Director: Luis Buñuel
Writers: Joseph Kessel, Luis Buñuel, Jean-Claude Carriere
Photography: Sacha Vierny
Editor: Louisette Hautecoeur
Cast: Catherine Deneuve, Jean Sorel, Michel Piccoli, Genevieve Page, Pierre Clementi, Iska Khan, Francoise Fabian, Maria Latour, Francisco Rabal, Marcel Charvey
Belle de Jour was sold in 1967 as director and cowriter Luis Buñuel’s “Masterpiece of Erotica.” Catherine Deneuve plays Severine, a young middle-class housewife who seems to be messed up about sex, likely the work once again, per Buñuel, of the Catholic Church. Severine’s sexual interests may or may not lie in taboo directions, BDSM, and degradation, but she has apparently decided her best bet is to present to the world as “frigid”—beautiful, and unattainable. Sha and her husband Pierre (Jean Sorel) sleep in separate beds and she repulses all his advances with sighs and sorrow, which he seems to accept with equanimity. He’s a certain model of ideal husband.
Severine finds an outlet for herself, drawn to it almost by forces beyond her will, as a high-end, “classy” prostitute. She works only in the afternoon, hence her prostitute name, Belle de Jour, literally “beauty of the day.” Presumably this is so she can be home in time to prepare her husband’s dinner. This particular operation takes place off the street, in apartments owned by the house madame Anais (Genevieve Page). No menacing pimps seem to be involved and it feels relatively safe. At first Severine resists the actual work—the undressing, showing her body, physical intimacy. Anais is gentle but firm with her, starting her with the more unobjectionable johns. The sex work seems to be what Severine wants or needs and soon she is a regular with two others, Charlotte (Francoise Fabian) and Mathilde (Maria Latour). We see a few scenes of the fetishes their johns are there to see served. It’s Buñuel and not surprisingly they are bizarre and often surreal, with BDSM themes. There’s even a flashback scene of Severine refusing communion. Ah, Buñuel and the Catholic Church! The eternal romance of opposites attracting.
But is Belle de Jour actually erotic? I’m going to hedge that with a resounding “it depends.” Deneuve’s looks and manner here are deliberately antiseptic though she brings a certain charge as a potential victim sending mixed signals. She does things like wear her engagement ring even in her assignations, which gives her a certain patina of naivete if not simple innocence. She seems to have little knowingness. Her fantasies strongly suggest interests in “rough sex” and such, even more in outright degradation. As a prostitute she doesn’t have the “frigid” problem anymore. But in many ways 1967 was still a chaste time at the movies, even in European art cinema. Actual events are often ambiguous. Deneuve may occasionally be nude but what we see is limited. The charge, if there is one, is knowing Severine is naked, vulnerable, and available in these scenes.
Sex fantasies enacted or imagined—it’s not always clear which it is in the clinch—are increasingly taboo by obvious intention, ratcheting the outrage until we are confronted with a scene that involves not only necrophilia but also incest (or should that be the other way around?). Oh, yeah—take that, you hung-up Catholics! Meanwhile, Severine’s unsuspecting husband displays a level of patience that may or may not be performative and/or vaguely comical. Sorel is a handsome dude, by far the most attractive of any of the men Severine consorts with.
It’s hard to know exactly what to make of it all. On some level, predictably enough, it is about the repression of Catholics in their obedience to the church. The look and feel and pace of Belle de Jour is counterintuitive, austere and dry where displays of lusty zeal might be more expected. We see some of that, but it’s more on the order of pathetic men who want very badly to be punished, degraded, and humiliated. Severine seems compelled beyond her own self-knowledge to the prostitute’s life, at least the kind that takes place at brothels, off the street. She is plainly tormented by a Catholic flavor of guilt which suggests to me that she must be feeling some pleasure too, yes? She feels guilty about something, and it doesn’t appear to be the adultery or violating her marriage vows.
Eventually a bad guy shows up, Marcel (Pierre Clementi), who reminds us that this setup without the apparent protection of a ruffian man is in danger of being overtaken by someone willing to do what it takes. At that point Belle de Jour devolves into a kind of gangster thriller caper type of show, which has the advantage of arguable realism in terms of the commercial sex universe, maybe, but also feels a little trite with the many movie cliches. Buñuel also self-consciously calls out work by cinematic masters such as Jean-Luc Godard or, as pictured above, Alfred Hitchcock. So he’s a cineaste too, see? Indeed, Belle de Jour is one of his most handsomely mounted productions. Yet ultimately it doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be, and it ends up a little disappointing. At the same time, it’s one of the most entertaining pictures Buñuel ever made. Host of contradictions, in short.
Sex fantasies enacted or imagined—it’s not always clear which it is in the clinch—are increasingly taboo by obvious intention, ratcheting the outrage until we are confronted with a scene that involves not only necrophilia but also incest (or should that be the other way around?). Oh, yeah—take that, you hung-up Catholics! Meanwhile, Severine’s unsuspecting husband displays a level of patience that may or may not be performative and/or vaguely comical. Sorel is a handsome dude, by far the most attractive of any of the men Severine consorts with.
It’s hard to know exactly what to make of it all. On some level, predictably enough, it is about the repression of Catholics in their obedience to the church. The look and feel and pace of Belle de Jour is counterintuitive, austere and dry where displays of lusty zeal might be more expected. We see some of that, but it’s more on the order of pathetic men who want very badly to be punished, degraded, and humiliated. Severine seems compelled beyond her own self-knowledge to the prostitute’s life, at least the kind that takes place at brothels, off the street. She is plainly tormented by a Catholic flavor of guilt which suggests to me that she must be feeling some pleasure too, yes? She feels guilty about something, and it doesn’t appear to be the adultery or violating her marriage vows.
Eventually a bad guy shows up, Marcel (Pierre Clementi), who reminds us that this setup without the apparent protection of a ruffian man is in danger of being overtaken by someone willing to do what it takes. At that point Belle de Jour devolves into a kind of gangster thriller caper type of show, which has the advantage of arguable realism in terms of the commercial sex universe, maybe, but also feels a little trite with the many movie cliches. Buñuel also self-consciously calls out work by cinematic masters such as Jean-Luc Godard or, as pictured above, Alfred Hitchcock. So he’s a cineaste too, see? Indeed, Belle de Jour is one of his most handsomely mounted productions. Yet ultimately it doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be, and it ends up a little disappointing. At the same time, it’s one of the most entertaining pictures Buñuel ever made. Host of contradictions, in short.
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