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Touches You

Absolutely Fantastic

It’s an especially fun movie from a director and cast who are clearly having a good time allowing themselves to let loose.

The movie turns out to be a little better than the average. Starting from a romantic formula often seen in the cinema, it ends in the most predictable (and somewhat bland) way.

The film takes place in a French village and we concentrate on two characters – headmistress Stéphane Audran (Hélène) and butcher Jean Yanne (Paul). Looks like we have a love story coming on. And we do. But hold on, there's been some excellent spooky music during the opening credits suggesting some sort of ominous proceedings. All becomes plain when dead women start appearing in the locale and detective Roger Rudel (Grumbach) appears on the scene to investigate. There is a serial killer operating in the area…..The film has a slow pace but still keeps you watching as you know who the killer is and wait to see how things unfold. Or do you know the killer? Given that we concentrate on two characters, it has to be one of them. You start to doubt the obvious as your imagination takes you to other places. Once it is established who the guilty party is, the story is still gripping as we head to the climax.What is interesting about this film is that you are left thinking about it. Yep, the guilty party is obviously an abomination – there is no justification for a serial killer no matter what environment has been experienced. You have to be unhinged to carry out these sort of atrocities. But, the other character – to be so morally devoid – surely that is an equally worryingly state of mind to be in? I wonder if this links in to the French notion of murder being justified if it is a crime of passion? Is there no moral obligation to do the right thing if it contradicts your current feelings around the concept of love? And what is love? The satisfaction of an ego? Is the director just relating the psychology of the French, ie, arrogance? And that is what lingers in the minds of the audience from the rest of the world as we think "how can this be right?" The acting is good in this film and I recommend seeing it as certain scenes stand out. It has a great setting in the village and will guarantee to get you thinking at the end. By the way, I have nothing against the French – I love garlic and onions and I also admire their sense of anarchy and revolution. They truly embody the real punk spirit. If they don't like something, they don't do it. Maybe you need to be arrogant to live like this and maybe that's not such a bad thing. In which case, this film is truly disturbing.

This film is a work of such blatant charlatanry that it calls into question the meaning of the word 'auteur' as it is applied to the French new wave directors. Such is the awe with which Chabrol was and continues to be regarded (including by Roger Ebert and Vincent Canby) that he apparently felt he could get away with anything. Le Boucher is a film so utterly devoid of dramatic interest that it would be charitable to regard it as a failed experiment that attempted to push the limits of cinematic exposition to an extremity of emptiness. I might forgive Chabrol for writing and producing it if his intention was to demonstrate the boring predictability of bourgeois culture in a place like Perigord, but I'd prefer to spend an hour and a half doing my laundry.

Chabrol in his previous two films with Audran ("Les biches" and "La femme infidèle") shows a perfect touch in presenting actions whose motivations are unexplained or underexplained yet emotionally plausible. Here, in "Le boucher," he miscalculates and does the opposite: Hélène's motivation is obvious and implausible.Hélène is intelligent, happy, and successful in a career she loves, and she has sworn off romance after a bad experience. Yet we're supposed to believe she's drawn to a man whose every remark shows him to be embittered, morose, and uneducated. And the attraction is such that after only a few casual meetings with him, she hides evidence that he's a deranged killer.Her action is a touchstone of the thriller genre: a protagonist covering up a lover's crime. When this moment is handled properly, the audience's shock at the perversion of justice is balanced by sympathy for the protagonist's devotion. But since there is no basis for Hélène's devotion, we respond only with disgust, which destroys our sympathy for her -- a fatal flaw for any film. Our disgust increases after the third murder, which she's partly responsible for. The film grows ever more repellent as it fails to acknowledge how compromised its heroine is.Finally comes the ride to the hospital, where Paul makes a speech. Here is Chabrol's chance to salvage the situation by revealing some poetic truth behind it. Instead, Paul only declares that he worships Hélène. He adds a creepy, stalker-like confession of how he stood in the street many nights staring at her window. These are platitudes that beautiful women hear all too often. Yet for Chabrol they justify Hélène's radiant expression at the hospital, her first kiss of Paul, and her vigil by the water after his death. Becoming the object of a homicidal sadist's obsession -- something that real women dread -- supposedly transforms and redeems Hélène.Chabrol apparently had in mind a schematic notion about embracing the bestial foundation of society as it breaks through the bourgeois surface, but he failed to develop the schema into a credible story.

