BELLE DE JOUR (1967)

I've never sat down and written out a Top 10 Best Movies list, but if I ever was to I'm pretty sure BELLE DE JOUR would be on that list.

Séverine (Catherine Deneuve) is the bored housewife of a young doctor.  She is unable to be intimate with her husband, whom she loves.  At the same time, she idles her days away dreaming about various sexual fantasies.  Most of them dealing with domination and sadomasochism.  Early on in the film there is a brief shot of an older man feeling up and kissing a terrified little girl.  Could this be Séverine as a child?   Either way, BELLE DE JOUR is a fascinating look at a woman exploring her sexuality, both mentally and physically.

After hearing from a lecherous friend of a friend about a small whorehouse that specializes in more upscale and private adult entertainment, Séverine cannot stop thinking about it and eventually goes to investigate for herself.  She's nervous, but the wise madam senses that Séverine is the type that needs a forceful hand, so she simply leaves her in a room with a regular customer.  Afterwards, Séverine is like a reborn woman.  She is much more cheerful around her husband and the more she explores her sexual desires at the brothel...the happier she is.  Things change, though, when a dangerous new customer falls in love with Séverine.

BELLE DE JOUR is Bunuel's first film in colour and it's a masterpiece.  The story, the camerawork, the surrealist elements, the acting, the fashions...every time I watch this film I'm enraptured and can't take my eyes off the screen.  Every shot is a masterpiece.  It also doesn't hurt that Deneuve was at her absolute most radiant during the late 1960's.

I cannot recommend this film enough.  Required viewing for anybody interested in world cinema.

WHAT TIME IS IT THERE? (2001)

I don't know what time is it there, but it's time to take a fucking nap here!  Get my slumber on.

A lonely dude, who spends his days selling watches out of a suitcase and his nights peeing into plastic objects in his bedroom, has a female customer one day who wants to buy his watch.  The watch on his arm.  He refuses at first, but once she tells him she's leaving the country for Paris he finally agrees.  He doesn't seem to be interested in her at all, but for whatever reason for the rest of the movie he's obsessed with changing the time on every clock he sees to Paris time.  What does this all mean?  I have no clue.

I'm sure the story has something to do with loneliness and the feeling of loss (his father recently died) and I'm sure some people will be really moved by the unhurried pace and the complete lack of camera movement, but it just bored me to tears.  I love slow cinema, but at some point along the way something needs to happen.  An interesting character, a story, an ending.  Anything will do.  Watching this wordless dude fiddling with clock hands isn't a story.  But what do I know?  Maybe it's too staggeringly brilliant film for my simple little brain to comprehend.  Skip it.

If you need me I'll be in my room watching DON'T LAUGH AT MY ROMANCE.

THE 400 BLOWS