Studies in French Cinema Volume 5 Number 1 2005 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/sfci.5.1.

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Soft and hard: Catherine Deneuve in 1970

Gwnalle Le Gras Universit de Caen Basse-Normandie Abstract
Two films made in 1970, Peau dne/Donkey Skin (Demy, 1970) and Tristana (Buuel, 1970), illustrate the double star persona of Catherine Deneuve, both soft and hard, and capable of adapting both to genre cinema and auteur cinema. They mark the end of Deneuves rapid rise to stardom in the 1960s, and raise the issue of how her persona might develop at a time when sophisticated stars were less in favour. The article considers these issues in the context of her double persona, soft in Demys film, and hard in Buuels.

Keywords
Catherine Deneuve Peau dne Tristana Belle de Jour Jacques Demy Luis Buuel

Although French cinema is less conducive to producing American-style stars, Catherine Deneuve is clearly a major star, capable of acting in both genre cinema and auteur cinema. Indeed, since the New Wave, this ability to construct a persona at ease in both popular and elite culture has been one of the features of the French star system. Deneuves persona has from the very start articulated this double movement, at home both in films aimed at a wide public, such as Peau dne/Donkey Skin (Demy, 1970), and those aimed at an elite audience, such as Tristana (Buuel, 1970). There are substantial differences in the persona articulated by these two films, Demy offering a soft persona, and Buuel a hard persona. Both of these nevertheless rely on common binaries: accessibility/inaccessibility, beauty/ugliness, male fantasy object/woman with agency, purity/impurity. The terms of the binaries feed off each other, leading to the iconic version of her persona which we see in Belle de jour (Buuel, 1967). The star image always exceeds the film, because it is a sociological, ideological and political discourse which is too strong for the film to contain, as Dyer has shown (Dyer 1979). A study of the protagonist of Peau dne will show how the character has been modified by the specificities of Deneuves star persona. By then comparing Tristana with Peau dne, we will be able to determine the similarities and differences of the star image in the two films, and therefore pinpoint their importance in the development of Deneuves career. Although Jacques Demy is usually seen as an auteurist director, Peau dnes budget (4.8 million francs) makes of it a big-budget spectacular, since the average cost of a French film at the time was 2.85 million francs (Bonnell 1978: 171). In fact, the cost of the film was so high that Demy and Deneuves salaries contributed to the overall budget to compensate for the high cost of the decor (770,000 francs). Paradoxically, the approxi-

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mate cost of Tristana was 3.4 million francs (Cornand 1977: 126), of which 1.5-2 million were Catherine Deneuves fee (Duran 1977: 26), which explains why the overall costs of the two films were in fact fairly similar. Neither of the films were very successful in box-office terms. Peau dne had some 2 million spectators, which although substantial in itself, was disappointing in relation to the budget. Tristana had 550,000 spectators, which is a good result for an auteur film, but substantially fewer than the 2 million achieved by Belle de jour three years earlier. Peau dne was the third Demy-Deneuve collaboration, after Les Parapluies de Cherbourg/The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1963), the film which launched Deneuves career, then Les Demoiselles de Rochefort/The Young Girls of Rochefort (1966), in which Deneuve starred with her sister Franoise Dorlac. In Peau dne, a timeless fairytale character belonging to popular culture, Demy crystallized for French audiences the feminine ideal represented by Deneuve. She plays two roles in the film, that of the Queen and that of the Princess. On the point of dying, the Queen asks the King to remarry only someone more beautiful than she. Deneuve, named the most beautiful woman in the world by the American magazine Look in 1968, succeeds herself. If the choice of Deneuve seemed self-evident for Demy in 1970, it is worth pointing out that the project dated back to 1962 and that Brigitte Bardot had been intended for the role (Berthom 1996: 238). The initial choice of Bardot is instructive in relation to Demys perception of Perraults fairytale. Bardot, as a result of Et Dieu cra la femme/And God Created Woman (Vadim, 1956), signified desire both as object and as subject; Demy would therefore seem to have been more interested originally in the incestuous desires of the King for his daughter than in the story of a virginal princess. In fact, Demy never contacted Bardot. Why did he choose Deneuve? In Les Parapluies de Cherbourg, Demy suggests that there are hidden fault-lines beneath the smooth exterior of his heroine, without bringing to the fore the duality between the well-behaved girl and the rebel which underlies the fault-lines. In Les Demoiselles de Rochefort, Deneuve incarnates ideal absolute love with Jacques Perrin, who partners her again in Peau dne. Just after this second film with Demy, Buuel filmed Deneuve in Belle de jour, a film which made of her an international star, and which tells the story of the repressed desires of a bourgeoise. Since Demy seems to have preferred an Oedipal reading of Perraults fairytale, Deneuves smooth beauty was the obvious choice to illustrate the repressed desires of the protagonist, incestuous desires which are very clear in the original fairytale, while at the same time making it possible to read the story from a childs point of view, this being emphasized by a mise-en-scne which recalls childrens storybooks. Deneuve therefore brings an ambiguity to the character of Peau dne which Bardot could not have done. The story is interesting precisely because we wonder whether the heroine and her father (Jean Marais) will be able to overcome their incestuous desires. Will Peau dne be able to leave her father, the wrong love object, and his blue kingdom representing the dark side of the heroine, her unconscious, her repressed desires for her father? Will the Princess join the Prince, the good love object, and his red kingdom, and its solar world

