Review: The Duke of Burgundy
Peter Strickland's third feature, The Duke of Burgundy, opens with a cloaked woman whose name we later learn is Evelyn (Chiara D'Anna). She sits by a stream, looking at the sun-dappled leaves as they rustle in the wind. The setting is familiar yet mysterious; there is a strong whisperings of otherworldliness in the corners of the composition. Then the opening credits begin - a procession of images freeze framed and colour-washed that are a definite evocation of the European cinema, particularly the arty erotica, of the Sixties and Seventies.
Evelyn arrives at an ivy-covered mansion in the countryside, where the forbidding Cynthia (Sidse Babett Knudsen) greets her with a chilly, "You're late." From there, Cynthia directs Evelyn to clean the study, then to massage her stockinged feet, and finally to wash her underthings. When Cynthia discovers an errant pair of underwear, she leads Evelyn behind the glass-paneled door of the bathroom for her punishment. The act itself is left to our imagination, but there is a reason why Cynthia drinks copious amounts of water.
What appears to be a straightforward BDSM relationship between the submissive Evelyn and the dominant Cynthia proves slightly more complicated upon closer inspection. The mistress-servant routine is a role-playing ritual between the two lovers who, once it's over, are quite tender and loving with one another. Cynthia is not the stern master but, in many ways, the real slave in their relationship. It is Evelyn who defines the rules of their game play, providing detailed instructions on the number of seconds to wait before answering the door, the specific time window when Cynthia can present her with her birthday surprise ("Within 24 hours. But not in the 1st hour because that wouldn't be a surprise. And not within the last hour either."), and even purchasing Cynthia's sumptuous wardrobe, some of which are so complicated that Cynthia complains she needs an instruction manual to put them on.
Yet what once was the engine of passion is taking its toll on the two women. The strain is most marked on Cynthia, whose bad back would prefer to be encased in comfy pyjamas instead of constraining corsets. Her declarations of genuine love are sidelined by Evelyn. The young woman, dedicated to sexual fulfillment, would much rather masturbate to Cynthia's reprimands and gain satisfaction from being bound and locked in a trunk. Her exasperated "Yes" when Cynthia asks if she can breathe inside the small space is amusing. It must be said that The Duke of Burgundy is possessed of many funny moments, not the least of which are the opening credits, which include listings for perfume (Je suis Gizella) and lingerie (Andrea Flesch), to the end credits featuring all of the insects seen in order of their appearance.
Yes, the insects. Cynthia is an entomologist, and their home is filled with display cases of pinned butterflies. (The title refers to a small brown and orange butterfly mostly found in southern England.) The captured beauties are another symbol of the throughline of restraint that reigns over Strickland's film. The British director has crafted a gorgeous tribute to directors like Jess Franco, Tinto Brass, and Jean Rollin - all masters of the often lurid and cheesy, but highly stylised, soft-core porn and horror melodrama. Strickland is a remorseless aesthete, and the world of The Duke of Burgundy is a specialised and artificially populated one. Not a male is to be sighted, and all inhabitants are devoted to the study of moths and butterflies, the various sounds of which they listen to at the local institute. (Note the handful of obvious mannequins sprinkled in the audience; their inclusion may have been due to budgetary constraints, but their presence only adds to the heightened artifice.)
The film is full of reflected and fragmented imagery, highlighting the multiple masks worn by the core couple as well as their divide. The refractory effect also mimics the way Strickland acknowledges his cinematic influences. The butterflies recall William Wyler's The Collector, another tale of obsession gone awry. The look of the enigmatic Carpenter (Fatma Mohamed), who arrives to take measurements for a constricting bed, summons memories of Musidora's Irma Vep in her pallor, Delphine Seyrig's feathered cloak in Last Year at Marienbad in her costume, and both Silvana Mangano and Mariangela Melato in her facial features. The film's structure of having the women inject their scripted exchanges with the subtlest of variations relates it to Jacques Rivette's Celine and Julie Go Boating. Some scenes even hark back to the unsettling dread of Rosemary's Baby.
The Duke of Burgundy may be a rigorous exercise in fetishistic cinema, but it is more than its influences and sometimes even transcends itself. Strickland welcomes viewers into the realm of the senses, a kingdom where we can practically feel the silk of Cynthia's stockings and hear each beat of a butterfly wing. Then there are the two actresses, whose faces one could gaze upon for hours without tiring. D'Anna paints a simultaneously frightful and comical portrait of petulance. Knudsen, best known as the Prime Minister in the Danish political drama Borgen, delivers a bravura turn as the besotted paramour on the verge of emotional collapse.
The Duke of Burgundy
Directed by: Peter Strickland
Written by: Peter Strickland
Starring: Sidse Babett Knudsen, Chiara D'Anna, Fatma Mohamed, Monica Swinn
