No less a source than Wikipedia refers to Les Cousins as a French New Wave film; a bold claim (that they probably actually did get from a reputable source, such as the back of the box here), considering that it came out in 1959, the same year as The 400 Blows, generally considered the key that ignited the movement. If not the full-tilt revolution in picture and sound that that film and its compatriots were, it does point the arrow squarely in the direction that European art cinema spent the next 15 or so years going. Though Fellini's La Dolce Vita and Antonioni's L'Avventura are certainly more famous films, even they do not provide a more vacuous look at the banality of Europe's moneyed class.
Charles (Gerard Blain) is the prototypical rube, a self-acknowledged country mouse who has come to the big city to study law. His personality foibles (translated to American archetypes) fuses aspects of both the nerd and the bucolic fool; he is painfully earnest, as well as hopelessly inept in the most basic social situations. While studying, Charles is taken in by his sophisticated cousin Paul (Jean-Claude Brisby), whose life is a non-stop kaleidoscope of women, drinking, and partying of a character that only the bored, wealthy, and unbothered will subscribe to, which frequently include performances by escape artists and people throwing around firearms when they’re sexually frustrated. Charles is unable to get much studying done with all the noise this causes (which is funny, as Paul is in school as well), but he finds suitable distraction in Florence (Juliette Maynal), one of the worldly members of Paul’s circle. She is just coming off of another sexual trauma when she meets him, and seems attracted to both his kindness and hia naievete.
Possibly never have two movie lovers had so few bridges to cross, and possibly never has that difference mattered more to those around them. For all the opposition that Paul and his friends throw in their way, you’d think that the Hatfields were to be joined with the Capulets, rather than two people with slightly different socioeconomic backgrounds considering dating. But that isn’t the real problem here, even if they seem to think that it is; it’s that Charles and Paul have completely different ideas about how relationships should be approached, and they come from sets organized largely around enforcing them. As much as they might look down on Charles, their true animosity is directed at Florence, and her belief that she might ultimate prefer Charles’s respectful treatment of her to the endless wheel of the party girl. They degrade her, verbally and physically, and implore her to remember that she is, in fact, a harlot, incapable of reform and unworthy of monogamous affection. Their sense of propriety over her is actually quite scary.
In case you hadn’t guessed by now, art cinema used to be a very different thing than it is now. Whereas most small theaters today seem to cater to society’s fringes, often supporting documentaries with strong leftist bents and marginalized voices, at the time of the French New Wave, it was the feeding ground for the Don Drapers of the world (who actually did once express an affinity for La Notte), a mark of sophistication for people who used taste as currency when money was no longer a distinguishing marker. As such, it makes space for things like this, which just might be the most misogynistic film since Pandora’s Box. Either that, or it’s a more bitter look at the corrupting influence of class warfare than even Renoir was able to conjur. Either way, it’s an exceptionally handsome film, one that retains the glamour of old French cinema with the harsh edge of the years subsequent to its release.
Blu-ray Bonus Features
The Blu-ray contains a feature commentary by Adrian Martin and a theatrical trailer, as well as an entirely new transfer and subtitle translation. The traditional Criterion booklet has an essay by Terrence Rafferty and an excerpt from Jean-Claude Brialy's memoir.
"Les Cousins (The Criterion Collection)" is on sale September 27, 2011 and is not rated. Foreign. Directed by Claude Chabrol. Written by Claude Chabrol, Paul Gégauff. Starring Gerard Blain, Jean Claude Brialy, Juliette Mayniel.
