CINEMA: Andrew Worsdale
Patrice Leconte’s Yvonne’s Perfume arrives in
this country over two years after its
international release. But don’t miss it: in
many ways it’s his most lyrical work to date.
Leconte’s Monsieur Hire caused a ripple at the
art house in 1989, with its subtle dissection
of a murder tale and economical narrative. The
Hairdresser’s Husband followed, and Eduardo
Serra’s incredible cinematography and Jean
Rochefort’s eponymous performance stole the
show. Tango, Leconte’s most in-your-face anti-
bourgeois movie, was filled with primary
colours and weird camera angles, and did
disappointing business. But this new arrival
on our screens is his most enchanting and
strangely romantic work yet.
The story, based on Patrick Modiano’s Villa
Triste, follows would-be writer Victor Chmara
(Hippolyte Girardot), who hides out with giddy
holiday-makers on the shores of Lake Geneva to
avoid fighting in the Algerian war. It’s the
perfect refuge — until he runs into the
alluring but cold seductress, Yvonne (Sandra
Majani), and her even stranger accomplice,
Doctor Meinthe (Jean-Pierre Marielle), a
broken but enigmatic fag in a fez.
What ensues is your basic tale of erotic
obsession and love won and lost, but Leconte’s
treatment is dazzling. Serra’s use of
cinemascope is what good packaging is to your
above-average French perfume. In fact, the
existence of “perfume” in the title is no
small indication of the style and satisfaction
to be found in this elliptical tale of life.