Claude Chabrol's film, The Butcher, is a brooding, menacing character study held together by two central characters occupying the space of a small, French town and getting along overly well with one another. Each of them share respective back-stories which flit between being emotionally tragic and gut-wrenchingly unfortunate; stories most certainly enough to visibly shake either member of this pairing and, you'd hope, enough to affect even that of an outsider to these two people hearing of times gone by in each of these respective people's lives. One of the two people, Jean Yanne's character named Popaul, is the town's local butcher; a man whom has fought on the front-line of war and has consequently witnessed bloody warfare. He finds solace, now, in chopping up meat and serving it to the locals whereas prim primary school teacher Hélène (Audran) has settled down as a live-in headmistress at a respected school raising and teaching the young pupils whom frequent; this, after still coming to terms with a relationship with a man which, in her eyes, should have resulted in a consequent marriage and the bringing up of children.The film is about the duality the pair of them share in this sense, their ways of finding personal parity with what it is that's happened to them in their lives in the form of respective tragedies, and how their ideas of respective 'treatment' concurrently are actually lifestyles more eerily linked to that of the ingredients of what it was that upset them in the first place. It is a darkly brilliant piece, an intimate character study about two people moving closer to the items that have effectively made them the near-enough to a psychological wreck that they are; Hélène's process of keeping a happy face and effectively nurturing young children with their education and during field days the emotional proving to oneself that she can, in fact, play the mothering role. For Popaul, his demons more broadly linked to that of a the bloody war-field upon which he served time sees him draw upon a grotesque fascination with blood; an obsession which does not allow him to keep away from the sight he hates most and consequently sees him mutate into a serial killer.No doubt lending great inspiration to the later works of about ten years or so in Thomas Harris' Red Dragon, itself a film about an innocent woman coming to bond with a serial killing male, Chabrol's piece fits nicely into that cinematic canon of around about the time when serial killers were permitted to be among us, have lives as well as jobs and were most importantly, constructed as human beings whom carried with them flaws that made them who they were rather than being rendered faceless, mindless monsters. The American study of similar subsistence begins with Hitchcock's Psycho and flows all the way through to The Boston Strangler as the best of the time exploring said ideas.The film is, of course, about this serial killer but it is not so much preoccupied with whom it is that's carrying out the killings told from the perspective of police officers as much as it is how somebody completely unbeknownst to such techniques of detecting comes to innocently bond with such a beast. It is hardly revealing that Yanne plays such a character, such a fact is core to the film's experience. The film begins with a series of cave paintings, odd works of art occupying a dark and dingy dwelling as compositions of objects periodically arrive on our screens in a fashion which makes it near impossible to make out; that sense of a distorted psychosis or of an unbalanced psyche furthermore causing an unwavered or unfocused perspective prominent. What then happens is a cut to an establishing shot of a quaint French town, somewhere cut off from most places and seemingly basking in the glory of anonymity and processes of eventlessness; but there is trouble within. Within the town, a wedding plays out; a young couple getting married with joy and happiness appearing plentiful; the wedding eventually giving way not to the story of the bride or groom and their tribulations but to the two eventual leads sharing a walk away from such items as marriage, companionship, exuberance, triumph and whatnot.Amidst the beauty lies ugliness; a young woman has already been found murdered nearby shocking everyone within the radius, the establishing of the killer's apparent lust for the death of people of the victim's age and gender not boding well when we realise the film will come to stick with young Hélène. Chabrol makes us symptomatically aware of both Hélène's vulnerability and Popaul's apparent untrustworthiness by lingering on Hélène as she walks away down a street from a perspective which is difficult to label as Popaul's, but is no-less a composition which additionally lingers by his side, inferring that it is his gaze. What follows is a quite brilliant exploration of these two coming to form a tie with one another, a platonic attraction seeing Popaul once again become infatuated with something he is supposed to feel such disdain toward, the results of which are violent outbursts, while Hélène herself cannot quite come to break down demons linked to that of refraining to engage in relations following her past tragedy. It is an unnerving but brutally effective piece, a studying of a serial killer at large whom of course we want caught, but seemingly not if it means our protagonist, whom we've come to care for dearly, must suffer further set-backs to that of the one she did before. The film is swift and decisive, an agonising character study cutting through what it is that makes its two leads tick and doing so with ruthless efficiency.