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of shimmering colours? Peau dne would have married her father, if her fairy godmother had not been trying to get him for herself. This first polarity between day/night, reality/unconscious is rooted in Deneuves persona as established by Belle de jour. Like Peau dne, Belle de jour is always hesitating between two worlds, figured in particular by faraway gazes which express her disconnection from the real world. Demy gives Peau dne a voice of reason in the shape of the Fe des Lilas; Buuel uses the character played by Michel Piccoli to plunge Belle de jour into the world of the unconscious. There is a similar structure in Les Parapluies de Cherbourg, where the heroine, Genevive, listens to her mothers advice to stay on the right path. To escape from her father, the Princess wears a dark and hairy donkey skin only occasionally revealing her delicate white knee and shoulder. This polarity between purity/impurity rests principally on Deneuves extreme whiteness. Whiteness evokes its opposite, just like purity evokes impurity, day evokes night, attraction evokes repulsion, vulnerability evokes violence. In Belle de jour, Buuel treats this whiteness with suspicion, mixing the western symbolism of virginity with the eastern symbolism of duplicity and perversity. Even Belle de jours name connotes the whiteness of an icon as much as it does that of the Wests view of the geisha as a high-class prostitute. White always signifies the purity of love in Demys films, love without the physical side, perfection which is both immortal and timeless. As in all his previous films, Deneuve in Peau dne incarnates a virginal figure. Ginette Vincendeau considers Deneuves image to be an appeal to sadism: The more woman is immaculate and inaccessible, the more she is doomed to be profaned, that profanation being justified by her masochism (Vincendeau 2001: 33). Peau dne does not escape this general rule. Inaccessible, diaphanous, Peau dne/Deneuve incarnates the ideal woman, the white woman, the blonde object of desire par excellence, emphasized by her aristocratic lineage. Peau dnes purity calls up her fathers incestuous desire. To escape his desiring gaze, the white Princess wears a donkey skin. Beauty calls up the Beast, Jean Cocteaus film La Belle et la Bte/Beauty and the Beast (1946) being an explicit reference. Moreover, the Fe des Lilas daubs the Princesss pale features with soot, just like the virginal Belle de jour arouses the hatred of her tormentors who humiliate her by tying her up and throwing mud at her face.1 The masochistic side is dominant in Demys film. A masochistic contract is established between Peau dne and the King, who prays her to ask favours of him without any conditions before their wedding. He offers her three magnificent dresses; each time, the Princess shows disappointment, as her fairy godmother had advised her. Faced with her continued dissatisfaction, the King accepts the rules which he himself had established in his courting. Gaylyn Studlar, in her study of masochism in Sternbergs films with Marlene Dietrich, emphasizes that Dietrichs indifference in the face of male desire [...] reflects the ambivalence of the desiring child who sees in the mother a figure to be loved and rejected at one and the same time (Studlar 2001: 46). The more Peau dne demands of the King, the more this very unphallic father submits to the caprices of his daughter/wife/mother, idealizing and fetishizing her. And

Buuel apparently added this scene during the shooting of the film to take revenge on Deneuve who had refused to appear naked on screen; see Lary (1983: 35).

