Claude Miller’s period drama ‘Thérèse,’ based on François Mauriac’s 1927 novel ‘Thérèse Desqueyroux’ and set in the expansive 1920s French countryside, is an effectively scathing critique of land-owning aristocratic classes that equate “family” to landholdings and reputation. The film suffers at times from dull pacing and an impenetrable lead performance, but its themes are intriguing and provocative.
It is 1928, and Thérèse (Audrey Tatou), a young woman from a rich family, is soon to marry Bernard (Gilles Lalouche), the brother of her close friend Anne (Anaïs Demoustier). The families, who live in the isolated, sprawling French countryside, are close. But most importantly, each clan stands to roughly double their pineland holdings, to eleven thousand acres total. And the motivations are not a secret. “I’m marrying you for your pines, too. I’m not ashamed of that. Is that wrong?” Thérèse asks Bernard shortly before the marriage. “Certainly not,” he responds amiably. Truth be told, there is not much reason for this marriage other than land, money and family alliances. Love and emotional connection do not factor into it. And apart from Thérèse, no one even questions whether there is something wrong with that.
Thérèse quickly becomes stultifyingly bored, stumbling through life in a downcast haze. She especially degenerates after she learns of Jean (Stanley Weber), Anne’s new lover. Anne is head-over-heels, but her and Thérèse’s families are up in arms; Jean, you see, comes from a Jewish family, and the match simply will not do. Bernard urges Thérèse to meet Jean and talk him out of the relationship. But when she sees him, he explains that he poses no threat: He was never interested in a permanent partnership with Anne and her rich family. All he wanted was a few moments of passion, for passion’s sake.
Thérèse quickly comes to realize that what Jean sought from Anne is nowhere to be found in her life. And she takes an emotional nosedive. She quickly loses whatever minute affection she had for her pig-headed yet well-meaning husband. She hardly seems to notice her pregnancy, and is stiff around her daughter, Marie, once she is born. (Marie cries around her, preferring Anne). She degenerates into a hollow, restless shell.
Finally, she begins poisoning Bernard, as much out of boredom as out of animosity. The film’s most effective thematic stretch comes after Bernard’s physician discovers her and reports her to the court system. Yes, Bernard, who had reached death’s door, is furious and deeply hurt. But more than anything else, he is appalled that she would risk damaging the reputations of both their families with a highly public murder attempt. Despite the anger and confusion, Thérèse, Bernard and their families are all in lockstep regarding one thing: The case must be dismissed before it reaches too many ears. Privately, the marriage is over in all but name. But publicly, Thérèse and Bernard are loyal spouses out to clear up a misunderstanding. They hire an expensive lawyer, and coordinate a false story to tell the judge.
The film suggests that for the elite moneyed classes, nothing is more important than the protection and advancement of reputation and public status — even when it comes to justice and punishment, death and life. The film posits that such aristocratic values are insidious, and corrode the soul of anyone who craves a more emotionally fulfilling existence. “Thérèse’s” thematic arguments are hardly subtle. But the film makes them forcefully and convincingly.
In fact, a major flaw is that the character-related content is much weaker than the thematic content, and the former does little to evoke the latter. Ms. Tatou’s performance is wooden and unchanging. She wears her downcast, dissatisfied expression like a mask. And she always speaks in the same curt, demoralized tone. So it is often impossible to pinpoint exactly why Thérèse does what she does. Even during major character moments – such as encouraging Jean to officially break it off with Anne, or dropping arsenic into Bernard’s water glass – Tatou’s fixed performance offers little window into her character’s actions. What, exactly, is going through Thérèse’s head? Whatever is clear is clear only because of the story construction. Ultimately, Thérèse is as stiff and impenetrable as the stultifying world from which she aches to break free.
“Thérèse” feels glacial in places – the film luxuriates in time and place, but too little of its runtime advances its story or its ideas. But even absent consistent pacing or a dynamic lead character, “Thérèse” is an eloquent and provocative critique of the cloistered, skewed mind-sets of moneyed classes.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
David@IndieNYC.com
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