Based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel, “The Talented Mr.
Ripley,” the picture stars Alain Delon in his prime, along with Marie Laforêt (a pop singer making her screen debut), and one of France’s finest character actors, Maurice Ronet. Clément co-wrote the screenplay with Paul Gégauff, Claude Chabrol’s main scriptwriter throughout the 1960s and ‘70s. (Chabrol reportedly had little use for Clément, an adherent to the classic forms that the nouvelle vague were then in the process of eradicating.
)
It’s a curious tale of murder, a crime of passion committed by Delon’s disturbed Tom Ripley. Rather than take the convenient route of logic, Clément and Gégauff use Ripley’s madness as a point of reference and build from there. Shot outdoors in the blistering sun or in overlit, sweltering hotel rooms, the picture is tinged with a brusque lack of discipline, mirroring the instability of a man in search of character and acceptance.
Delon’s systematic theft of Ronet’s identity enables the script to explore the humiliation and degradation that have dogged his rootless existence. One beautifully acted scene, in which Delon pretends to be Ronet in front of a mirror, was reworked by Gégauff eight years later in his screenplay for Chabrol’s Les Biches.
A prophetic tale of adultery, power struggles and lies destroying a marriage, it co-starred Gégauff’s actual wife, Danièle, and their daughter, Clemence. Eight years later, in real life, Danièle stabbed her sixty-one-year-old husband to death.)
Clément spent most of his career riding on the reputation of his one acknowledged classic, Jeux interdits (Forbidden Games, 1952), and had something of a hit in 1966 with Paris brûle-t-il?
(Is Paris Burning?). Plein soleil — titled Purple Noon in America, the color representing the hue of the Mediterranean where the action takes place — benefits from the invaluable contributions of cinematographer Henri Decaë (on the heels of his successful run of Bob le flambeur, Ascenseur pour l'échafaud, Les Quatre cents coups and Les Cousins) and editor Françoise Javet.
They lend Plein soleil a flavor never to be duplicated in any of the director’s subsequent pictures.
The only sound that’s left, after the ambulances go
Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm Bob Dylan, 1974
Bob Dylan — guitar, piano, harmonica, vocals
Robbie Robertson — guitar, drums, vocals
Rick Danko — bass, fiddle, vocals
Richard Manuel — piano, drums, vocals
Garth Hudson — organ, piano
(Levon Helm also appears on some tracks)
Recorded in 1967
1. Four Strong Winds
2.
The French Girl #1 #2
3. Joshua Gone Barbados
4. I Forgot to Remember to Forget
5.
You Win Again
6. Still in Town
7. Waltzing with Sin
8.
Big River
9. Folsom Prison Blues
10. Bells of Rhymney
11.
Nine Hundred Miles
12. No Shoes on My Feet
13. Spanish is the Loving Tongue
14.
On a Rainy Afternoon
15. I Can't Come in with a Broken Heart
16. Under Control
17.
Ol' Roison the Beau
18. I'm Guilty of Loving You
19. Johnny Todd
20.
Cool Water
21. Banks of the Royal Canal
22. Po' Lazarus
Can you ID this scene?
Good question. We’ve been approached to see if anyone in the audience can make an identification. Janice says it could have been a French film made in the 1930’s or 40’s, but she’s not sure.
If the scene looks familiar, please leave your answers in the comment box below, or e-mail them to .
JC and Boy Toy (click to enlarge)
Vibrations bounce in no direction…
Michelle Phillips, stoned and stunning
I used to play it and stare out my bedroom window into the forest across the road, imagining the lyrics coming to life, a parade of California blondes in frayed blue jeans, sandals and sweatshirts hiking into the canyons of my mind. And they all looked like Michelle Phillips.
John Phillips wrote the music and these slightly lysergic lyrics:
I used to live in New York City
Everything there was dark and dirty
Outside my window was a steeple
With a clock that always said twelve-thirty
Young girls are coming to the canyon
And in the mornings I can see them walkin'
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn
And I can't keep myself from talkin'
At first so strange to feel so friendly
To say "Good mornin'" and really mean it
To feel these changes happenin' in me
But not to notice till I feel it
Young girls are coming to the canyon
And in the mornings I can see them walkin'
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn
And I can't keep myself from talkin'
Cloudy waters cast no reflection
Images of beauty lie there stagnant
Vibrations bounce in no direction
But lie there shattered into fragments
Young girls are coming to the canyon
And in the mornings I can see them walkin'
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn
And I can't keep myself from talkin'
This is a paragraph of text that could go in the sidebar.
News RSS