Except for an early flirtation with surrealism, most of Bunuel's movies deal with the loss of innocence and a subsequent outrageous cynicism. This one isn't much different. The innocent Deneuve is entrusted to her guardian, Fernando Rey, an honorable man whose weakness is women. Understandably, he can't keep his gnarled and lecherous old hands off his stunningly beautiful ward. And Deneuve does what she's told, like a compliant pet.
Not that Rey is a monster. He's stern, but he has friends he jokes with in the café, he dresses impeccably when he leaves home, and is thoroughly dignified. He hates having the flu because it renders him more human in appearance.
Deneuve meets the handsome young artist Franco Nero. These women are always meeting handsome and dashing younger men! But this one isn't the usual rogue because this is not Madame Bovary. Nero whisks her away, unmarried, and later returns to Rey's city, after Deneuve has developed cancer and lost a leg. The aging Rey now wants to marry his ex ward, but she's become a tough nut to crack.
Deneuve isn't as glamorous here as she is in some other feature, as in Roman Polanski's "Repulsion", for instance, where her features were framed by a mane of lustrous blond hair. Her hair is dark here, and tied back severely, giving her face a dished appearance. But she's as "mysterious" as ever.
It's always hard to tell exactly what she's thinking. Partly, this is because she's not a very expressive actress, and partly because her eyes are usually set at "wide open." I have a feeling that if an ophthalmologist could creep up to her, nose to nose, which is a pleasant enough thought, and peer through her pupil, once he got past all the defensive red reflexes he'd see a slot machine with four windows, always spinning, never stopping, the oranges, apples, cherries, and lemons whirling past.
As the passionate and determined boy friend, Franco Nero doesn't do much. But Fernando Rey, while hardly seeming to try, gives us a fully fleshed-out portrait of a man who is filled with old-fashioned courtliness (except for that thing about women) but suffers because he's losing his youth. For a long while, we watch him lovingly treating his graying beard before the mirror.
But it's a rather slow movie, despite the universal theme and the effective compositions. It could have used a bit of gratuitous nudity. After all, Deneuve has nothing to hide, as she demonstrated in Bunuel's fascinating "Belle de Jour" a few years earlier. Okay, give us the iconoclasm but can't they hand it out naked?
Not that Rey is a monster. He's stern, but he has friends he jokes with in the café, he dresses impeccably when he leaves home, and is thoroughly dignified. He hates having the flu because it renders him more human in appearance.
Deneuve meets the handsome young artist Franco Nero. These women are always meeting handsome and dashing younger men! But this one isn't the usual rogue because this is not Madame Bovary. Nero whisks her away, unmarried, and later returns to Rey's city, after Deneuve has developed cancer and lost a leg. The aging Rey now wants to marry his ex ward, but she's become a tough nut to crack.
Deneuve isn't as glamorous here as she is in some other feature, as in Roman Polanski's "Repulsion", for instance, where her features were framed by a mane of lustrous blond hair. Her hair is dark here, and tied back severely, giving her face a dished appearance. But she's as "mysterious" as ever.
It's always hard to tell exactly what she's thinking. Partly, this is because she's not a very expressive actress, and partly because her eyes are usually set at "wide open." I have a feeling that if an ophthalmologist could creep up to her, nose to nose, which is a pleasant enough thought, and peer through her pupil, once he got past all the defensive red reflexes he'd see a slot machine with four windows, always spinning, never stopping, the oranges, apples, cherries, and lemons whirling past.
As the passionate and determined boy friend, Franco Nero doesn't do much. But Fernando Rey, while hardly seeming to try, gives us a fully fleshed-out portrait of a man who is filled with old-fashioned courtliness (except for that thing about women) but suffers because he's losing his youth. For a long while, we watch him lovingly treating his graying beard before the mirror.
But it's a rather slow movie, despite the universal theme and the effective compositions. It could have used a bit of gratuitous nudity. After all, Deneuve has nothing to hide, as she demonstrated in Bunuel's fascinating "Belle de Jour" a few years earlier. Okay, give us the iconoclasm but can't they hand it out naked?