A film set in Italy, filmed in German and made by a French director – The Marquise of O is an anomaly of a film, but in the best way possible. Éric Rohmer was a director whose output throughout his career was nothing short of extraordinary, both in the stories he told and how he told them. A director who was primarily concerned with character as opposed to visual flair, he was a perpetual maestro of meaningful stories, spinning tales of ordinary people at different times in history, and their various relationships with those around them. Based on a well-known German historical novel, his adaptation of The Marquise of O is an astonishing piece, a period drama that is equal parts beautiful romance and intense mystery, and one that sees Rohmer continuing to establish himself as a director of considerable intricacy, creating an intimate, simple film that is nonetheless exceptionally gorgeous, beautifully moving and profound interesting. Its a film that moves at a very measured, simple pace and never extends far beyond the confines of the genre, but it also makes full use of all its potential and flourishes into a deeply audacious character drama that may be set in an entirely different century, but still feels so fresh and inventive, even by today’s standards. One of Rohmer’s greatest strengths as a director was to consistently take ordinary stories and mould them into compelling, unique pieces with an unembellished but meaningful energy that ultimately results in them becoming some of the most audacious works of their respective eras.

The Marquise (Edith Clever) is a young widow living in Northern Italy just before the nineteenth century. Her parents (Edda Seippel and Peter Lühr) are affluent members of the nobility and have worked hard to ensure their strong social standing. One night, when an attack befalls their citadel, the Marquise is almost assaulted by a group of soldiers. She is saved by The Count (Bruno Ganz), a dashing but enigmatic young man who rescues her and ensures her safety. He finds himself falling in love with her, and requests her hand in marriage – but the Marquise is steadfast in her conviction that she will never remarry, rather opting to raise her two children on her own, with the assistance of her parents. However, when it is soon revealed that she is pregnant, she is exiled from her home, as her parents don’t believe her that she does not know how she came to be with another child, especially considering she has absolutely no memory of ever being with another man since the death of her husband. The Marquise and her parents engage in an investigation to the identity of the unborn child’s father, who most likely impregnated the titular character the night of the attack after she had been given a sleeping draught. It could be absolutely anyone – one of the low-level soldiers, a servant in the household, or perhaps even the Count himself, whose ardent admiration for the Marquise creates confusion, because the likelihood of a man of such dignity and virtue also being a deviant who would take advantage of a sleeping woman does not seem quite right. Regardless of the culprit’s identity, its a turn of events that threatens to bring shame to the influential family, and the only way to remedy the situation is for the Marquise and the unknown father to be wed to save the family’s reputation. However, will the mysterious figure have the courage to come forward?

Rohmer was a director whose style was very much minimalistic, with his very best films demonstrating that very few filmmakers exemplified the concept of “less is more” than Rohmer. Even working with material from outside his typical style, as well as not in his native language, the director managed to apply his simple approach to storytelling with The Marquise of O, opting for a film that is more theatrical than we’d normally see, but not in terms of flamboyancy, but rather in intimacy and minimalism. There’s not much to this film in terms of visual style other than the gorgeous costumes, which are perhaps the aesthetic highlight of the film. Its not rare for these kinds of period dramas to have astounding costume design – after all, there are no shortage of artworks that depict the fashion at the time, so it would be relatively easy to replicate these costumes without much speculation. However, beyond this, Rohmer keeps everything else relatively low-key, with a complete absence of a soundtrack lending the film a peculiar empathy, allowing the audience to feel more immersed in the story, as if we are witnessing these scandalous discussions and moments of fiery passion and rage, not merely as passive spectators, but as active voyeurs, peering into these parlours and countryside gardens where the story unfolds. Rohmer is often praised as one of the great cinematic minimalists, where his films are suitably unpretentious and modest without ever being dull – a case could be made that he helped establish the genre of independent filmmaking known as mumblecore, whereby focus is on character, dialogue and interpersonal relationship, with the story, while existent, being almost n0n-existent. Even though on the surface, The Marquise of O appears to be a lavish, lush period romance, it is a lot more unornamented than other films of this ilk from the era, which is a terrific merit, because while others may find their themes getting lost in the shuffle of the gorgeous visuals, this film finds itself presenting us with a stark and modest tale.

The Marquise of O also features a great early performance from the brilliant Bruno Ganz (whose Swiss background adds yet another layer of internationality to this already multicultural film), and he is stunningly good as The Count, a man of ambigious morals and even more mysterious motives, who finds himself being both the hero and villain of the Marquise’s story, the reason and solution for her plight, and the person who causes her pain and uplifts her in times of need. One of the most admirable aspects of The Marquise of O is that these characters are so much more complex than the archetypes they represent – The Count is neither a cad nor the dashing image of chivalry, but rather something in between, and his role in the story is pivotal but not essential – he disappears for a considerable amount of time, and while his return is welcome (all due to the exceptional portrayal by Ganz, whose vaguely-vampiric features really suit the character and his enigmatic background well), it isn’t the impetus for the best parts of the film. Edith Clever, as the titular character, is also quite impressive, playing the role as a blend of Catherine Sloper from Washington Square and nearly all of Jane Austen’s female protagonists, featuring the independence of the former and the vulnerability of the latter. However, what differentiates her from other female characters of the time is her independence – she is steadfast, fiercely intent on her abilities to be self-sufficient, and her fiery belief in herself, rather than choosing to be defined by a man. I am not sure how much of this is due to the source material (which I admittedly haven’t read) or through Rohmer’s interpretation of the character, with the director having a strong history of giving his female characters a lot more depth and nuance than some of his contemporaries. The Marquise of O is like any of the director’s films – driven almost entirely by characters, and thus dependent on the performances. The cast of this film is kept quite small (the central ensemble consists of only about five actors) but they all deliver enthralling performances that service the story perfectly and allow it to flourish on its own merits, rather than depending on other superficial factors.

Ultimately, The Marquise of O is a terrific film. Rohmer was someone who was fully in control of his craft to the point where he could convincingly make a period piece in German (both elements that were quite new to him as a filmmaker, with this film being his first foray into historical storytelling). The result is a very simple but poetic exercise in investigating the human condition – pulsating throughout this minimalistic film is a powerful sense of humane urgency, whereby we are introduced to these complex characters undergoing some crisis, resolving it through their various socio-cultural methods in order to save their own reputation, without ever fully committing to their underlying desires. The Marquise of O is an extraordinarily subtle film, which is part and parcel for the director and his extraordinary oeuvre, where he would perpetually opt for something meaningful than beautiful. It does help that this film possesses a breathtaking beauty, with gorgeous costumes and wonderful production design working towards the broader thematic content that allows this film to be a wonderfully effective piece of period filmmaking. It is an excellent film that deftly defies melodrama, and flourishes into a beautiful, enthralling film that represents an experimental departure for Rohmer, who makes something truly gripping and even more fascinating.