I watch
movies for
witty dialogue, high drama, cinematography,
kung fu,
explosions and
zombies. I also sometimes watch them for the
costumes.
Actually a lot of the time. Sometimes the costumes come with the
dialogue and the drama and the cinematography... not so much the
kung fu unless you feel up to writing a thesis on the visual similarities of
Hero and
The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover (actually i may do that, now that i think of it).
The Scarlet Lady
has great outfits, but it also has a great mod/existential vibe led by
the alternately whimsical and despairing performance of the fabulous
Monica Vitti.
La Vitti plays Eva, a
glamorous young executive who heads
her own perfume company.
In the first scene, her sleazy boyfriend rolls over one morning and
announces that he has tricked her out of the business. Literally:
Somehow she hired him for the marketing department and he's managed to
get hold of her bonds, foreclose the mortgage and sell the joint off
in one fell swoop. After announcing this, he rolls over, lights a
cigarette and says mildly that he'll be leaving soon. Which, i mean,
it's not like you'd want him after that, but he should have had the
decency to at least let the lady yell "Get the fuck out!" and perhaps
throw something. She goes to her office, meets with her accountant, and
utters the words women -- and some men -- have uttered since time
immemorial.
Then Eva does what any unemployed, financially ruined, single woman
would do: sells off the contents of her Baroque villa and her penthouse
flat, pawns her jewelry and jets off to Paris. In thigh-high black boots
and a stunning
leopard coat. If that is not a response to disaster, i do not know what is. Except that Eva
plans on killing herself as soon as she gets to Paris. Okay, well, if that is not also a response to disaster, i do not know what is.
She winds up at a modest hotel in
Montparnasse, where she promptly heads for the bathroom, pours a glass of water, pulls out her trusty bottle of
Super-Duper-Euro-Sleeping-Pills
and... there's only one left. Damn! You never see this happen to people
suicide-ing in movies, but i bet it does happen more than you'd think.
So, she heads out to pick up another bottle of
Super-Duper-Euro-Sleeping-Pills -- because in that civilized continent all
you have to do is ask some old lady in a white coat and she hands 'em
over. Fuck, i bet she'd give you
Dilaudid! Especially if you were
Monica Vitti. Rocking a
lorgnette and the world's most awesome leopard coat.
Well, second most awesome, after the one i have that
Moss keeps trying to get from me. Anyway, as you can see, after loading up at
Frau Feelgood's, she picks up some caviar and
champagne
for her final exit. Once back at her modest -- albeit beautifully
tiled -- hotel room, she also changes into the first of several sets of
delicious white silk satin lounging pajamas. Because everyone should
have several sets, each in a different style. I call this one the
Russian. Note the high collar, asymmetrical closure and fringe around
the hem.
Exactly what i would wear to add a little panache to a desperate,
lonely attempt at ending my own life. Anyway, just as she's about to
do the deed, Eva has an important epiphany:
Why should I die alone when I can take that miserable fucker who ruined my life with me!?!?! A realization more people should have. (I've had mine: Hope you get yours soon.)
Miserable Fucker will not arrive in Paris until Friday. Thus, our heroine had almost a week to Live, Live, Live as
Auntie Mame
would say. Her first step? Okay, well, her first step is buying a gun.
She, with much put-on femininity, convinces the clerk to step into the
back in search of something
"Oh... mmmm. plus petite." You know, "Fits
unnoticed in my red patent-leather purse until just the right moment for
me to shoot someone. Also leaving enough room for compact, keys and
credit card, of course."
...and then runs out of the shop and around the corner with
patent-leather-purse-sized gat in hand. Next step? Buying a luxury
automobile. And not any puny Cadillac, Rolls or Bentley. No, our girl
has waaaay more style than that: She buys an
Austin Princess.
The same car
the queen drives. She buys it by pulling the guy over and
handing him a wad of cash. While wearing a lovely beige
princess-line coat and matching go-go boots outfit. They match the new ride because you should always buy your car to go with your
ensemble and not the other way around. Although somehow it is the exact same look she was wearing earlier
when she was stealing guns,
except it was green then. I'm not sure if that's intentional or not.
My good friend Laura has also pointed out to me that La Vitti's hair
length changes throughout the film. We don't mean the wigs.
Outfits? Did i say outfits? Cut to the obligatory shopping montage!
The Scarlet Lady gives the people what they want!
