Early Claude Chabrol, but already showing his blunt, threatening tone. It’s likely the first to tap his Hitchcock-meets-Beaujolais sweet spot, yet also reveals a faultline: less involving as interpersonal relationships give way to detailing plot, usually murder. Chabrol is at his best watching ‘the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.’ Literally so here, as a family-owned country vineyard estate lays the scene for a deadly roundelay of mismatched (or is it misdirected?) love affairs with 40-something Papa openly carrying on with that beauteous sunshine-lit red-headed neighbor while his key-light-deprived wife tries to work out a livable zone that keeps home, finances & family intact. (People & places all cinematographically characterized in Henri Dacaë’s subtle lighting schemes.) Two grown kids also in the mix: a socially awkward son whose main interpersonal relationship is with his portable turntable (and some Berlioz LPs), and a blonde daughter with an on-and-off engagement to charismatic lout Jean-Paul Belmondo. (Winningly OTT with a puppy’s gusto for life, leg-humping and hearty breakfasts.) Plus more amorous quadrangles with a dark-haired domestic everyone hits on, but who only has eyes for a visiting handyman. Chabrol keeps all balls in the air with a jangly technique that would become less rather than more polished as he matured. (You’d not be wrong to prefer it.) The ending something of a pat letdown after the first two acts, but recovering on a long-held final shot.
SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY/DOUBLE-BILL: Chabrol must have paid close attention to Renoir’s THE RULES OF THE GAME/’39, newly restored in ‘58/all the rage among Cahiers du Cinéma confrères.
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