In Potiche, Catherine Deneuve plays Suzanne Pujol, the titular ‘trophy wife’ who thinks that jogging, housekeeping and writing light verse are enough to keep her happy. But deep down, she feels useless: her children have grown up, her husband Robert scoffs at her ideas and opinions, and the maid does all the real work in the house. When Robert becomes ill, Suzanne is forced to take responsibility for the family umbrella factory, which her husband had been running with an iron fist and quick temper. Suzanne’s softer management style is an immediate success—in fact, director François Ozon places almost too few obstacles in his protagonist’s path.
What the film lacks in conflict it makes up for with play. Set in the late 70s, Potiche is very much of its time. It champions the career woman, though more as a matter of pleasure than principle: Suzanne’s transformation forms the basis of the film’s plot, and there is much comedy to be derived from the dethroned patriarch. On the other hand, a good portion of the comedy also depends on the characters’ obliviously unreconstructed attitudes to sex, the result of which is an intricate sexual past…and present (in this area, watch out for a cameo by Sergi López). More important than the political and cultural landscape of the 70s, though, is the period’s casually over-the-top visual landscape, which Ozon has re-created with evident enjoyment: big hair, bright colours, tight clothes and crazy wallpapers jump from the frame better than 3D.
There are two layers of nostalgia at work in this film. First, there is the nostalgia of the older characters for their youth: to Suzanne, her husband, and the mayor (played by Gérard Depardieu) it feels that life used to be more simple and carefree. Then, there is the audience’s nostalgia, not just for the 1970s (if they are old enough to remember it), but also for the films that Deneuve and Depardieu made around this time, when they were younger.
Deneuve’s earlier work with Jacques Demy is evoked in particular: the cute animals dominating the title sequence recreate the fairytale atmosphere of Peau d’Âne (Donkey Skin, 1970), while the fact that the family business produces umbrellas inevitably recalls Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, 1964). The small-town secret sexual liaisons, and their disruptive potential, meanwhile, are reminiscent of Les Demoiselles de Rochefort (The Young Girls of Rochefort, 1967). The most important similarity, though, is the vibrant colour and energy that characterise both directors’ films, which would be kitsch were it not for a healthy dose of irony: the knowing pleasure in excess that results makes Ozon’s film, like those of Demy, an eminently enjoyable ride.
