Chabrol's easy living and filming.

Like François Truffaut, Claude Chabrol is a Hitchcock fan.

Unlike Truffaut, he need not write a book to show his appreciation of the suspense master : his darkish tales, twisted plots and wry brand of humour are enough of a tribute.

Unlike Hitchcock, Chabrol does not star in his films.

This is a pity : his face says plenty about them. A beak-like nose, a pointed chin gradually drowning into « bon vivant » epicurian fat, a sardonic smile, devilish eyes sparkling with malicious glee, usually behind thick glasses.

Though photographs do not show if Chabrol’s tongue rests in his cheek, they strongly suggest it : the director’s films are not to be taken at face value, but rather at his face value. Otherwise, we risk missing their constant undercurrent of discreet irony and may ultimately believe them flat because they disdain « in your face » filmmaking.

Chabrol’s father was a chemist. He is an entomologist embarked on a life-long research project : to explore the poisonous charms of French provincial bourgeoisie.

Chabrol knows his subject inside out, he was born, if not in it, adjacent to it : in a bourgeois family, but in Paris ; as a child, WW2 forced him to migrate to the heart of the matter and France : Creuse.

The director has since become a « bourgeois » in his own right, though again Parisian and with Marxist leanings ; he has raised a somewhat recomposed family and shows a strong sense of family values : his wife Aurore, his sons Matthieu and Thomas, his stepdaughter Cécile Maistre all worked with him on « La fleur du mal » (2002).

Chabrol enjoys a great love-hate relationship with his subject matter : he loathes his « bourgeois » as much as he laughs at them and, sometimes, may be with them ; they fascinate, irritate, disgust, entertain him and, through him, us.

For nearly half a century, Chabrol and « bourgeoisie » have been an odd couple of partners in success ; their conflict is among the great rivalries in French filmmaking : a Connors-McEnroe feud extended over the length of five tennis careers.

Chabrol’s French provincial « bourgeois » are both a sociological fact and a filmmaker’s fantasy, if not a personal obsession : nearly, but never, too good -i.e. bad, mean, evil, conniving, greedy, criminal...-, to be true.

Chabrol’s movies should be compulsory screening material for all sociology, home and fashion design students alike. Any admirer of French « art de vivre » should rush to watch them.

Chabrol’s characters epitomise their class in its conservative good taste, discreet « BCBG » -bon chic bon genre ; chic and tasteful- elegance, ability to turn a house into both a home and a display of its achievements, as much as in the criminal instincts required to reach, protect or improve their position in life and fund it.

Contrary to the unresolved chicken-egg controversy, Chabrol would probably say that crime came first.

Chabrol’s films are wallpaper, furniture, silver ware, menus and wine list, floral arrangements, good manners and dress perfect : their production values exhale the same subtle perfume of understated elegance as all aspects of his direction’s work.

Film credits should include detailed information about each prop, including houses, and a dedicated internet site should market them, unless Chabrol plans a donation for the creation of an ethnological museum of French provincial bourgeoisie at the turn of the third millennium.

Hitchcock did not like film shoots. Chabrol loves them. His shooting rhythm is impressive : one film a year. Some come out great, some not so good : the proof is in the pudding, i.e. on screen, not in the recipe or a script.

Chabrol’s affair with filmmaking is all but platonic. Cinema, like love, is something you make rather than discuss. A bad relationship and a bad film create a common urge to move forward to the next ones.

Somerset Maugham read the meaning of life in an Indian rug : what matters is the pattern. Chabrol’s catalogue of films draws an awesome one ; bad films contribute more positively to it than uncompleted projects would.

Though they do not always produce « grands crus », winemakers harvest their grapes year after year. A winemaker makes wine, a filmmaker makes films. Life is that simple. One is to fulfil the requirements of his profession or choose another one.

« It’s only a film », Hitchcock coolly reminded an emotionally confused Ingrid Bergman on a movie set. Chabrol would agree ; this is why both directors pay so much attention to « it ».

Chabrol’s marathon career is a tour de France. His films move from province to province in search of the perfect setting for the ultimate dysfunctional « bourgeois » family. More often than not, it proves to be a gorgeous house among beautiful surroundings in a region of strong culinary tradition.

Chabrol shoots his cinema murders where common people dream to live or vacation. He is the greatest on screen promoter of French tourism and « art de vivre ».

The motto for French cinema promotional event, « La fête du cinéma » used to be : « I love life, I love cinema ». Truffaut objected : if you loved life, you did not spend it in the dark watching flickering images.

Chabrol enjoys both, but takes neither too seriously.