send me no
flowers
by Douglas Messerli
François Truffaut, Claude de Givray,
and Bernard Revon (screenplay), François Truffaut (director) Domicile Conjugal (Bed and Board) / 1970, USA 1971
In Bed and Breakfast—which might have been better translated as
something like “The Married Couple’s House”—is the fourth in the series of Truffaut’s
films featuring his loveable character Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Léaud). In
this installment, Antoine has finally married to a lover from the previous
film, Stolen Kisses, Christine
(Claude Jade). If, as Roger Ebert suggested, we might have expected him to grow
up as a special and gifted figure given his youthful life on the streets, he is
now fully one of the bourgeois, happily ensconced in conjugal life and working
at a job that is at least moving in the direction of the artistic life he will
eventually embrace—although even if his artistry here is all about pretense.
Working for a nearby flower-seller, Antoine is kept busy dying carnations red
and blue, and attempting to discover new mixes and methods to give customers
the colors they desire.
He and Christine live in a noisy courtyard apartment, with neighbors
like a practicing opera tenor (Daniel Boulanger); another who refuses to leave
his apartment until Petain is dead and buried, who calls down his messages to
Antoine in a booming voice; and a nearby bar maid, who is clearly desperate in
her attempts to get Antoine into her bed. Without a telephone, the couple must
involve the local bar and their clientele in their everyday communications, and
they live, accordingly, in a world a whistles, hoots, and shouts. Adding to
this cacophony is Christine, who, being closer to a true artist—a
violinist—brings in money by teaching children how to play, despite their
mothers’ sometimes purposeful forgetfulness to pay her.
In fact, one of the running gags of the film—which unfortunately are far
too preponderate—is how acquaintances financially take advantage of the
friendly couple, particularly of Antoine, by asking for loans which they
promise to, but obviously will never pay back.
Yet it hardly seems to trouble the couple that who pacifically survive
on very little: they dine with Christine’s loving parents quite often, and
when, at one point late in the film, they run out of food, they dine on their
baby’s supper, feeding each other like the children they both still are, spoonfuls
of mashed apples and other fruits. In short, they get on the way many young
couples do, taking joy in their own slightly bohemian life while basking in the
light of each other’s open love.
When Antoine’s flower-dyeing business fails, he, through a series of
accidental misunderstandings, is hired by an American manufacturer who,
evidently to represent his business interests to clients, has created a toy
ocean, replete with industrially-based harbors and other portside constructions
through which Antoine is asked, in his new position, to maneuver toy cargo
ships and other ocean-going vessels by remote control. He is, after all, as the
film signals, still a child at heart.
And while he truly loves Christine, he not yet cured himself of his
wandering eye, which catches the returned glance of a Japanese tourist, Kyoko
(Hiroko Berghauer) who visits his facility, accidentally (?) dropping her
bracelet into the miniature ocean which he oversees. Fascinated by her, Antoine
retrieves the bracelet and returns it to her. Kyoko is just as determined to
get Antoine into bed as his neighborly bar maid, and, acting out with
geisha-like modesty—we get a glimpse of another version of her personality as,
dressed a leather skirt and open blouse, she tells her roommate, in Japanese
only, to get out so she can have the man to herself—plots to get Antoine into the
sack. Before you can say “domo arigato”
she has succeeded. And soon after the birth of their child, Alphonse (a name
willfully changed from her desired choice by Antoine) Christine begins to
suspect as much—only to have the entire affair revealed as a bouquet of flowers
Kyoko has sent to Antoine, blooms, the small rolled messages she has hidden
within the closed blossoms, spilling out onto the dining table.
Furious with the turn of events, Christine behaves not at all like an
accommodating French housewife, but banishes her husband from her bed—and
ultimately from her daily life. Soon bored with his mistress, Antoine would
love to return, but Christine remains uncertain; and, by film’s end, even if a
temporary reconcilement has appeared to have occurred, we know that the
relationship can longer last. Antoine has related to the gifted Christine as a
sister, a lover, and a mother, but forgotten that she would love to be simply
his wife.
Los Angeles, May 9, 2015
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (May 2015).
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