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Demy had planned to use Deneuve in a film about love outside social norms, and therefore masochistic love, in his project to adapt Tristan and Isolde in 1967, and then again in 1969, as well as in the film Une chambre en ville/A Room in Town, in 1972, then 1976, eventually made with Dominique Sanda (1982). Demy did this consciously. He commented that he had scattered signs in the film, and I am particularly interested in what people will see depending on their degree of puritanism or pervsersity (Demy 1971: 76).

yet, Peau dne does not act sadistically towards her father; it is reluctantly, under orders from her fairy godmother, that she uses her power over this man, who forces her to impose her wildest desires on him. So she demands that her father give her the skin of the Banker Donkey who keeps the Kings coffers full of gold. The Princess, although torn apart by her cruel request, nevertheless obtains her demand. The donkey skin thus symbolizes her fathers incestuous desire who sacrifices his greatest riches for the love of his daughter. There is no real victim then in this relationship accepted by both parties, since both are consenting victims. Given that Jean Marais was a well-known homosexual, and that Deneuve, is so obviously the incarnation of Demys feminine ideal, Demy manages to bring together his homosexual fantasies and a universal vision of virginal love. Deneuve, as a woman, signifies Demys ambivalence, and allows a popular audience to identify masochistically with her.2 With its luxurious decor inspired by pop art, the alternative to the more conventional postwar art, Peau dne therefore gestures towards two types of love, both rejected by a conservative society:3 the incestuous love between a father and a daughter, a love tolerated on the fathers part but less so when it comes from the daughter; and a masochistic love between the man/son/Marais and the woman/mother/Deneuve. Demy thus reverses the hierarchy of the sexes in the couple, proposing here an all-powerful woman and a non-patriarchal, castrated man. This may well have something to do with the films lack of success at the box-office. There is also a feminist dimension to the film. Demy gives us women who control their destiny (the Fe des Lilas and Peau dne) and who have agency; decisions are taken by the Princes mother and agreed by the father afterwards, whereas in Perraults fairytale the women are always beautiful but insubstantial. Our view is likely to be affected by what we know of Deneuve, and her pioneering stance in relation to feminism. As early as the 1960s she claimed her independence from men and the patriarchal system by refusing to marry Roger Vadim, her partner and the father of her child (see Dorlac 1964). As Roland Barthes points out in Mythologies, distant or not, mythology cannot not have an historical basis, because myth is a word chosen by history; it cannot come from the nature of things (Barthes 1957: 182). Deneuves persona is based on the antagonism between the conservative and the modern, an antagonism which was reaching its height in France during the 1960s and 1970s. Deneuve recalls the hedonism of Franoise Sagan ridding herself of her prejudices and conventional attitudes (as for example in the adaptation of a Sagan novel, La Chamade/Heartbeat (Cavalier, 1968)), as the wellbrought-up young girl in the best traditions of Gaullist France, whether willingly or not, in Demys films. Her film characters are often prisoners of a society fettered by taboos. Thus, the paradox of Deneuve is that she is at once the fetish of male fantasies and a woman with agency, which explains the longevity of the myth of Deneuve, linked to the social change more generally, and made up of periods of stagnation, of progress, and of regression. Peau dne is iconic in this respect. On the one hand she is a prisoner of a patriarchal system incarnated by the King and his incestuous desire; on the other, she attracts the Prince by dazzling him with her

