It is my 36th day in Berlin. On Tuesday I saw Jacques Deray’s La Piscine, concisely described by IMDB as Delon, Schneider and Ronet in a love triangle that leads to disaster. The movie, which with dumb inevitability was dubbed into Deutsche, was a typical New Wave Francoisiches existenstiallismus film, all talk and its meaningful absence, shot in the golden light of San Tropez and its gilded habitués, a long hot summer erupted into violence. The resolution of the plot was, predictably, ambiguous.
Seeing these weird hybrids I remember L’s complaint that subtitles were here a rarity whereas London, for all its otherwise barbarity, at least had the respect to show movies in their original language. Here Delon is voiced by a German actor who perhaps went on to be DeNiro, John Wayne, Woody Allen. A small slippage, which remains no doubt unheard.
