FILM: Belle de Jour (1967)

Luis Bunuel's so-called erotic masterpiece has a tempting premise. An affluent housewife who perennially rejects her husband's advances, taking refuge instead in kinky fantasies, satisfies her need for degradation by secretly working as a prostitute in the afternoons. Alas, the premise doesn't live up to its promise, as even this open-minded viewer is turned off by the lowlife johns and fails to see how Catherine Deneuve derives from them that glazed satisfied smile. Critics may hotly debate the ending and the way in which it scrambles reality and fantasy, but I thought it felt tacked-on and arbitrary rather than deep. Don't call me a philistine, as I love the concepts at the foundation of this movie: the stigmatization of certain desires as socially inappropriate, and the inhibitions that can strain a marriage, making a mockery of what is ideally the most intimate human relationship. I just thought that these fine ideas were unpleasantly presented.