LADY
CHATTERLEY ****
By GUY FLATLEY
CAST:
Marina Hands, Jean-Louis Coulloc’h, Hippolyte Girardot, Helene
Alexandridis, Helene Fillieres
DIRECTOR:
Pascale Ferran
SCREENWRITERS:
Pascale Ferran and Roger Bohbot

Could
a contemporary filmmaker who is French and female possibly provide
a fresh take on “Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” the
D. H. Lawrence portrait of a secret, scorchingly erotic affair that
shocked the socks off staid Brits back in 1928? Mais oui!
And that’s precisely what Pascale Ferran has done with this
thunderbolt of a movie. Along with co-screenwriter Roger Bohbot,
she has explored the psychological depths and carnal splendors of
“John Thomas and Lady Jane”--an earlier draft of “Lady
Chatterley’s Lover” which was not published until 1972--and
worked an audacious, exhilarating cinematic miracle.
You’re familiar with the plot, of course: The gracious and
beautiful Constance (played here with a subtle blend of strength
and vulnerability by Marina Hands) is an aristocrat with a substantial
inheritance of her own who has married the even wealthier Clifford
Chatterley (Hippolyte Girardot). Sir Clifford owns a mine, keeps
a cool distance from his miners, lives elegantly on his lush, tasteful
estate and never doubts for a second that he merits his position
as a member of England’s ruling class. Like others of that
privileged breed, he served his country as an army officer during
World War I. And he displayed stiff-upper-lip stoicism about the
crippling battle wound that made him sexually impotent and left
his young bride a virtual virgin.
Small wonder that Lady Chatterley, who plays nurse to her husband
and hostess to his priggish friends at formal dinner parties, becomes
ill herself, experiencing extreme lethargy and a persistent sadness
she struggles to conceal. Eventually, she takes to her bed and Mrs.
Bolton (Helene Alexandridas), a professional nurse, joins the household.
Not only does this kind lady perform splendidly for Sir Clifford,
but one day she does his wife the favor of a lifetime by urging
her to walk through a lovely glade on the estate, past a shimmering
lake, and on to a serene field by the gamekeeper’s cottage
where she can behold a delicate profusion of early-blossoming spring
flowers.
Constance also beholds for the first, though certainly not last,
time Oliver Parkin (Jean-Louis Coulloc’h), the gamekeeper
her husband refers to as “uncouth.” In truth, Oliver
is more timid than rude, a man whose bluntness can give way to tenderness
in a mysterious instant. And, as the initially puzzled and then
dazzled Lady Chatterley discovers on a subsequent, life-changing
visit to the gamekeeper’s cottage, a touch of tenderness at
the right moment can build and erupt with volcanic force, spinning
ingrained numbness into a frenzy of physical and spiritual liberation.
Rarely, if ever, has the power of sex to link two people--to transform
their lives and the way they regard the world around them and to
reinvent themselves--been presented on screen with such intelligence,
sensuality and vigor. There are a half dozen sex scenes in the film,
most of them totally nude and unashamedly graphic, and each of them
adding a new dimension to the relationship between Lady Chatterley
and her strapping, surprisingly complex lover. The third scene,
in which Constance is transported for the first time in her life
by the mystical shock of orgasm and then joyfully thanks Oliver
for the precious gift, is amazing--because it seems altogether real
as opposed to well acted, and because it is poignant, funny and
triumphantly pure.
Pascale Ferran has taken huge risks in telling this sex story which
grows, without strain or pretense, into a genuinely rewarding love
story. She makes you long for Constance and Oliver, her lower-class
lover who is actually in a class all his own, to seal their bond
and embark on a journey to freedom.
Of course, this is true partly because of Ferran’s leading
players. As Lady Chatterley and her body-and-soul mate, Marina Hands
and Jean-Louis Coulloc’h are good for the heart. And not at
all bad on the eyes.
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