Not a cheerful film, this one. Filmed on the Riviera, but in autumn, the season of decay and death, each character is the sum of a life lived without passion or love. Laure's "Miche" is entirely closed off, ready at all times to express a seething resentment but too resigned to do so. Birkin's "Caroline" is frustrated on every level. Her characteristic sweetness, a compensation for years of neglect from her parents, occasionally comes unstuck with momentary, high-decibel explosions of anger. Bogarde's "Daddy" has mostly lived his life oblivious to those around him, a self-absorbed man unable to truly participate in the hedonism he always sought.
You've got to applaud Bertrand Tavernier's courage for making a film about the desperate lives most people endure. And for making the Riviera, normally the epitome of sun and the good life, equally depressing.
You've got to applaud Bertrand Tavernier's courage for making a film about the desperate lives most people endure. And for making the Riviera, normally the epitome of sun and the good life, equally depressing.