After reading countless reviews on the internet about 'Belle de Jour', I'm still not sure what famed surrealistic director Luis Buñuel was trying to say. And if you asked Buñuel what the meaning of the film was, he probably would have told you 'it is, what you want it to be'. I have come to conclude that in making a film such as 'Belle de Jour', Buñuel is more interested in playing the provocateur than exploring any of the moral issues raised by the film's often cryptic narrative.

Buñuel as provocateur is evident in the film's opening sequence. In a matter of a few moments, an idyllic carriage-ride (seemingly a scene influenced by a 19th century romantic novel) morphs into a nightmare sequence of domestic depravity as Buñuel's protagonist, Séverine (Catherine Deneuve) is viciously whipped by the menservants of her husband, Pierre. But in a blink of an eye, Buñuel has the last laugh (or should I say the first laugh?) when we see that the assault on Séverine is a figment of her imagination. In reality, she is married to Pierre who is a respectable Parisian surgeon in the present day of 1967.

But just as soon as we're introduced to this new 'idyllic' situation, Buñuel is committed to shocking us again. Séverine and Pierre's situation is anything but idyllic as Séverine is plagued by nightmares of being sexually abused as a child and resorts to fantasies of sadomasochistic pleasure. As a result, they perversely sleep in separate beds and Pierre patiently tries to understand why his wife won't engage in any sexual relations.

In reality, nothing is normal for Séverine--she must endure Husson, the boyfriend of the couple's friend, Renée, who has no guilt feelings about hitting on her and freely admits that he's a frequent visitor to a high-class whorehouse. This is how Séverine finds out about Madame Anaïs' establishment, which she at first hesitantly applies for a job at, as a high-class call girl.

While her motive for taking a job as a prostitute may have had to do with her unfortunate sexual experiences as a child, Buñuel is more interested in contrasting Séverine's life as an unhappy, chaste housewife with her newfound enjoyment as aggressive sexual neophyte. None of this is shown explicitly and Buñuel takes great pleasure in emphasizing Séverine's lack of guilt as she plies her trade amongst a group of decidedly tawdry clients. The clients include a vulgar businessmen who virtually rapes her and a man who resembles 'Odd Job' from the film 'Goldfinger', who leaves her on the bed smiling with her pants pulled down (implying that she's taken pleasure in indulging in anal sex). Séverine also expresses disgust to Madame Anaïs. regarding a client who enjoys having his face stepped on, but can't help staring through a peephole, confirming that she's not immune to voyeuristic tendencies.

Buñuel will turn things on a head once again, when he introduces us to bad boy criminal, Marcel, a lout with metal teeth, who Séverine is immensely attracted to. Things go bad when Marcel becomes obsessed with Séverine and tracks her to her apartment after she tells him she can't see him anymore. His solution is to shoot Pierre who ends up in a coma. Marcel is soon afterward gunned down by the police but they fail to uncover his motive.

Buñuel comes full circle playing with his audience. If Séverine is repulsive in enjoying sex with the perverts back at the whorehouse, she's even more repulsive for being responsible for Pierre ending up paralyzed. After all, had she not decided to work at the brothel, Marcel wouldn't have ended up shooting Pierre. But things may not what they seem to be. Recall that Séverine refers to Pierre's "accident" as he sits in his wheelchair. An "accident" seems like an odd word to describe the shooting. Was it an euphemism or did Pierre actually have an "accident" (not the shooting) which caused him to become paralyzed? If so, the entire brothel sequence also may have been another figment of Séverine's imagination.

The film ends with another seeming fantasy sequence, where Pierre suddenly emerges from his wheelchair and he and Séverine are happy together again. Is this another way in which Buñuel seeks to laugh at our expense? Now Séverine is no longer the villain but perhaps the caregiver responsible for restoring her husband's health. Or is it simply 'wishful thinking' on Séverine's part? Recall the shot of Pierre's 'clutched' hand while he's in the wheelchair, suggesting death.

For those who enjoy intentional ambiguity where you can read a multiplicity of meanings into a film, 'Belle de Jour' is for you. Others (including myself) seek narratives with a more clear-cut meaning. The best I can say for 'Belle' is that it has a distinctive style. It's also a film that engenders quite a bit of thought and discussion. Nonetheless, in the end, this is a film with a lot more style than substance.

Luis Bunuel, notorious for his use of simple, striking, yet un-cannily affecting surrealism in movies, keeps it down to a lower (yet still imaginative) key for Belle Du Jour. This works though because un-like a film like Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie where surrealism was like another character amidst the other character's dreams and nightmares, this one only keeps in surrealism for the sake of the lead character's inner demons poking up through the every-day malaise. This lead, Severine, is played in one of Catherine Deneuve's key career performances, that finds that two-sided-ness she feels while married to her husband Pierre.

She loves him, but there's something that she's not getting out of the marriage that's leaving her empty, aimless, and her fantasies- however in the realm of (dark) fantasy- go to show she needs to do something during the day. She then finds out about a high-class brothel with only a couple of workers already employed. At first reluctant, she gives in to her temptations, serving the odder types of Paris looking for a good time, with one of them, Marcel (Pierre Clementi) falling head over heels for her.

What seemed most intriguing about the film was how Bunuel dealt with the themes- the two crucial ones being morality and sexuality. His imagery is direct, maybe too direct, but it gets its points across with a realism that is alluring and far & away (almost like a satire of such a life). She can't stop what she's started, and she doesn't really know how to end it unless she gets caught.

Then with the sexuality, it's never over-emphasized (i.e. no nudity, outside of a quick couple of shots of nudity), and no one is shown having sex on screen. What comes out is the emotional tally of Severine, the other girls, and the supporting characters that come in and out of the brothel. It may seem dated at moments, and the observatory notes go to making the film seem a tad longer than it is. But never-the-less, Belle de Jour is a worthwhile, memorable effort of the 1960's cinema.

And, at many times, it's quite funny. More than that, a laugh riot.

Séverine Serizy (Catherine Deneuve) is frigid with her husband Pierre. They sleep in separate beds. She has erotic daydreams. Séverine's friend Renée tells her that their friend Henriette is now working at a brothel. She is haunted by memories of her father. She follows one of the girls to a high class brothel run by Madame Anaïs who calls her "Belle de Jour".

I'm sure it was shocking for its time especially in America. More than any sexual content, it is the fact that a woman has a sexual mind that is fascinating. Catherine Deneuve does the reserved lady and the conflicted sex goddess both. It is about her physical reality and mental fantasies. I didn't see it on its original run. I can certainly see it as influential for those who did.