Feline Frisson

Melodrama is alive and well in Paris. La Femme Infidele is a smooth, elegant, feline exercise in psychological suspense, devoted to the proposition that the old formulas, if not the best, are still more entertaining than most.

Director Claude Chabrol, a disciple of Hitchcock, shoots more for nuance than frisson. It is his wily variations on a hoary theme that give La Femme Infidele its own small distinction. A wealthy Parisian insurance man (Michel Bouquet) takes casual note that his supple young wife (Stephane Audran) acts rather nervous when he interrupts her on the telephone. He engages a private detective to follow her on her shopping trips to Paris and has his worst suspicions quickly confirmed: she is having an affair. Her paramour is a writer (Maurice Ronet) who lives mostly off his "independent means." The husband pays the lover a visit at his pad.

"Tell me, is she good?" the husband inquires softly over a glass of bourbon. The lover looks astonished. "You seem to have a very nice apartment. Could I see it?" "Are you a little perverse?" the lover asks dubiously, but he takes his visitor on a tour. The sight of an old anniversary present in the lover's bedroom is too much even for the husband's reserve. He seizes a piece of sculpture, beats the lover to death, and disposes of the corpse like a sanitation man hauling away the weekend debris. The husband's fate is irrevocable, of course, but watching him along the way to his comeuppance is worth the slight comedown of the denouement.

Chabrol edits his film like Hitchcock, cutting to unexpected angles for jarring surprise effect, and stages a body disposal scene that is reminiscent of Psycho. The performances are restrained and electric with tension, like the film itself. La Femme Infidele does not have the full impact of the master's touch, but at least it demonstrates the benefits of the Hitchcock tutelage.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.