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mirror, goes to get him in his dreams, and then gives him a cake into which she has deliberately put her ring so that he can find it. She chooses her Prince, unlike the fairytale tradition where the Princess is chosen and submits to her destiny. Moreover, Peau dne is the only one to go from one location to another, from her fathers castle to her godmothers house, from the forest to the farm, and on to the Princes castle, travels which determine the action. The correspondences between Peau dne and Tristana are even more troubling than those between Demys film and Belle de jour. Of course, Deneuve is not the only one to be responsible for such links, some of them being attributable to the directors. As ever with Demy, the sense of the marvellous and innocence are tempered with lucid disillusionment and bitterness. Likewise, Buuels tendency for satire often leads to caricature. Each new character is inflected by the previous heroines played by Deneuve, who then find themselves in very different film universes. That diversity is often the result of Deneuve profiting from the diversity of her image and using her status to engage in projects of her own choosing, as was the case with Peau dne. The correspondences between the different roles she plays are organized by her persona which enables multiple readings by her audiences, crossing a range of images and genres. As a result, spectators of Les Parapluies de Cherbourg will read the character of Peau dne in a more romantic and melancholy light; if they have seen Repulsion (Polanski, 1966), they will at other moments read the heroines character in a more perverse light. Associated with La Vie de chteau (Rappeneau, 1966), it is the more joyful character of Peau dne which will take centre stage. Similarly, the shots showing Peau dne with her Princesss crown will recall shots of Genevive in Les Parapluies de Cherbourg. Thus the impact of the young girls look at the camera when obliged to choose the King whom she does not love will colour the character of Peau dne, imbuing it momentarily with touches of melodrama. The more spectators keep in mind Deneuves preceding roles, as well as what they know of her public image as a star (elegance, feminism, and so on), the more the system of recollections becomes complex. Each spectator therefore possesses a range of combinations, according to their knowledge of Deneuves persona. Similarly, the heroines of Belle de jour and Tristana, released a few months before Demys film, function as traces in Peau dne. The reverse is equally true. Peau dne is touched with darkness, and Tristana can be read as a fairytale, nightmarish certainly, but a rite of passage which the heroine finds it difficult to accomplish. Tristana, like Peau dne, loses her mother and becomes her fathers object of desire, a symbolic father in Buuels case given that it is her tutor played by Fernando Rey. Both heroines react ambivalently to the father figure, accepting him as well as rejecting him. Tristana fantasizes that Don Lopes severed head serves as the clapper of a bell. Her hallucination suggests both her repugnance, emphasized by the bloody head, and her sexual attraction for her tutor, figured by the phallic symbol. Whereas the Princesss initiatory journey takes her from one castle to another via a wood cabin, Tristana leaves Don Lopes home, treading the roads of Toledo where she finds a lover, leaves for Madrid where she spends a few years, to return finally to her point of departure. Her journey is from the start a failure given that Don Lope con-

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4. Catherine Deneuve is not really my type of woman but, limping and made up, I find her quite attractive (Buuel 1993: 210).

trols his pupil entirely. He imprisons her under the pretext of protecting her virtue, makes her depend on him financially, and conditions her psychologically so that she submits to his desires. He has no trouble persuading Tristana to sleep with him. Demys view of Peau dne is masochistic, whereas Buuel perversely gives us a sadistic view of Tristana. She may well have agency in some ways, but she remains nevertheless an object of exchange between two men. She must be punished so that the threat of castration she represents does not undermine the law of the phallus. This is linked to the fact that Deneuve as star, after her success in Belle de Jour, is part of mass culture against which Buuel as an auteur must struggle to exist.4 It is thus that Don Lope, Buuels alter ego, fashions the grieving and childish Tristana into a sex object, an object of desire for a sadistic gaze. Thus fetishized, Don Lope controls and subjugates his pupil, seducing her and then giving her the role of mistress of the house, exalting the power of the father by the submissiveness of the woman. Tristana acquires some freedom when she manages to escape Don Lopes domination, fleeing with her lover, but she is rapidly punished by destiny. Once her marriage is consummated, the journey becomes destructive, as the tumour eating away at her leg figures on the physical level her violation of her tutors incestuous domination. Ill, she must ask Don Lopes forgiveness. Once she is back under his tutelage, Tristanas leg is amputated, which is a way of being shackled, if Lope/Buuels comments at the beginning of the film are anything to go by: A girl can only remain honest if her leg is broken and she must stay at home. Tristana, punished very visibly for her escape, is thus entirely responsible for her suffering. But Buuel does not stop there with his sadism and misogyny. Once Tristana has had her leg amputated, he sets her up as a castrating dominatrix, as can be seen in the famous shot of her exhibiting herself naked to Saturno from her balcony, her disconcerting smile one of triumph. Very subtly, Buuel does not show us her stump, the price she has paid for her power, in the same shot. Given the phallic connotations of the stump, to show it would have reinforced her castration and diminished her power. We should not forget that the libertine Don Lope loses his virility when Tristana, having refused him, loses her leg and consents to marry him. The heroine cannot be redeemed, either for the director or for male spectators, because she represents male anxiety. Buuel makes the castration visible by a close-up on her stump, recently amputated, a sullen expression on her face, the opposite of the look of triumph with Saturno. The perversion is all the more aggravated in that the roles established by her tutor are reversed when he becomes rich and weak. She appropriates falsely libertarian and anti-authoritarian principles, forbidden for women, which the hypocritical Don Lope, closer to the authoritarian patriarch than the free-thinker, had taught her, so as the better to manipulate her and justify his own vices, Buuel sparing none of his characters. Buuels perversity is thus to propose a female character who reverses the normal sadistic relationship and takes on male prerogatives, so that the male can, unscrupulously, be denied in his turn, even killed. Deneuve, as woman and star, besieging the citadel of patriarchal power, can only be like gangrene, the curse and ruin of Buuel, as man and director.

