Swimming Pool (2003)

Swimming Pools & Cinema: a Mysterious Affinity...

‘Swimming pools and cinema: a mysterious affinity…’

Perceptions change over time. Take Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms (1929) or J. D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye (1951)- books best read in the flush of youth, at nineteen years old. I first read Brideshead Revisited (1945) at seventeen. Coming back to it later, in the embers of Late Youth (aka middle age), the world-weary observations of Captain Ryder resonate more than the pretensions (albeit amusing pretensions) of Sebastian Flyte and the Bright Young Things. And the same with L. P. Hartley's The Go-Between (1953)- a marvellously sensitive- even beautiful novel- written from the point of view of a regretful (and ultimately damaged) narrator in his late fifties.

Which takes us to Swimming Pool (2003), directed by François Ozon and starring Charlotte Rampling and Ludivine Sagnier- with a lovely cameo performance from Charles Dance. Before we get started, let's not confuse Swimming Pool (2003) with La Piscine (1969), Jacques Deray's glorious- and sinister- tale of shenanigans amongst the beautiful people of the French Riviera (which we may well cover in a later post- if it's available on download, DVD or Blu-Ray) or A Bigger Splash (2015), starring she-who can-do-no-wrong Tilda Swinton and Ralph Fiennes; or, for that matter, Deep Water (2022) based on Patricia Highsmith's dark psychological thriller.

‘a nubile twenty-something in a bedazzled bikini…’

Thinking about it, what exactly is it about swimming pools? Swimming pools and cinema: there’s a mysterious affinity. A sensual charge. And it's no different with Swimming Pool (2003). Described by that simple sword of truth and trusty shield of American fair play, Wikipedia, as 'an erotic thriller', Charlotte’s a frustrated middle-aged crime writer and Ludivine’s a nubile twenty-something in a bedazzled bikini.

‘a psychological study of a jaded, middle-aged thriller writer’s brain…’

And without giving too much away, the plot goes something like this. Charlotte (oh! lovely name choice) leaves rainy old Blighty to hole up in her publisher's (Charles Dance) desirable villa in the Luberon, in the South of France. Partly to cure herself of writer's block and also in the futile hope that he might join her. Alas, instead of the dashing Mr Dance, she gets his irritating illegitimate daughter, Julie, a product, apparently of a Parisian one-night stand. And Julie brings all sorts of baggage with her to shatter the peace. Brash pop music, untidiness, and older, undesirable oafs picked up in the local village, aesthetically challenging in Y-Fronts, male bikinis and middle-aged spread. And how things develop!

Like all the best summer movies, events take place in late summer, on the cusp of autumn- and I'm immediately thinking of the final scene in Jack Clayton's The Great Gatsby (1974), autumnal debris, lilos and light bouncing off chlorine, or numerous backlit chunks of The Swimmer (1968)- another swimming pool film to add to the list. I first watched Swimming Pool at the cinema, back in 2003. And it passed me by. I didn't understand it. I may even have nodded off in the back row of the Curzon Mayfair. Oh shame! Watching it again, twenty years on, it's a different beast. It's terrific. A gem. Like Lindsay Anderson's If.... (1968) (a film to cover in a future post), fantasy and reality merge into one. It's a psychological study of a jaded, middle-aged thriller writer's brain. And all that comes with it. Hopefully, I'm not quite there yet. But approach Swimming Pool with an open mind, and it's a film which stays with you. This one’s for keeps, and it's most definitely on the list.

‘autumnal debris, lilos and sunlight bouncing off chlorine...’

Swimming Pool (2003) can be seen via DVD and Blu-Ray. It may also have been available on BFI Player (an Amazon Prime add-on) at some stage, but at the time of writing that’s a no go.

I hope you enjoyed this review- the first official post for Luke Honey's Weekend Flicks. I'll post a new film recommendation every Friday morning (London time) and I hope you'll join me over the coming weeks. It's going to be fun. Something for the weekend.

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