Saw Belle de jour (1967) this evening at a Revue theatre with the beautiful Catherine Deneuve as a frustrated surgeon's wife who becomes a prostitute in the afternoons. Bunuel's film is deliciously ambiguous - the sequences, reality or fantasy/dream, we don't know, & perhaps in the end it doesn't matter. Deneuve a frigid doll with a wicked sex life.
Apparently Bunuel didn't know if the last scene was reality or dream either.
Will have to watch this one again in a year or two.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Showing posts with label Belle de jour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Belle de jour. Show all posts
Friday, November 28, 2008
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