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Peau dne proposes a heroine who functions in a dream world, where all is symbol, and therefore separable. The pure is separated from the impure, the Princess from the beasts skin. Tristana does not have that choice. She is much more anchored in reality than Deneuves previous characters. The innocent young girl of the start of the film and the embittered amputee are one and the same. She only has one identity, one costume. In this film Buuel enriches Deneuves persona by making it move towards that point of the mind where life and death, the real and the imaginary, the past and the future, the communicable and the incommunicable, the high and the low cease to be perceived as contradictions, as Breton defined the surreal in 1929 (Breton 1962: 154). With no escape possible, Tristana does not oscillate between the angelic and the bestial of Peau dne, but assimilates them both, making her character all the more insidious and dangerous. La Sirne du Mississippi/Mississippi Mermaid (Truffaut, 1969) had already begun this development towards the oxymoronic image of the demonic angel. The two poles of this image work on the same level, and no longer between dream and reality, as was the case with Belle de jour, or between two worlds, as was the case with Peau dne, which, apart from the displacement of the Deneuve myth from an auteur film to a fairytale, corsets the actress in her star image, much like the Princess is corseted in her extraordinary dresses. Tristana plays explicitly on this paradox. Tristanas dazzlingly white face pierces the darkness of certain shots, as in Goyas paintings. That whiteness constructs a Christian vision of the heroine, through its luminous halo formed by the round hat she is wearing, as it does a morbid or sickly vision of the character, suggested by her fascinated gaze on the recumbent effigy. (Interestingly, Don Lope/Buuel will take the place of the effigy in a similar shot when the tutor dies.) Tristana emphasizes another aspect of the character which also has its part to play in the construction of Deneuves persona. The association between eroticism and death, Eros and Thanatos, are part of many other characters played by Deneuve, such as Mayerling (Young, 1968), La Sirne du Mississippi or The Hunger (Scott, 1983). As the film progresses, Tristanas face becomes gradually darker, innocence being consumed or decomposing through contact with Don Lope. This second film with Buuel allows Deneuve to differentiate herself from previous roles of stellar beauty. The ugliness inherent in Tristanas beauty, and the inverse beauty within ugliness, brought her to modify her image for certain scenes, and thereby to reveal her talent as an actress, beyond her physical beauty, the star momentarily effacing herself to the benefit of the actress. Tristana was a role that allowed her to explore a wider range of acting as the character developed, going from the passive astonishment of the young girl with plaits, to the Machiavellian urges of the embittered and aggressive woman. Belle de jour allowed Deneuve to play a sexually perverse character, but with Tristana she goes a step further, her moral perversion more or less without the excuse of pathological disturbance, unlike the Carol of Repulsion (Polanski, 1965), even if Buuel at the last minute offers us an unconvincing reading of Tristanas dreams, to echo the first shot of the film. Unlike Belle de jour, whose mise-en-scne supports the fan-

