The Duchess of Langeais

The Duchess of Langeais is based on a novella by Balzac, so one might be justified in thinking that this film will be an historical costume drama the main business of which is to make viewers feel good about being cultured. That would be respectably middlebrow, and one could do a lot worse. But this film is directed by Jacques Rivette, a warhorse of the French New Wave who is still at work his eighties. And that fact tells you that any thought of a comfortable, unchallenging evening needs to be put aside. The most aggressively experimental of his peers, Rivette is known for the opacity of his characters and plots, and for doing exactly what he deems appropriate. He is the auteur, after all.

The story is of an unconsummated affair between a wounded hero of the Napoleonic wars who has spent some years as a captive in Africa and a duchess who seems far more intent on maintaining her social position than on an affair with anyone. Initially the impetus comes from the officer who is determined to have the duchess as his mistress. She strings him along mercilessly and only when he is on the verge of abandoning his apparently futile quest does she realize her passion for him, at which time he seems to take his revenge by rejecting her overtures. She gives him one final ultimatum to rendezvous with her or lose her forever. Without giving away too much, suffice it to say, he messes up and she disappears. He mounts a five-year search for her in nunneries across Europe, and finally discovers her in Spain. She refuses his appeals again, and Montriveau and his colleagues plan to kidnap her, at which point I will refrain from playing the plot spoiler.

What, besides his name on the credits, makes this a Rivette film? The characters are psychologically opaque. Gen. Montriveau seems to be deep in depression, but we don’t know why. The duchess maddening inconsistencies toward his advances are impossible to read. (One reviewer suggests that both characters may be mad.) The pacing is Rivette’s usual maddening crawl (though at 137 minutes this film breezes by compared to four plus hours for others). In one scene we spend several minutes observing the Duchess dress and pose herself for a visit by Montriveau. In another we spend at least a minute watching servants light candles in the Duchess’ chamber. Rivette likes to remind us of the artifice of cinema. In this case he inexplicably accomplishes transitions through the use of title cards like those used in early silent films.

I’m not entirely sold on the casting of the two leads. General Montriveau is played by Guillaume Depardieu, son of Gerard, paragon of French cinema. His dour melancholy seems one dimensional in Guillaume, and one can’t help imagine the depth it the father would have imbued it with in his prime twenty years ago. Jeanne Balibar seems singularly unsensual and it’s a little hard to imagine what about her so enflames Montriveau. Her expressions seem very limited in range and convey little of the pathos of their situation. Again, I imagine the richness of the role in the hands of another French actress like Isabel Huppert, who is all barely controlled feeling. That said, I’m confident that Rivette was getting exactly what he wanted from his players.

Despite its weirdness, or more likely, because of it, I was really caught up by this film and I never felt it dragged. If you enjoy it, try Rivette’s take on a “romantic comedy” with Va Savior. (Balibar plays in that as well.) It’s quite wonderfully baffling!

A quick afterword on Guillaume Depardieu—he died at 37 of an infection not long after this film. His Montriveau walks with a marked limp; we assume he has lost the lower part of his leg in the wars. The limp is not faked; Depardieu lost a leg in an accident. How's that for inside Hollywood info?

Subtitle Alert: Persons speaking in foreign tongues.