Truffaut said The Bride Wore Black was his homage to Hitchcock. A great homage it is, with that Bernard Herrmann score, murderous psychological ambiguity, bad things happening on warm, sunlit days and a complex -- and looney -- main character. Think of it as a black comedy with enough riffs on Vertigo to smile at. Just as importantly, while the film may be Truffaut's homage to Hitchcock, the film remains completely Truffaut's. It's one of his best, and features a wonderful performance by Jeanne Moreau as a woman whose husband is shot and killed as they're standing on the church steps just after they've been married. After recovering from the shock, depression and a suicide attempt, Julie Kohler decides to do something about the five men responsible. If you are unfortunate enough to hear the whispered words, "Je suis Julie Kohler," they will be the last words you'll ever hear.
Julie methodically checks off the names on her list as she finds ways to see that her version of justice is done. She may be obsessed, but she knows exactly what she's doing...and she is implacable. Jeanne Moreau, with those plump, downward-turning lips and puffy smoker's eyes, has never been better. Moreau is an extraordinary actress. She had features that at times could seem almost coarse, but then almost beautiful and certainly desirable. She had a strange fusion of intelligence which challenged and a vastly intriguing nature. I could easily picture her watching Casanova with those reserved, quiet eyes while he struggled to mumble self-consciously, "I love you." Moreau can do more with a stare, a look, a glance than just about any actress I know.
As much as the movie is a joy to watch, the last five minutes has a conclusion that is unexpected and completely satisfying. I think even Hitchcock would have had a smile on his face as he patted Truffaut on the back.
Julie methodically checks off the names on her list as she finds ways to see that her version of justice is done. She may be obsessed, but she knows exactly what she's doing...and she is implacable. Jeanne Moreau, with those plump, downward-turning lips and puffy smoker's eyes, has never been better. Moreau is an extraordinary actress. She had features that at times could seem almost coarse, but then almost beautiful and certainly desirable. She had a strange fusion of intelligence which challenged and a vastly intriguing nature. I could easily picture her watching Casanova with those reserved, quiet eyes while he struggled to mumble self-consciously, "I love you." Moreau can do more with a stare, a look, a glance than just about any actress I know.
As much as the movie is a joy to watch, the last five minutes has a conclusion that is unexpected and completely satisfying. I think even Hitchcock would have had a smile on his face as he patted Truffaut on the back.