In
a provincial town, there is no such thing as a no-tell motel. Nevertheless,
Julien Gahyde thought he was being discrete in his regular meetings with the
village pharmacy owner’s wife in the titular chambre bleue. Inconveniently, he
learns their affair was largely common knowledge when he becomes ensnared in a
murder inquiry. Just who was killed by whom will be slowly revealed in Mathieu Amalric’s
adaptation of the Georges Simenon novel The
Blue Room (trailer
here), which
screens during the 52nd New York Film Festival.
After
a long absence, Gahyde returned to his home town, making good as a John Deere
sales rep. It probably was not just lust that drove him into an affair with the
sensual Esther Despierre. She also happens to be married to an old classmate,
whose wealth and privilege Gahyde always resented. Regardless, her talk about a
more permanent arrangement does not sit well with Gahyde, so he uses a near
miss with her husband as a pretext for a cooling off period. However, her
reckless letters portend bad things. Before long, Gahyde is in prison, fielding
questions from the investigating magistrate, but the film’s fractured temporal-hopping
narrative structure jealously guards its secrets.
One
thing is certain: Gahyde is in a mess of legal trouble. Even if he is
technically not guilty, he still bears considerable responsibility for the
state of affairs. Amalric and editor François Gédigier keep audiences on their
toes with their frequent cuts, often emphasizing oddly elliptical perspectives.
There is more than a hint of the old school Nouvelle Vague in their almost Pointillistic
approach. (Coincidentally, one of Picasso’s best known Blue Period paintings
was also called The Blue Room and it
fits the spirit of Amalric’s picture rather well.) Yet, what most distinguishes
the film is the degree to which Amalric captures the vibe and essence of
Simenon’s non-Maigret hothouse psychological thrillers.
Director-co-screenwriter
Amalric also gives himself an important assist, portraying the thoroughly
compromised and increasingly confused Gahyde. There is something Kafka-esque
about the weasely philanderer that inspires rapt fascination. Frankly, both
Madame Gahyde and Despierre are rendered somewhat simplistically, as the standard
issue wronged wife and Fatal Attraction mistress,
respectively. However, in what might appear to be a disposable role, Serge
Bozon (another actor turned director), adds a hard to quantify dimension,
hinting there is much more churning beneath his magistrate’s poker face façade.
