Imagine a movie starring Brigitte Bardot and Marcello Mastroianni. And now imagine that there is absolutely no chemistry between them. Can’t exist, right? Well then, I guess you haven’t seen A Very Private Affair! Louis Malle’s fourth narrative feature stars two of cinema’s heaviest of hitters, and yet, it’s a total swing and a miss. A total Malle-function!
Look, I’m a Malle head. Au Revoir Les Enfants and Murmur of the Heart are two of my favorite movies. And Elevator to the Gallows has one of the coolest jazz soundtracks around, not to mention a morose Jeanne Moreau sulking through the rain. But A Very Private Affair is just… meh. Mostly at least. There are some moments buoyed by Brigitte’s timeless beauty. But not even that can bring much life to this flick. Nor can the effortlessly cool Mastroianni.
So, what’s the movie even about? I’ll let my dear ol’ pal Derek Zimmer explain all that. He’s uniquely qualified because his 16mm Arriflex 16SR camera was used on Malle’s My Dinner With Andre. You can see it in action in the epic music video Derek did for City of Caterpillar’s song “Mystic Sisters.” Check out his other work here!
All in all, I find Derek’s eloquent and precise summation of the movie maybe even better than the movie itself (he calls that “pulling a Kim Morgan,” but you can ask him about that yourself). So, take it away Derek!
The film opens on a shot of Brigitte Bardot, her wild blonde bob capped by iconic headband. We’re in a dance studio. She pirouettes past one sunlit window, then another, and another. A portrait of a young girl leading a rosy life. But she’s listless, eyes downcast, the pose of a dreamer, lips beset by a permanent pout. Juliana Hatfield was right: Beauty can be sad. Bardot is proof of that.
After class she catches a boat to the part of Geneva where she lives on her mother’s estate. Meanwhile we’re caught up to speed via a Jules and Jim style narration so beloved by the French. Her name is Jill. She has a beau. His name is Dick. She doesn’t love Dick, but in truth, she does love a man. And that man is Marcello Mastroianni’s Fabio, husband of her instructor and a cosmopolitan publisher of art books. He barely gives poor Jill a second glance (a strain, one might imagine, for such a lovesick heart). So when Dick offers her an out to the city of Paris, she accepts.
There, her enthusiasm for dance promptly runs its course (and with it, her affections for tiny dancer Dick), and she finds work as a model, segueing into motion pictures. And here, lined in the sights of a 35mm viewfinder, the narration continues, “Between the face and the camera, something clicked. Something mysterious, a magical meeting that was to make of Jill whether she wanted to or not a great star, a queen, a freak, a goddess.”
So she becomes a sensation, spawning a cadre of copycat Jill/Bardots around the streets of Paris. But it’s a lonely life. She has no friends, only a string of temporary lovers1. Mobbed everywhere she goes, we feel the crush of her predicament — a star so loved, so envied, that ultimately the tides must turn, her name bound for the ostrakon… or at least, the tabloids’ lashings. In a state of near-catatonia, she flees… but to where? Where else but that carefree Swiss capital where once she frollicked… and fell in love. And who does she find there, of course, but Mastroianni’s Fabio… that is, until the paparazzi find her…
My question watching was: Why this story? The obvious interpretation is to read it as a statement on Bardot’s own stardom, the character Jill a surrogate for BB herself. Sure. But Louis Malle wrote the script — or part of it. Then directed it. So was this an assignment? Or was the germ of the story an original idea, perhaps loosely based on his relationship with France’s other starlet Jeanne Moreau2. The latter seems possible: Moreau was an icon in her own right, and the Mastroianni character goes on to (inexplicably) stage a play in Spoleto, Italy, during the second half, suggesting a link to the maestro Malle. But then the lovers’ reunion falls so resolutely flat one wonders if the man who gave us The Lovers actually directed it at all.
Whatever the case, the subject matter never seems to transcend its scenario or the star personas of its principals (most especially, I’m sad to say, Mastroianni’s, himself no stranger to the Euro risque romance… Stay As You Are, anyone?). Whether intending to say something on love or fame or not, the movie’s good ideas, its joie de vivre, so promising at the start, peters out around the 40 minute mark. A curiosity more than it is a classic — but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to watch.
Couldn’t have said it better myself, Derek! Seems we’re in agreement with this minor frivolous Malle. And let’s just say the duo here are no Mastroianni and Eckburg. But fortunately, they’re not too hard on the eyes, either.
An early meta-Malle that on paper sounds pretty cool, but ends up being mostly a curiosity. Fun in parts, but more for the completists. But, hey you never know! Maybe some Malle-adjusted person out there will absolutely love it, and we’re just Malle-igning it for no reason. Hm, maybe I should stop before I go overboard with the puns...
Anyway, we hope you love this movie. We really wanted to! If you want to watch it directly from the site, this week’s password is: averyprivatebardot. And of course, it’s also available through the Plex server. Enjoy! Or don’t. That part is up to you!
Bardot herself professed to having over 100.
He would go on to do a movie starring Bardot and Moreau, Viva Maria!, in 1965.