I had intended to write something for Flickhead’s Claude Chabrol Blogathon, but it took me a long time to get around to it, and I am a day late and a dollar short. Part of it was strictly time: it’s been crazy at Chez Olson, and particularly at the office. But another part of it was my reluctance to write about a subject I know little about. I know, I know: that hasn’t stopped me before. But Chabrol is different: a certified grand master of filmmaking, he’s been directing films since the late fifties, about as long as anyone I know of, even longer than Godard. As a result, there’s a tremendous amount of material out there, and I’ve seen just a tiny fraction of it.
The Flower of Evil is, in fact, only the second Chabrol I’ve seen. It is a psychological thriller set among the bourgeois denizens of Bordeaux. In the opening scene, the camera floats up the staircase of a large house, past a huddled woman, and comes to rest upon a corpse in a darkened room. Then cut to the airport, where François Vasseur (Benoît Magimel) is coming home after four years in the States. His father Gérard (Bernard Le Coq) picks him up at the airport; much thinly-veiled U.S. bashing ensues as he is incredulous that his son enjoyed his time there. It’s hard to be sure, but Gérard sure looks like the corpse in the bedroom.
When they arrive at the family estate, they are greeted by Aunt Line (Suzanne Flon) and Michèle Charpin-Vasseur (Mélanie Doutey), and here’s where a certain unease begins to set in. Michèle is living in his family’s household, and they talk of growing up together. As the first act plays out, it becomes obvious — in a finely-tuned, gradual way — that they have been and will again be lovers, and that further, they are indeed related, though not by blood. Gérard is married to Michèle’s mother Anne (Nathalie Baye), who is running for the local council, and has her sights set on bigger and better things.
Gérard doesn’t like her political aspirations, and shows it in thinly-veiled comments and passive-aggressive behavior. He is an inveterate womanizer who runs a successful pharmacy, but has an illegal lab in the back; we are never entirely sure what he manufactures. Anne and Gérard were married after their spouses were killed — together — in a car accident. Is there more to that than meets the eye? And what is the relationship of all this to the dark past, when Aunt Line was acquited of murdering her collaborationist father after he betrayed her brother to the Nazis? And while we’re on the subject, just what was the relationship between auntie and her brother?
All this is played out in a setting of bourgeoisie normalcy, in a bland, almost banal manner. It is shot with a straightforward, TV-movie-ish look that is obviously quite on purpose. Beneath it all is a seething darkness that breaks 
through the sophisticated surface in small ways. The result is a growing discomfort, a slow-burning unease. There is a growing taste in our mouths, as if a sweet glaze is covering up a cut of meat that has just gone bad. Things are more than a little gamy in the Charpin-Vasseur household.
The actors play this over-heated stuff very well, especially the old hands in the cast. Le Coq is the model of oily normalcy, managing to look supportive and petulant all at once. Baye is hilariously even-keeled, never taking offense at her husband’s growing nastiness over her career, taking things serenely-smiling stride. She makes you wonder what is underneath it all, whether she is as innocent as she would appear on the surface. Flon neatly underplays Aunt Line, providing a melancholy depth as she sees the past and the present becoming, for all intents and purposes, one.
Family systems theory, the branch of psychology upon which family therapy is based, takes as a given that patterns and pathologies repeat themselves from generation to generation. That this is one of Chabrol’s points in Flower is hardly a deep observation: it’s apparent in the film’s construction and in the ruminations of Aunt Line. I can’t say that I enjoyed The Flower of Evil, exactly: there was a little too much psychology and not enough thriller for me. But, I admired Chabrol’s skill at showing the evil underneath, and as always, your mileage may indeed vary.
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I liked this movie a lot, Rick, and wrote it up for the blogathon a couple of days ago. You and I seem to agree on Le Coq: he’s absolutely on target as a particularly ordinary and believe sort of bastard.
I saw your post, but I didn’t read it because I wanted to wait until after I’ve written mine. I’ll go back and read it at some point. I liked Le Coq — the cock? — a lot.
And, of course, Michele.
Oh, yes. I was utterly smitten with Doutey. She was so goddamn adorable. Incest be damned, I say.
Ok, between your review and Bill’s, I’ve decided I definitely need to give this one another shot. I started watching it once, in the vaguely recent past (maybe on IFC?) but got distracted about a half hour in, and never finished.
I am a Charbrol novice like you, Rick, but all these blogathon entries are getting me more and more interested in his work.
Bill, I’m not sure what it is about French women. They seem to be stamped out of some mold or something …
Pat, I watched it to participate in Flickhead’s blogathon, but I didn’t get the chance to write about it until after it was over. As I said, I’m not sure I absolutely loved it, but I found the masterful way he gets under your skin fascinating. I remember that about Le Boucher as well.
I’m still plowing through the blogathon entries, but I agree. I may have to go back and watch more of his stuff.