User reviews

I originally read Heinrich von Kleist's "Die Marquise von O..." in a German class. Renting the movie, I naturally had to wonder whether or not they would stay faithful to the novel. They did. This story of an 18th century marquise (Edith Clever) who inexplicably becomes pregnant has surprises at every corner. In case you don't know the whole story, I won't spoil it for you, but you will be surprised at what happens. Strong performances by Clever and Bruno Ganz as The Count carry the movie, as does the perfect direction from Eric Rohmer.

Oh, and in case you're wondering about that "O...", it's deliberately incomplete, as are some other names in the story.

Erich Rohmer's adaptation of a novella by Heinrich von Kleist is visually remarkable. If you can imagine a painting by Jacques Louis David come to life, that is what this film looks like. Clearly a lot of attention was paid to colors and lighting. Aficionados of neoclassicism should not miss it. I believe this was Bruno Ganz's first film and the other players, particularly Edith Clever, are fine as well. The tone is one of social satire tempered by comedy. A number of Netflix viewers have complained that the film requires a lot of patience. I don't agree. It requires an interest in the period, perhaps. Recommended for the discerning.

In this case, the question is not only who placed the seed that sowed the bun in the lady's oven, but how did he get into the kitchen in the first place?

The widowed marquise is saved from being attacked by a Russian Count, who soon declares his honorable intentions. But just how honorable is he?

Soon, her own honor is questioned, when she discovers she's with child, though swearing she's been chaste since her husband's death. There's a mystery to solve, as well as hurt feelings, false accusations, family turmoil, and an important question: if you love and trust someone, are you willing to stick by them and believe in them, no matter how questionable things appear?

Thoughts worth pondering.

If the romantic poet and playwright Heinrich von Kleist (who wrote almost at the same time as Goethe) could have imagined the cinema, he would have approved of Rohmer's filming of his novella. What we see here are not 20th century characters in costume, but early 19th century Romantic sensibilities reacting according to their way of looking at the world. It is as strange as time travel, and utterly charming. Rohmer frames them in sets like Caspar Friedrich or Fuseli paintings. This movie is a marvel.

What can I say about Rohmer? the guy's a cinematic genius. Who else can capture so much reality out of situations that in most directors' hands would be nothing but facile theatricality that exhausts itself in one viewing? Rohmer's best films stand up to endless viewings, in fact, they're so detailed and well thought out, you don't get anything significant out of them until you've watched them many times. The Marquise of O is definitely one of his best. It's his only film that doesn't deal with the love problems of his contemporary French bourgeoisie--his only 'period' film made in the original German language of the book by Heinrich von Kleist it was based on. It is a deceptively simple looking work of pure art. Nuance upon nuance comes pouring forth from every actor as they give the subtlest and greatest performances of their lives under Rohmer's direction. Nothing fancy here on the surface, just a totally authentic look that seems to have stepped right off Goethe's time, as if Rohmer actually went back in time to the 18th century and shot himself a documentary. The film is, among many other things, a very strong criticism of the Christian mores of the period and how easily they can turn from being life-affirming and productively disciplinarian to prejudice and farcical cruelty.

I hadn't ever seen a rape comedy before, but after my first viewing of The Marquise of O I have to admit that that is, indeed, what I have seen... and it made me laugh sometimes and sit, in horror, others. I hope you understand, before you question my moral or intellectual composure, that I try as often as possible to take films and characters seriously within their own context. I am that guy that gets angry when people laugh in movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey and There Will Be Blood, and yet The Marquise of O seemed somehow different. I wasn't the only one laughing in the theater.

The premise is simple, provided you live within the mindset of an early 19th century aristocrat (there lies the comedy): a Russian Lieutenant, in the midst of battle against the Germans, saves the German Commander's daughter from being raped by his own troops, only to rape her in her room later in the night after she has taken a sleeping potion. This is only implied, but the rest of the film will consist of the Russian Lieutenant making strange and semi-obvious attempts to somehow right his own wrong, as The Marquise struggles to understand and deal with her seemingly random pregnancy.

