.)
But it gets a bit worse, because in this version, the younger sister actively wants to marry Bluebeard. Her family has been left financially devastated, and although picking plants for her mother makes them both happy, it also leaves scratches on her arms. She has already announced her intention to marry a wealthy man when a man from Bluebeard's castle arrives, stating that Bluebeard is interested in the daughters. The mother originally objects given Bluebeard's history with disappearing wives. The daughter does not. In fact, she goes out of her way to seduce Bluebeard, pretending that she, too, can identify with him since she, too, is a loner. With a little less pretense she complains about her sister (the film suggests some negative history there.) And as the marriage and the film progresses, the most sympathetic character turns out to be...Bluebeard. Yes, the serial killer and pedophile.
That Bluebeard.
Part of this is the way the film hints at just how monstrous nearly everyone else in the film is. I'm not sure, in the end, that anyone actually is likeable except for a nun who appears in about two minutes of the film. But Bluebeard is only one who has convinced himself he is a monster, and cannot be loved, both hopeful and resigned in his marriage. When I realized he was the only person I liked in the film, I shuddered.
But probably the most irritating part happens in the last two minutes, when the sister listening to the fairy tale dies.
Oh, I suppose looking back it was foreshadowed enough: the resentment and anger of both sisters, the weird camera angles, the occasional sharp angles. And I assume that the film had to have some sort of surprise – "Bluebeard's wives are in that room all dead!" not being one of them, well though that part of the film was done. The death has a certain shock value; I admit I sucked in my breath.
But I didn't like it. Partly because it seemed filmed well, for the shock value, to have something to go along with the last tense moments of Bluebeard's life.
Mostly because it emphasized that the act of listening to fairy tales is dangerous.
Not telling them, no. Both of the young girls who tell their tales – the younger sister to Bluebeard, the younger sister to her older sister – make it out physically, if not emotionally, unscarred. But those who listened ended up dead. (It's telling that the older sister in the Bluebeard part of the film refuses to listen to her young sister's tales, let alone believe in them, and is alive at the end of the film.)
So telling tales is fine. As a writer, may I say, yay.
Listening, though, leaves you dead.
And while I suppose some might argue that children should not to believe in fairy tales, the message that merely listening is dangerous is a bit much coming from a director who is simultaneously asking us to believe in the fairy tale she is showing us.
I suppose the final scene could be interpreted slightly differently. The older girl, after all, does not want to hear the Bluebeard tale – she prefers the pain of The Little Mermaid – and continually asks for a different story. She is angry; her sister is angry, and so, her sister continues to tell the tale. So perhaps the lesson is that refusing to listen to fairy tales brings its own dangers, rather than merely listening – except that this does not explain the other story, of the other younger sister, who does refuse to listen, who does open the door to the bloody chamber, who does find a line of blood on her throat before she finds herself staring at the head of her husband? (I told you we all more or less knew the end of this tale.) Or of the other older sister, who will not listen to or believe in fairy tales, too ground in reality, who does not even appear in the final moments, despite her appearance in the Perrault tale, but who, we know, lives, and remains safe because of her refusal to listen. To believe.
I write fairy tales because they can be dangerous, because they can allow us to explore truths and deceptions we would often prefer to ignore. That even in a place of seeming safely, you can find yourself trapped in a crystal coffin. That you can lose your eyesight thanks to forces beyond your control. That you may leave bloodstains as you walk before you reach the end of your quest. That sometimes, love may be tangled with the secrets of the past; that opening doors can be dangerous, or can bring you freedom. The original tale of Bluebeard is all about this. I don't argue that you should believe in all parts of fairy tales. But I do believe you should listen. It's less dangerous that way.
Does the film have anything to offer? Yes, absolutely: some of the costumes are gorgeous; I loved the castle and the shots of the winding stairs; I loved the brief moments of hope in both stories. The final chilling moments are well done. But in the end, I wanted the film to say yes, yes, watch me, listen to me, listen to tales, instead of ignoring the true danger of fairy tales, and going for the shock value instead.
And now I'm half regretting that decision.
Because the original tale is extremely short, Bluebeard the film tells and intertwines two stories: the fairy tale, set in some vague Renaissancy time period, and that of two 20th century sisters telling the tale. It is dull and disturbing and distracting all at once, but I was mostly enjoying it until the end.
Dull? A fairy tale about a serial killer? Well, sometimes, yes. After a very confusing beginning (intended, I think, to blur the line between reality and fairy tale), the film slows. To, at times, almost a mind-numbingly slow pace, particularly when people are singing. We start with the Rennaissancy sisters in a convent, where they find they are suddenly half orphaned and poor. After several long minutes, they meet Bluebeard. The younger sister marries him. All very. very. slowly. (I was astonished to realize later that this is a 78 minute film – it feels much longer.) A minor subplot jumps up and then never reaches a conclusion. I kept thinking, shouldn't Bluebeard be telling the girl about the whole not unlocking the door thing already?
And yet he doesn't, not already. Meanwhile, the 20th century girls talk, about fairy tales and marriage and reality, and we begin to learn a few additional things about them, and then suddenly the film packs a rush of tension and action into the last five minutes.
If it works at all, and I'm not sure it does, it's thanks to two factors: one, the film assumes that we already know the Bluebeard tale (and even if we don't, the 20th century sisters make it clear that it is not exactly a Happy Story) so we don't exactly need a full buildup to the ending. Two, the various disturbing and distracting bits. In the initial convent scenes, for instance, the two Renaissancy sisters are shown in boots, high black socks, full convent veils in typical traditional nun style – and short skirts, with their legs exposed; that, with the huge veils, makes them look as if they are not quite in proportion. The Little Mermaid is named as a Charles Perrault tale. And so on. Most of these occur in the Renaissance part of the tale, and along with occasional odd moments of camera work are, I think, deliberately intended to make us question exactly what we are seeing.
