AMID ALL THE RETROSPECTIVE ARTICLES ON FIFTY YEARS OF THE FRENCH NEW WAVE, IT’S EASY TO FORGET THAT CLAUDE CHABROL, ONE OF THE PIONEERS OF THAT STORIED ERA, IS NOT ONLY STILL WITH US BUT REGULARLY TURNING OUT WORK WHICH SUGGESTS LITTLE DIMINUTION OF HIS NOT INCONSIDERABLE POWERS.

The old master’s touch is certainly evident in this latest missile elegantly lobbed in the direction of the French class system, which, as the title suggests, follows the travails of an innocent young woman torn between two powerfully different lovers. Ludivine Sagnier, a seductive screen presence in François Ozon’s Swimming Pool, here shows another facet of her talent, ambitious yet also tragically naive as a wannabe social climber with terrible taste in men. Firstly, she finds herself falling for famed author François Berleand, a greying roue who exploits his literary-celebrity status while using her as a plaything, and only later does Benoît Magimel enter the frame as the petulant heir to a pharmaceuticals fortune. She thinks she’s manipulating them, but, alas, it soon becomes apparent that the reverse is true.

Of course, there’s exquisitely skewed comedy of manners here, since we can see disaster looming a mile off, yet also an undertow of suspense as Chabrol carefully controls the string of revelations which agonisingly morph romantic misapprehensions into the stuff of tragedy. The central trio are note-perfect in their roles, yet, arguably, the film’s main pleasure is its fuss-free storytelling, which sketches in characters and situations with unfailing, utterly assured economy. When you’re this good, you just don’t need to show off. — Trevor Johnston.