Only now does it occur to me... to say a few things about RIDER IN THE RAIN, a motion picture best described as "a French art film starring.... Charles Bronson."
Bronson plays ball with "arthouse blocking."
This moody seaside thriller was the #3 most popular French movie in 1970 and considered a breakout role for Bronson as a leading man (though I would certainly consider his appearance in 1969's ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST as at least a "co-lead"). Helmed by master craftsman Réne Clément (PURPLE NOON, FORBIDDEN GAMES), it's an intricate Hitchcock homage and psychosexual chamber piece which is in turns masterful, awkward, and bizarre. It's produced by arthouse legend Serge Silberman (RAN, THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE, LE TROU, and BOB LE FLAMBEUR). This is an odd duck, to say the least.
Beginning with an epigraph from Lewis Carroll, we are introduced to our heroine, a childlike thirtysomething woman named "Mélancolie" (Marlène Jobert), who plays with toys and has an unhealthy relationship with an overbearing mother.
She is stalked by a wandering creeper (Marc Mazza) who follows her through
what is likely intended as a more sexually explicit and horrific ALICE IN WONDERLAND.
This would almost have a VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS vibe if it were more phantasmagorical. Drenched in rain and seaside atmosphere, and with pensive Euro-musical stylings by Francis Lai (LOVE STORY, BOLERO), this almost feels like a melancholy horror film.
After being sexually assaulted by the "rider on the rain," Mélancolie gains the upper hand, shoots him, and dumps the body. However, the next morning, a mysterious American named Dobbs (Charles Bronson) shows up, asking a lot of pointed questions about the missing man. Who is Bronson, really? How does he know so much? Will Mélancolie be caught? Is her ordeal finally over? This, in essence, is RIDER ON THE RAIN.
As I said before, it draws its major inspiration from Hitchcock (with a smattering of REPULSION) and it's about as careful with its sensitive subject matter as you would expect from an all-male creative team working in 1970. It's often immaculately constructed in the way that MARNIE or FRENZY sometimes are, and it's often extremely cringey in the way that MARNIE or FRENZY sometimes are.
One scene, in which Bronson reenacts the rape in order to get to "the truth of it,"
would be legitimately horrifying if it weren't packed with weird, sincere-ish Bronsonian mime (and bed-leaping). But, ah, I'm getting ahead of myself ...and indeed to the heart of the matter.
Let me make myself clear: Bronson's performance here is nearly Lynchian/Buñuelian in its absurdity and in its (semi?) intentional comedy. In my favorite moment, he approaches Mélancolie and asks for a ride. "I don't have a car," he says, "they said you could give me a ride."
When he says "car," he lifts his arms with the exact same gesture as when he would later say "It's MY car!" in DEATH WISH 3 (1985).
Is it coincidental? Is it inherent to Bronson's interpretation of car-related subject matter? So many questions.
Later, Bronson is a vision in bowling attire. Look at those spiffy shoes.
Anyway, the majority of this film is essentially a tête-à-tête between Bronson and Mélancolie. Bronson wants to know the truth of what happened that night, and Mélancolie wants to be left the hell alone. Without spoiling too much of the plot, I will tell you that Bronson's character behaves in maddening/inscrutable/rapey/exasperating ways which don't make a lick of sense once you've learned his character's true role and motivations. Er––I take that back: they make sense if the character is intended as a absolute dickhead so dedicated to being a dick that he endangers the principles and motivations he holds most dear just for the opportunity to indulge in extra helpings of dickery.
For instance, take this scene where he force feeds Mélancolie bourbon as a lie detector test (and an homage to NORTH BY NORTHWEST).
When she protests, he jams the rocks glass into her mouth and spins her in a spinny chair like she's the cap on a Mandom bottle.
steals her keys with a sinister whimsy and weird/sincere facial mugging that only Charles Bronson can pull off,
calls her by the groan-y nickname "Love Love" (taken from words stitched on her apron), and generally manipulates her for ends which are revealed to be, uh... chivalrous, I guess?
Bronson: a real wisenheimer.
She does get "revenge" on him by ruining his eggs with a hair-raising amount of ketchup
and talking smack with a dietary zinger.
But she spent time cooking those eggs herself and then she ruined them.... uh, that sure showed him!
(It's yet another key moment in the Bronson canon where he has strong opinions about condiments.)
This film also contains supporting roles from Bronson's real-life wife, Jill Ireland:
as well as French New Wave icon and "Cleo" from CLEO FROM 5 TO 7, Corinne Marchand:
Though I saved the best for last. We eventually learn the name of the deceased rapist, and it's...
Mac. Guffin. The rapist's name is Mac Guffin.
I'm speechless. This is QUITE the Hitchcock homage. On the whole, I'd rank RIDER ON THE RAIN one level below basically any film by the reigning French Hitchock enthusiast, Claude Chabrol.
Supposedly Cannon Films was planning on remaking this in English starring Bronson at some point. I wonder how good that would have been. Ah well, at least we've got, uh, KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS?
