Une étrange affaire (1981)
Directed by Pierre Granier-Deferre

Film Review

Une étrange affaire is one of the more interesting films directed by Pierre Granier-Deferre, a contemporary of the French New Wave whose approach to filmmaking had far more in common with the conventions of commercial cinema than that adopted by Truffaut et al.  It may not have achieved the level of recognition enjoyed by Granier-Deferre's better known films - La Horse (1970), Le Chat (1971), L'Étoile du Nord (1982) - but it is an eerily compelling work, one that exemplifies the director's deep fascination with the unlikely bonds of intimacy that develop between seemingly disparate individuals.

With La Veuve Couderc (1971), Granier-Deferre transmuted a popular Georges Simenon novel into an achingly poignant cinematic poem on a romantic attachment between a late middle-aged widow and a much younger man from a totally different milieu.  Une étrange affaire, as its title implies, takes us into even stranger territory, depicting a relationship between two men - a young sales executive in his early 30s and his 50-something boss - that is so unusual that it defies rational explanation.  This isn't a love story - at least not in any conventional sense - nor is it a simple case of office power-play, where a control-freak manager indulges his sociopathic tendencies by manipulating his underlings.  What Granier-Deferre presents us with is an affair rather like a Rorschach image - we read into it what we will.

Taking as their source Jean-Marc Roberts's award winning 1979 novel Affaires étrangères, Granier-Deferre and his accomplished screenwriter Christopher Frank craft an understated and subtly disturbing film that can be seen as a wry commentary on modern management practice.  As anyone who has ever worked for a large corporation will know, it is not sufficient to be competent at your job.  Oh no.  You also have to be willing to surrender part of your soul to the company, an arrangement that invariably leads to an erosion of the barrier between one's professional and personal life.  In Une étrange affaire, the consequences of this form of corporate exploitation are presented, in a darkly humorous vein, through the mutual dependency that is fostered between a young publicity officer (Gérard Lanvin) and his new appointed manager (Michel Piccoli), ostensibly in the interests of maximising shareholder value.

Une étrange affaire was a notable critical success for its director, winning the coveted Prix Louis-Delluc in 1981, but it had a poor showing at the box office.  Coming immediately after Granier-Deferre's dismal WW3 romp Le Toubib (1979), which had an audience of 1.7 million in France, it was a comparative flop, although there can be no doubt as to which is the better film.  Big budget adventure-melodramas - even those headlined by such bankable stars as Alain Delon - were definitely not Granier-Deferre's forte, whereas his less showy psychological dramas delving into the intricacies of the human subconscious had far more of an impact.

Whilst there is much to like about the writing and direction, Une étrange affaire particularly excels on the acting front, with memorable contributions from each of the three lead actors.  As the over-intrusive manager who makes a habit of working his way under the skin of his employees (and then burrowing deep into their souls), Michel Piccolo is at his most sinister and beguiling.  Piccoli is an actor who exudes charm through every pore but beneath the surface geniality there is always a suspicion of something perverse, if not downright nasty, and here he is every inch the career sociopath, a frightening mix of Svengali, vampire and parasitic leech.  As unappealing as Piccoli's character is, there is also a tortured humanity which reveals a desperate need for connection, a need that manifests itself as a compulsive urge to control, direct and transform others.  The Whitman line 'I contain multitudes' is perfectly encapsulated in Piccoli's fascinating portrayal of an inordinately complex man caught in a horrific mid-life crisis.  It was a role that won the actor the Silver Bear for Best Actor at the 1982 Berlin Film Festival, and deservedly so.

No less deserving of praise is Gérard Lanvin, who received the Prix Jean Gabin in 1982 for his equally nuanced portrayal of the man who falls under the spell of his charismatic and impossibly needy boss.  Lanvin's passive acceptance of Piccoli's remorseless mind control is what makes Une étrange affaire such a disturbing film, and it is with genuine alarm that we witness the degree to which the former's personality is knocked out of shape, yielding like Plasticine in the hands of a malignant child.  And then there is Nathalie Baye, who turns in a powerfully moving performance as Lanvin's increasingly alienated wife, the character who is most visibly unsettled by the outbreak of extreme male bonding in her household.  Although she is on the periphery of the drama for much of the film, Baye's impact is sufficient to make her a worthy recipient of the Best Supporting Actress César in 1982 (having won the same award the previous year with Godard's Sauve qui peut (la vie)); the film was nominated for four other Césars, in categories that included Best Screenplay and Best Director.

Scripted with an almost indecent insight into the sorry depravity of the human condition, Une étrange affaire is one of those idiosyncratic character pieces that is compelling to watch but has its true impact only a day or so after watching the film.  Admittedly, it is let down a little towards the end, with a somewhat half-hearted attempt at plot resolution that doesn't quite ring true, but this is a minor flaw when you regard the film in its entirety and realise just what a profound work it is, an incredibly rich and moving meditation on the terrifying unfathomability of the human psyche.

Film Synopsis

Louis Coline, a man in his early thirties, leads a comfortable but fairly routine life, working as a publicity officer for a large department store in Paris.  He is happily married to Nina, although the couple haven't yet got round to having children.  A man of limited ambition, Louis does his job to the best of his abilities and whiles away his empty evenings playing cards with his friends.  Then comes the eventful day when his store is taken over by the successful entrepreneur Bertrand Malair.

Louis's concerns over his future are allayed when his new boss offers him a promotion, placing him in charge of the publicity department.  Louis has good reason to be grateful to his supposed benefactor, but the relationship that subsequently develops between the two men goes far beyond what is usual for an employee and his manager.  Bertrand takes an increasing interest in Louis's private life, insisting on getting to know his wife and asking the couple questions of an intimate nature.  Little by little Louis is drawn into Bertrand's sphere of influence, attending dinner parties with him and even accompanying him to night clubs.

Never having known his own father, the younger man's dependency on his superior is perhaps understandable, the latter taking the place of the missing parent.  But what is it about Louis that makes him such an object of concern for Bertrand?  How is Louis to react when, one evening, Bertrand turns up uninvited on his doorstep and insists on spending the night?  As the two men spend ever more time in each other's company, Nina feels increasingly sidelined and soon realises that she now occupies a secondary place in her husband's life...