Cast: Isabelle Huppert, Vincent Martinez, Vincent Lindon, Marthe Keller, Danièle Dubroux
Director: Benoit Jacquot
Producers: Patrick Quinet, Fabienne Tsaï, Fabienne Vonier, Claude Waringo
Screenplay: Jacques Fieschi, based on the novel by Yukio Mishima
Cinematography: Caroline Champetier
U.S. Distributor: Stratosphere Entertainment
In French with subtitles
Benoit Jacquot's The School of Flesh (L'ecole de la Chair) is about the torrid affair between an older woman, Dominique (Isabelle Huppert), and a man about 15 years her junior, Quentin (Vincent Martinez). In an American film, the age gap would lie at the heart of things, with all other issues being subordinate (see How Stella Got Her Groove Back for an example). The French, however, have a somewhat more relaxed view of sex, and the May/December concept is neither foreign nor socially questionable. Consequently, although there's a significant difference between Dominique and Quentin's ages, The School of Flesh is only minimally concerned with this. Instead, the primary focus in on everything else that transpires in their thorny relationship.
This is not a love story or a romance, at least not in the conventional sense. There's lust, sex, and need, but no real love. The School of Flesh is about power struggles and sexual obsession. It's about the need to control, to get the upper hand. And it's a character study of two essentially lonely people groping for some sense of fulfillment. As in an earlier film, Seventh Heaven, Jacquot details a woman's desperate quest to connect with someone or something. Like many of us, Dominique is searching, and, also like many of us, she doesn't really know what she's searching for. What she finds is Quentin, a bisexual hustler working as a bartender/gigolo at a gay nightclub. For a price, he'll go home with anyone - male or female. Dominique is intrigued, and it doesn't take long for that fascination to metamorphose into something darker and more demanding. She buys Quentin's services and they have sex. She's instantly addicted; he knows it, and exploits his position of power, both emotionally and physically. Dominique, used to being in complete control, has become a pawn. She buys her lover new clothes, pays off his debts, and he moves in with her. But, as in any relationship, healthy or unhealthy, the tides of power begin to shift as Quentin finds his attraction to and dependence upon Dominique growing.
The most important element dividing Dominique and Quentin is social class: she's a self-possessed, successful fashion executive who's used to knowing, and getting, what she wants; he's a scavenger who ekes out a living however he can. Emotionally, they're both cold and shielded. It's hard to imagine either of these two being involved in a "normal" relationship. Often, sexual interaction is referred to as a dance; in this case, it's more like a sword fight or a boxing match. Dominique and Quentin face off against one another, trading blows, thrusting and parrying, waiting to see who will be standing at the end. When Quentin's table manners are unacceptable (he picks up a fish off his plate) at a fashionable restaurant, Dominique gives him a verbal thrashing. On a different occasion, when she's waiting for him, he studiously ignores her in favor of an arcade game. And so it goes, back and forth, with both combatants afraid of showing vulnerability but unable to avoid doing so.
Jacquot knows exactly where to place his camera to best capture the moment. His perspective, which becomes ours, is detached but revealing - this is not a film where we get inside the characters' heads. As in The Single Girl and the previously mentioned Seventh Heaven, Jacquot allows us to be silent observers. Isabelle Huppert, one of France's most prominent actresses (recently seen opposite a much older Michel Serrault in Claude Chabrol's The Swindle), is perfect for the part. Like Virginie Ledoyen in A Single Girl, she acts with her eyes. In this case, "windows to the soul" is a perfect description. As cold and impassive as Dominique's features are, her eyes, seemingly always on the verge of leaking tears, tell the real story. Newcomer Vincent Martinez, although not as expressive or expert in his acting as his seasoned co-star, is competent.
The School of Flesh is based on a novel by Japanese author Yukio Mishima, and it's clear that Jacquot understands the material. This is a film to be enjoyed on a psychological level for its keen understanding of the contradictory impulses that drive sexual and social intercourse. The film is also smart enough to leave unanswered many of the questions it poses. The School of Flesh is not interested in exploring the melodramatic possibilities of Dominique and Quentin's relationship. Instead, the camera quietly observes these two, relying upon the viewer to make judgments and draw conclusions.
© 1999 James Berardinelli