This delightful coat (from Christian Dior) is apparently the reason for the title, although the film is also known as
The Bitch Wants Blood, which is also an awesome title, although for another film, probably one starring
Barbara Steele and
Bette Davis, a guest appearance by the mighty, mighty
Charles Gray
if we're lucky... where was i? Oh! Yes! Monica Vitti checks into the
Paris Hilton. (You may insert your own witticism about how many people
have checked into the Paris Hilton, how much baggage can fit into the
Paris Hilton lobby, the lack of carpeting at the Paris Hilton...) Yes, i
was hoping for the
Georges Cinq as well, but i guess they didn't have a
Pierre Cardin suite or whatever this is:
And, then, of course, we put on an glitter-encrusted flapper dress and a
wig (although hopefully our wig would be more
Clara Bow
than Vicki Lawrence) and stuff our purse with popsicles and go to the
opera. Actually, that sounds exactly like what i'd do, but our heroine
is bored.
Probably because she's seems to be at a performance of
Tristan und Isolde.
Yup, nothing like Wagner for the old mirth in the face of disaster.
That'll lighten your spiritual load. Now, if she had gone to see
Der Rosenkavalier
she'd had enjoyed that far more. The last week of one's like lived to
the hilt is Richard Strauss. Perhaps a little Puccini or some
Nozze di Figaro.
So, anyway, the next day she's wandering around her hotel dressed up as a cross between
Lee Van Cleef and
Margaret Hamilton -- love
the hat -- and wanders into a press conference for some ersatz
mock-Beatles British rock group and somehow immediately charms a legion
of men by pretending to be Swiss, sneezing a lot and persuading them all
to get married. I know! That's how cool Monica Vitti is: She does this
shit and it's utterly charming! But there's absolutely nothing coy or
little-girlish about her.
The next morning, Eva awakens in the
Pierre Cardin
suite wearing yet another set of white silk satin pajamas. I call this
one the Asian since it has a sort of kimono-sleeve, Judo outfit look.
You can't quite see the detail, but you can see the awesome
Pop-Art phone
and the vintage turntable (Yes!) next to the bed. Also the dozens of
roses sent by her new legion of admirers. See how sexy realizing life is
meaningless makes you?!
Anyway, then the legion of admirers take her out. She changes for each
one. For the lawyer, this pale-pink, one-sleeved evening gown with big
ol' head of
Liz Taylor-circa-1970 hair.
For the rock band manager, naturally, she dresses up as
Anita Pallenberg.
For her date with the band itself--all four members--she repeats on the
dress, wig and (a bigger) boa from the opera scene. Well, hey, dressing
for the opera does kind of send that "Don't
jam a shark up my ladyparts" message.
While all this merriment is happening, some guy that Eva had lunch with on the
Eiffel Tower
is looking for her. See, somewhere between buying the luxury car and
the fur coat, she wanted lunch, didn't want to eat alone, picked up some
not-terribly-interesting guy and shared a large meal with him. During
which she intensely discussed how to strain strawberries for desert,
casually mentioned killing herself, picked up the check and snuck out
without giving her name. So every now and then we cut from the dizzying
highs, bitter lows, and stunning gowns of La Vitti to
poor schlub
running around Paris trying to find her. Seriously, if you really got
this kind of action from existential pangs and a death wish, i'd have
been married more times than all three
Gabor sisters combined.
Eva continues
kicking ass and taking names as death's even-increasing
proximity makes her more and more flirtatious. Although this is not
always as much fun as it seems, as when she sits in a bar, smoking what
seem to be
Nat Sherman Cigaretellos (or perhaps
Telly Savalas Mores)
and waiting for one of the men surrounding her to say something
interesting (i know how she feels). Observe her gorgeous deep teal-green
satin, poet-sleeved minidress.
Finally, the band and its manager and lawyer show up, pursued by screaming fans. But
fuck those groupies -- well,
actually, no, we're NOT gonna fuck those groupies. We're gonna play a
private gig for Monica Vitti and a bunch of guys who are trying to bang
her! They eat a fancy dinner why we play bad
Yardbirds knockoffs and then they get up and dance!
Groovy, baby! Has anyone ever told you that look look like
Angie Dickinson!?
After which the manager somehow lands the prize and lures Eva
La Vitti
back to his hotel room. Where she finds his stash. And he
gets her high.
Not knowing that all the weed in the world will not make that anything but
one ugly-ass rug you've got on your head, my friend. And then you went and put on
a caftan. Jesus, why didn't you just chop your dick off and throw it out a window?
Finally, we have our rendezvous with
Miserable Fucker.
They go back to her hotel room. She shows off a lovely red Lurex-knit
dress with lace-up front and sleeves. The perfect dress to distract any
heterosexual male from your plans to murder him.
But for how long?
Wait! That's not the gun she stole! Scroll back up there! See -- that gun. In the gun shop. It's much bigger. But, well, her hair
changes
from short and straight to long and curly, her coat changes from green
to beige: I guess she can change a revolver into an automatic. She is,
after all, Monica Fucking Vitti.
So, does she kill Miserable Fucker? Does Poor Schlub ever find her? Eh, what does it matter? You know what does matter? This:
Cartier. Petrossian. Vivier. Vitti.
