Director: Francois Ozon
Cast: Catherine Deneuve, Gerard Depardieu, Fabrice Luchini
Certificate: 15
Running time: 103 minutes
Plot: When her husband is taken hostage by his striking employees, a trophy wife (Deneuve) takes the reins of the family business and proves to be a remarkably effective leader. Business and personal complications arrive in the form of her ex-lover (Depardieu), a former union leader.
1977 provides the political landscape for a seemingly kitsch and candy coated tale of defiant feminism in Potiche, (trophy wife). Acclaimed Francois Ozon (Swimming Pool, 8 Women) pours leading lady Catherine Deneuve into a palette of block colours, bathing her in psychedelic lights and fur lined glitz as she delivers a resplendent performance as Suzanne Pujol, bourgeois housewife. Much like her similarly titled character Severine of the seminal creation that was Belle de Jour, Deneuve once more assumes the embodiment of female empowerment, relinquishing her domestic duties to quite literally seize Severine’s whip forged of youth and sexuality as she runs with the trophy : vive vintage Suzanne, ‘Le Patron!’
The film’s central locus 1977 France is hugely emblematic as we watch the transformation and awakening of Deneuve’s character unfold. The year spills with zeitgeist – the final execution by guillotine, the landslide victory of Communist/Socialist coalition offset by a national Eurovision win evoke all the blood and flowers associated with female emancipation. It is against this backdrop that we can perhaps better understand the deceptive frivolity of Potiche – like Deneuve’s character, there is more to the script than mere bouffant and amusement. Somewhere nestled between Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Simone de Beauvoir’s La Femme Rompue and Le Gazon Maudit (1995, Josiane Balasko), lies Potiche – a little ornamental charm which sparkles and dances and makes a girl smile broad like Monroe.
Like a Disney princess aligned with beauty and fantasy, we first see a red tracksuited Suzanne jogging amidst the flora and fauna of her perfect existence as wife and mother. She notes her innocuous poems and converses with birds, admires the confines of her chosen path only to be met with the comedic vision of two randy rabbits indulging in a spot of in flagrante canoodling: queue reality and the bourgeois spell is broken.This scene resonates throughout the rest of the film as Suzanne becomes the inverted fairytale princess, director of her fate. Faced by the inept dealings of her philandering husband Robert and his subsequent ill health, Suzanne, under the counsel of a former lover, trusty Communist and cinema stalwart Monsieur Babin (Gerard Depardieu), takes the helm of her father’s umbrella factory and steers it to safety, sealing her political triumph. By the end of the film, Deneuve’s place as captivating screen siren is firmly anchored as we see Suzanne seducing her audience on the stage: a political platform reminiscent of Eurovision and nod to the rise and demise of an actresses’ ephemeral career.
The film treats the matter of feminist politics by cleverly adopting the factory workers’ strike as a mouth piece for women’s lib. The simple demands of the workers: better pay, conditions, a new lavatory all mimic the silent battle of the film’s downtrodden female presence. Where the male blue collar voice is loud and active, the female counterpart is muted and squeezed into dulcet, pacifying tones regulated by the dominant male. Flanked by a triptych of female archetypes (mother, daughter, mistress) Robert is nursed back to good health, only to be replaced as head honcho and served a slice of quiche/humble pie as he is comforted by the voice of inane daytime television clearly aimed at the female demographic: housewife.
By now, Suzanne has shed her domestic uniform and dons a dazzling display of russet suits and lipstick to full effect. Her poetry book has found new meaning as filofax echoing Babin’s words ‘the personal is political these days’ as her individual voice evolves into the arena of self empowerment. There is also a fair dose of shape shifting amongst the female roles as the three central female characters jostle for position. The term ‘une autre femme ‘ provides an essential and charged ingredient to the mix as Ozon explores the notion of multiple identities and shift in perspectives. Robert’s assistant/whore, the red headed ‘eye of Moscow’ transcends her menial role as secretary/male play thing and follows Suzanne’s lead, treading a fast track journey of self reinvention: mistress, wife ‘I’ll take your place Mme Pujole’ and finally right hand man to Le Patron herself. As the recipient of a box of Turkish delight, Karin Viard’s brilliant Nadege reeks her revenge by spitting out the vitriolic poetry of a scorned secretary and plays renegade, creating one of the wittiest scenes of the film.
Suzanne’s daughter however is set in stark apposition to these two figures, as she assumes the very identity that she first eschews ‘a trophy wife’ bound by the needs and whims of her errant spouse, also perhaps betrayed by her sex. Here, the film throws up another twist in its multi faceted message: women can strive for equality in the workplace and home, women can be well paid and promiscuous, but can they truly escape the enslavement of their own bodies?
The transition of identities and theme of renaissance abounds within Ozon’s work. The transition of seasons mirrors the mobility of identities and class; the fluidity of relationships and currency of words. In true Lacanian style, Mother nature proves herself as the ultimate force, lending her name and not the father’s to a child’s identity. A surname equals self questioning whereas the mother’s role affords Self. The ‘absent father’ is clearly something which preoccupies Ozon here , a playful treatment of the symbolic order and theoretical construct Name-of-the-Father (Nom du père).
Given the relationship established between Suzanne and her adoringly effeminate son, Ozon seems to be gently flirting here with some serious object-relations theory, again reflected in Mr Babin’s reiterated words ‘the personal is political these days.’ The film is littered with objects, ornaments ‘potiche,’umbrellas, woman objectified and moulded into a subordinate being ready for manufacture, ownership and disposal. Like the fleeting beauty of a rose, women/actresses are perceived as little more than milking cows sized up and locked into a line of supply and demand. The conveyor belt reference suggests Ozon’s contempt for the bourgeois and capitalist society carved by men like Robert Pujol. Where the governing male brings chaos and uprising, woman affords diplomacy and peace. The yin yang effect doesn’t end there: the panoply of personas assumed by an actor in its wide spectrum of reinvention is perhaps similarly at the forefront of Ozon’s creation.
So, a little sprinkling of Oedipus here, a peppering of Elektra/Madonna-whore complex there and ‘Badaboum!’ disco inferno buffoonery abounds. Potiche provides a palatable confection for its audience – it is bright and funny and sexy: it is big hair, short skirt and high heels. Which is precisely why it works – artfully crafted, the power of this comedy lies within its seeming simplicity. It might appear all feckless frolics, but beneath lies a steely message about relationships between characters, between the actor and audience and ultimately voicing the relationship between author and self. Don’t be deterred by the subtitles – it’s a national treasure.
