The mobile phone has killed many things but what it has taken from us most of all is the opportunity to make films like La Femme Infidele, Claude Chabrol's 1968 teasing examination of a nuclear family imploding.
You see, with a mobile phone, Helene wouldn't be able to trick Charles into believing she was going to get manicures, haircuts and afternoons watching Dr Zhivago (only a film person could fit in this guilty pleasure). Because with a mobile phone, Helene would be traceable and not the free spirit she plays as a foil to her housewife role in the family's rustic mansion in Versailles. A mobile phone would stop Helene from hanging out with Victor Pengel, a writer on the run from reality .
Charles knows that Helene's love is his in as much as he wants it but he sees that his passion isn't making her happy. He is like a lovelorn person blasted into the late sixties from another time and world. Not for him the swinging sixties as he shows at the kitsch disco when he is seen like a little boy lost looking for Helene. Charles doesn't really want all this free love thing either. He belongs to a one man one woman tradition that goes back to the Middle Ages.
In the middle of the family is the young son, Michel, who, not surprisingly gets a top of the class in a history test, gets all steamed up when he can't find a jigsaw piece and is not afraid to tell his parents that he thinks they are mad.
The telling scenes in this film are when the three family members are together. Slurping soup, breaking open champagne (the day Michel gets top of the class and the same day that Charles finds out the identity of his wife's adulterer ) or lounging around the garden of the rustic mansion. Chabrol seems to be saying that the family is careering away from the members like a train without a brake.
So what are we to make of this film ? Murder mystery it isn't. The murder is almost funny and the attempts by Charles to get rid of the body are definitely so. A portrait of the sixties ? No, only if you like imagining that rich businessmen drank whisky all day while their wives dodged between the raindrops and the cute Peugeots that looked like spacecraft. The kitschy feeling enhances the film as does the music (all ominous classical) because it takes the viewer directly into the world of Helene and Charles.
Who cares if there are no mobile phones buzzing around reminding us to bring home a bottle of Mateus Rose or a bottle of Scotch ? Who cares if we can't explain what it is we do to pass the hours of our day ? Who cares if we have affairs ( how old is that ?) with resting writers ? Who cares if our secretaries come in with mini skirts up to their neck asking us if we want a beer ? This is what cinema is all about or rather once was all about.