I can only imagine that, to Eric Rohmer, this story must have represented the absurdity of the times, and he makes no attempt to sugar coat it or even explain it to the audience. From the incredibly polite beginning battle sequence to the awkward incestuous displays of affection, you are forced to accept what seems to you to be ridiculous circumstances... Then comes the reaction to her pregnancy: a long scene in which you simultaneously connect with, feel, and understand her pain, while giggling at the wild opinions and questions that ensue. To us, her pain is real, but her life seems fake, even though it has been real at one point.

It helps that the film is played straight and acted beautifully. As always, Rohmer has a perfect eye, and many others have pointed out Nestor Almendros's cinematography, which enlightens the already hypnotic imagery. I suggest you check it out if this all sounds good to you. I hope I didn't offend anyone, but this film is so strange I feel it has to be talked about.

There are those who maintain that this should be counted among Eric Rohmer's Morality Tales but I consider this masterly version of Heinrich von Kleist's novella to stand alone in his output.

The verbosity of some of this director's modern pieces is inclined to test one's patience but here it is acceptable in a nineteenth century setting and has been adapted by Rohmer himself, having learned German when writing a thesis on Goethe's 'Faust'.

The direction is both elegant and restrained whilst its sparseness and economy of gesture call to mind a certain Robert Bresson. It is not without eroticism and the image of Edith Clever as the title character stretched out sleepily on a red bed wearing a luminous nightgown is worthy of an Ingres or a David. Little wonder that she proves so tantalising to the Count F of Bruno Ganz.

The painterly compositions throughout are courtesy of Néstor Almendros who, like his fellow graduates from the Centro Sperimentali di Cinematografia, Storaro and de Santis, is a master of natural light.

The 'rape' itself has always been a subject for 'scholarly' debate and here Rohmer has left it to our imagination. Indeed he suggests by means of a single close up that the perpetrator might perhaps be the handsome devil of Leopardo the servant rather than the eccentric Count F.

Bruno Ganz is beautifully understated here but it is the touching portrayal by Edith Clever as the Marquise that lingers longest.

'Ambiguity' is the name of the game in Kleist's piece and as such suits Rohmer's style to a tee.

Not one of Rohmer's best, especially from a writing standpoint. It seems to me that he wasn't particularly interested in this project, or at least he is unable to make the story as interesting as I find most of his other films. However, several points elevate this film far beyond what it could have been. First thing, the cinematography, by Néstor Almendros, is stunning. Rohmer pays particular attention to the composition, something which he isn't generally known for. I think it hurts the film, but one thing can't be denied: it looks as painterly as possible. Also, the performances are generally great. Bruno Ganz kind of disappointed me, but that's mainly because I consider him one of the greatest actors. His performance here is good, but not at the level of the other films in which I've seen him. On the other hand, the star of the film, Edith Clever, is amazing as the titular character. She becomes pregnant even though she has not had relations with a man since her husband died a couple of years earlier. She must face the prejudices of the time (a good story of a woman up against society, though it's been done better before). The Marquise's parents are played by Peter Lühr and Edda Seippel, and they both give excellent performances as well. All in all, a beautiful experience, if not the most exciting.

This Franco-German co production is the weakest of Rohmer's historical movies (a group of films that includes such accomplished works as The Lady and the Duke, Perceval, and Triple Agent), perhaps because its subject matter seems hopelessly dated. Based on a novel by Heinrich Von Kleist and set during the Napoleonic wars, it tells the tale of a young marquise rescued during an assault to his estate by a brooding count (a young Bruno Ganz). Unfortunately, from that brief encounter the marquise gets pregnant, a huge problem during that time and on account of her position in society. Aside from a dated central conflict, the film is also dull and static, without the redeeming dialogue and interaction between the actors that one sees in other Rohmer films. The director, by the way, plays an amusing cameo as a French general.

Eric Rohmer, the great filmmaker, tries his hand at the kind of film that is everything that a Rohmer film isn't. Gone is the New Wave Modernism; the natural settings, hand-held cameras and dialogue that captures the quintessential nature of being human. Replaced instead with dowdy costumes, unmoving camera, and formal sets. Perhaps the original German flows with eloquent charm, but the English subtitles seem to have been translated by school children.

Merchant Ivory this isn't, and neither is it Rohmer.