Directed by Barbet Schroeder. Written by Paul Voujargol and Barbet Schroeder
Some house cats live in delusion. Often the center of their small universe, they enjoy an easy life of prepared meals, housing, and scratches on demand. Yet, any open front door comes to them as a shimmering opportunity for some life they think so much better. I am fierce and have no need for anyone, they think to themselves, as they bolt for freedom, dodging their owner’s hands. Come sunrise, they’re back, desperately pawing at the front door.
Barbet Schroeder’s Maîtresse, the story of a petty thief’s affair with a BDSM dominatrix, is such a house cat. Provocative and bold, it appears a subversive story of a self-possessed woman who puts men underfoot, literally and figuratively, but Schroeder’s movie turns heel at the goal line. So much bluster from a yellowbelly.
Olivier (Gérard Depardieu) is a small-time crook who goes along with another dimwit to do some robbing. One robbery sees them caught by the mistress of the house, and just when they’re sitting there chained to a radiator looking at a prison stint, Olivier is asked by the mistress to help degrade a man she’s got sucking on the heel of her boot.
For reasons known only to Schroeder and writer Paul Voujargol, it marks the beginning of a romance, and as the relationship deepens and becomes entangled in her salacious profession, tensions grow. Olivier’s a little overwhelmed by life in her den of sin at first, but his timidity gives way to an arrogant entitlement to the default power dynamic between men and women. Ariane (Bulle Ogier), who lives by herself, and lives well due to her work, supports her son through a connection with some industry titan, and it’s not certain what irks Olivier more: the fact he’s living like Ariane’s lap dog, or that she has a mysterious relationship with another man.
A lighthearted affair rooted in sexual liberation soon gets bogged down in middle-class patriarchal gender expectations. Who gets their way?
The premise promises an inside look at the darker recesses of human sexuality, and Schroeder doesn’t peer through his fingers when it comes to the BDSM elements of Maîtresse. He straps you down and makes you watch. It’s not for the squeamish, and for those who believe in horse welfare and the inviolable sanctity of one’s private parts, I’d suggest you steer clear entirely.
It’s revelatory and scintillating in that sense, but beyond the shock factor there’s an equally arresting wrestling match between Olivier and Ariane to behold as she insists on her work, the value she finds in it, and independence she enjoys, while Olivier just wants to feel in control. It almost lets you forget Schroeder didn’t convincingly establish this contentious relationship in the first place.
Unfortunately, an infuriating climax sees petty bourgeois attitudes triumph and the bait-and-switch of Maîtresse is a cinematic act of sadism as its renegation of its established ethos reveals it as the act of humiliation it ultimately is. Unapologetic and exceptional women like Ariane deserve better, and the groundbreaking depiction of a sexual subculture sort of did too.
Mikkel Frederiksen 