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tasies of the heroine, the closure of Tristana with its emphasis on the heroines awareness of her perversions (because these are not passing dreams of perversion as for Belle de jour, but a much more permanent state), is a much more knowing questioning of taboos. The more she breaks phallic law, the more that law becomes ingrained, and the more pleasure she takes in breaking it. With Tristana Deneuve achieves real legitimization, even if it is only with a cinephile audience. Demy limits her performance to an image which is diaphanous and angelic, the last time that it would be so. These two films mark the end of a fertile period for Deneuve marked by her work with Demy and Buuel who construct an intertextual system which will feed Deneuves subsequent roles and allow her to become not just the actress but the subject of her films. The intertextual echoes are many and various, either direct as in Le Petit Poucet/Tom Thumb (Dahan, 2001), which echoes Peau dne (by also being based on a Perrault fairytale) or indirect and fortuitous, as in Les Voleurs/Thieves (Tchin, 1996), where Deneuve twisted her ankle on set, so that the character she plays ended up walking with a crutch, thus echoing Tristana. But more than these superficial echoes, Peau dne and Tristana, voluntarily or not, question Deneuves persona. After her debut roles, Deneuves beauty could be a hindrance, typecasting her in superficial roles. The only way she could broaden her range, making herself more marketable for directors and more attractive to spectators, was to explore the perversion of a Buuel, an obvious counterpoint to the angelic purity celebrated by Demy. Her subsequent career rests largely on the opposition between Demys soft version of her, and Buuels hard (per)version of that image, perpetuating the myth that under a proper bourgeois exterior there are perverse desires waiting to seep through to the surface, a polarity which will have many variations in the following years, depending on changing lifestyles. Thus, during the 1970s Deneuve carries on sullying her purity by taking on the roles of prostitutes in Un flic/Dirty Money (Melville, 1972), Zig zig/Zigzag (Szab, 1974) and Hustle (Aldrich, 1976), following this up with less conventional sexualities: sado-masochism in Liza/Love to Eternity (Ferreri, 1971), and lesbianism in coute voir/See Here My Love (Santiago, 1978); Touche pas la femme blanche/Dont Touch the White Woman! (Ferreri, 1973) is a subtle and satirical questioning of Deneuves suspect purity, too beautiful to be virtuous to Ferreris taste. During the 1980s Deneuve attacks her smooth appearance more directly; she wears a wig and spectacles in Agent trouble/The Man Who Loved Zoos (Mocky, 1987), she puts on weight for La Reine blanche (Hubert, 1991), and wears no make-up in Le Lieu du crime/Scene of the Crime (Tchin, 1986) and Drle dendroit pour une rencontre/A Strange Place to Meet (Dupeyron, 1988). Her porcelain-coloured skin in The Hunger, a film which made of her a gay icon, cannot hide the darkness of her soul, whose slow decomposition is the subject of the film. Then in the 1990s, the passing of time for Deneuve is marked clearly in Ma saison prfre/My Favorite Season (Tchin, 1993), where she plays opposite her daughter, Chiara Mastroianni, and where she also has to confront a photo of herself as a child. In Place Vendme (Garcia, 1998), she confronts her younger double (mmanuelle Seigner),

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reminding us of her image in Belle de jour, the haggard face of the beginning of the film reminding us of a similarly haggard Deneuve in Les Voleurs. But if she chose such representations which work against her image of smoothness and purity, she also knew how to pace herself by reviving that one-dimensional image of purity in judiciously chosen roles, as for example in Le Dernier mtro/The Last Metro (Truffaut, 1980) and Indochine (Wargnier, 1992). These films come at key moments in the development of her persona, and allow her to emphasize her well-established star image as well as her adaptability to changing times. It is that adaptability which has made her a star for so long. Translated by Phil Powrie References
Barthes, R. (1957), Mythologies, Paris: Seuil. Berthom, J.-P. (1996), Jacques Demy et les racines du rve, Paris: LAtalante. Bonnell, R. (1978), Le Cinma exploit, Paris: Le Seuil. Breton, A. (1962), Manifestes du surralisme, Paris: Jean-Jacques Pauvert. Buuel, L. (1993), Conversations avec Luis Buuel, Paris: Cahiers du Cinma. Cornand, A. (1977), Dossier Tristana, Image et son, 319, pp. 121-26. Demy, J. (1971), Entretien avec Jacques Demy, ralis par Nol Simsolo, Image et son, 247, pp. 70-80. Dorlac, M. (1964), Maurice Dorlac: il juge ses filles et Vadim, Cinmonde, 1576, pp. 2-4. Duran, J. (1977), Sous la direction de Buuel, Catherine Deneuve - Tristana la maudite - nous soumet encore ses sortilges, Cinmonde, 1833, pp. 26-27. Dyer, R. (1979), Stars, London: BFI. Lary, P. (1983), Entretien avec Pierre Lary, Cinmatographe, 92, pp. 34-36. Studlar, G. (2001), Masochisme, mascarade et les mtamorphoses rotiques de Marlne Dietrich, Champs de laudiovisuel, 15, pp. 40-57. Vincendeau, G. (2001), De la vierge de glace la divinit vivante, Tausend Augen, 22, pp. 30-36.

Suggested Citation
Le Gras, G. (2005), Soft and hard: Catherine Deneuve in 1970, Studies in French Cinema 5: 1, pp. 2735, doi: 10.1386/sfci.5.1.27/1

Contributor Details
Gwnalle Le Gras is preparing a doctoral thesis on Catherine Deneuve. Contact: Centre de recherches et de documentation des arts du spectacle, Universit de Caen Basse-Normandie, UFR des Sciences de lHomme Esplanade de la Paix, 14032 Caen. E-mail: gwenlegras@wanadoo.fr

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