Les enfants terribles is a 1950s psychological drama (thriller? horror?) depicting two siblings with dark secrets. When I finally sat down to watch it, I was curious as to how far it could/would go in depicting what's up with these two, who have an incestuous relationship. The 1950s were a time of censorship in Hollywood, but not so much across the Atlantic. As it turns out, the depiction here is largely implied, whispered; at first, it seems unfathomable, given how rotten they are to each other. As it goes on, you can kind of figure out what this film is going for, and it is intriguing- the two are siblings in a very real sense. Siblings squabble, they have sibling rivalry, but they can also love each other. This takes it to the umpteeth degree, and I hit that epiphany when they're in standing in the bathtub. Two people are standing outside the bathroom and hear the siblings screaming; one says they sound unhappy, the other says they're happy, and water comes pouring out from underneath the door crack. It goes a bit far in both directions (Come near me, come to my bedside, come off the top bunk and join me).In other ways, Les enfants terribles picks up steam. The acting in the first scene may not be perfect; the narration feels slightly intrusive; but it picks up that dark feel, and we begin to feel, as the sister says, hypnotized.

Technically a cinematic masterpiece with some excellent acting, particularly on the part of Nicole Séphane, but this Greek drama of a family and some young people living together with relationship complications doesn't give an altogether good taste in your mouth. Why are people usually so mean and cruel in French films? There is very little humanity here, love is not sincere, Elisabeth is callous and cruel and actually evil in her possessiveness, it's like one of the worst novels of Balzac (of whom Charlotte Brontë complained that he always gave her such a bad taste in her mouth), and this lack of humanity gives this masterpiece an ugly touch of almost inhumanity. Its brilliance fades into the shadows of the meaninglessness of its cruelty and pettiness, they don't do much else than quarrel and fight throughout the movie, and it all seems so pointless. Did Jean Cocteau have any meaning with writing this play except to produce a technically perfect analysis of how young people perish in the destructiveness of their relationships? The language, the photo, the acting, the music, everything is perfect but is consumed by its own pettiness in a dwindling spiral of human claustrophobia.

Jean Cocteau, considered one of the foremost French artists of the 20th century, wrote and narrated this bizarrely familial tale about a brother and sister who have a strong love/hate relationship that expresses itself in high-strung shouting bouts that result in one of them storming out of the room. Clearly, this is a volatile relationship that is only made worse when the elder sister, Elisabeth, marries a young, rich mogul named Mike who unexpectedly leaves his entire fortune to her. Adding to this drama is the brother, Paul, being injured in a snowball fight and forced to rest extensively in Elisabeth's mansion. As a young girl and man that are acquaintances of the siblings enter the equation, the drama heats up which leads to serious revelations and underlying feelings coming to the surface. Such a story in the early 1950s had to be seen, even in Europe, as somewhat controversial given the incestuous undertones of Elisabeth and Paul's relationship. Even so, to see classic Cocteau as directed by a young, up-and-coming Jean-Pierre Melville still feeling out his soon to be unique and inspired style. Though at times a bit French-flavored melodrama and bizarre psycho- sexual encounters, Les Enfants Terribles still has enough power and creative camera work to engage the viewer up until the blunt conclusion.

This is a great film; I've seen it a couple of times on TV recently. Nicole Stephane is astonishing, her face a mask of passion, deviousness, grief. She had the glam-butch look that only Sharon Stone today has mastered. Edouard Dermithe wasn't much of an actor--Cocteau "rescued" him from the coal-mines of the north of France--but he's as spoiled as the story needs. Renee Cosima is fabulous as Dargelos/Agathe; I love her fish-mouth and hoarse voice, and those plump arms. A MUST.