But I was still distracted as hell.
More disturbing is the relationship between the younger sister and Bluebeard. This film casts Bluebeard as a large, heavy man in, I think we are meant to think, in his fifties. The younger sister is supposed to be about 14 or 15, possibly a little younger. In some shots with him she looks about 12. He wants her, sexually. He agrees not to sleep with her until she turns 20, but still prepares a small bed for her at the foot of his bed. The camera angles slowly make the bed seem smaller and smaller and smaller. She demands a room of her own, finally heading into a small room about the size of a closet, where Bluebeard cannot enter (the door is too small), saying she has never had a room, a place entirely of her own. She later steals in to watch him undress, and stares at him as he sits, mostly naked, unmoving, on the bed. His eyes keep following her. The camera and placement of the actors keep demonstrating her youth and smallness as they touch and hug. So, a nice touch of pedophilia to go with the serial killing. Yay, you're welcome.
(I'm aware that historically 12 year old and younger aristocratic girls were married off to older men for inheritance/financial reasons, although the men often delayed consummating the marriage until the girls were slightly older, mostly to insure healthy pregnancies. It was widely known that girls usually needed to be at least 14 before they could hope to carry a child safely to term and still manage to have more children later. So, historical accuracy, yes -- but this girl has no money whatsoever, and the camera angles and the actor clarify that something else is going on here.)
But it gets a bit worse, because in this version, the younger sister actively wants to marry Bluebeard. Her family has been left financially devastated, and although picking plants for her mother makes them both happy, it also leaves scratches on her arms. She has already announced her intention to marry a wealthy man when a man from Bluebeard's castle arrives, stating that Bluebeard is interested in the daughters. The mother originally objects given Bluebeard's history with disappearing wives. The daughter does not. In fact, she goes out of her way to seduce Bluebeard, pretending that she, too, can identify with him since she, too, is a loner. With a little less pretense she complains about her sister (the film suggests some negative history there.) And as the marriage and the film progresses, the most sympathetic character turns out to be...Bluebeard. Yes, the serial killer and pedophile.
That Bluebeard.
Part of this is the way the film hints at just how monstrous nearly everyone else in the film is. I'm not sure, in the end, that anyone actually is likeable except for a nun who appears in about two minutes of the film. But Bluebeard is only one who has convinced himself he is a monster, and cannot be loved, both hopeful and resigned in his marriage. When I realized he was the only person I liked in the film, I shuddered.
But probably the most irritating part happens in the last two minutes, when the sister listening to the fairy tale dies.
Oh, I suppose looking back it was foreshadowed enough: the resentment and anger of both sisters, the weird camera angles, the occasional sharp angles. And I assume that the film had to have some sort of surprise – "Bluebeard's wives are in that room all dead!" not being one of them, well though that part of the film was done. The death has a certain shock value; I admit I sucked in my breath.
But I didn't like it. Partly because it seemed filmed well, for the shock value, to have something to go along with the last tense moments of Bluebeard's life.
Mostly because it emphasized that the act of listening to fairy tales is dangerous.
Not telling them, no. Both of the young girls who tell their tales – the younger sister to Bluebeard, the younger sister to her older sister – make it out physically, if not emotionally, unscarred. But those who listened ended up dead. (It's telling that the older sister in the Bluebeard part of the film refuses to listen to her young sister's tales, let alone believe in them, and is alive at the end of the film.)
So telling tales is fine. As a writer, may I say, yay.
Listening, though, leaves you dead.
And while I suppose some might argue that children should not to believe in fairy tales, the message that merely listening is dangerous is a bit much coming from a director who is simultaneously asking us to believe in the fairy tale she is showing us.
I suppose the final scene could be interpreted slightly differently. The older girl, after all, does not want to hear the Bluebeard tale – she prefers the pain of The Little Mermaid – and continually asks for a different story. She is angry; her sister is angry, and so, her sister continues to tell the tale. So perhaps the lesson is that refusing to listen to fairy tales brings its own dangers, rather than merely listening – except that this does not explain the other story, of the other younger sister, who does refuse to listen, who does open the door to the bloody chamber, who does find a line of blood on her throat before she finds herself staring at the head of her husband? (I told you we all more or less knew the end of this tale.) Or of the other older sister, who will not listen to or believe in fairy tales, too ground in reality, who does not even appear in the final moments, despite her appearance in the Perrault tale, but who, we know, lives, and remains safe because of her refusal to listen. To believe.
I write fairy tales because they can be dangerous, because they can allow us to explore truths and deceptions we would often prefer to ignore. That even in a place of seeming safely, you can find yourself trapped in a crystal coffin. That you can lose your eyesight thanks to forces beyond your control. That you may leave bloodstains as you walk before you reach the end of your quest. That sometimes, love may be tangled with the secrets of the past; that opening doors can be dangerous, or can bring you freedom. The original tale of Bluebeard is all about this. I don't argue that you should believe in all parts of fairy tales. But I do believe you should listen. It's less dangerous that way.
Does the film have anything to offer? Yes, absolutely: some of the costumes are gorgeous; I loved the castle and the shots of the winding stairs; I loved the brief moments of hope in both stories. The final chilling moments are well done. But in the end, I wanted the film to say yes, yes, watch me, listen to me, listen to tales, instead of ignoring the true danger of fairy tales, and going for the shock value instead.