Danse Macabre #20: Film Review — "Diabolique" (1955)

In 1981, Stephen King published Danse Macabre, a work of non-fiction wherein the author acts as a tour guide through the history of horror. He addresses the social issues and political conflicts that have influenced creators over the years, and the ways creators have influenced each other. 

King closes out the volume by recommending 96 films and 113 books released during the 1950-1980 period that he feels have significantly contributed to modern genre fiction. With this Fearsome Queer column, I’ll be making my way through those titles in no particular order. 

Few endings are as legendary as the conclusion of Henri-Georges Clouzot’s 1955 thriller Diabolique. The big reveal is so famous that I bet most viewers today watch it already knowing what happens. I know I did, anyway. Bravo’s “100 Scariest Movie Moments” ruined it for me. The super-spoiler didn’t stop me from seeking out the film, however, and it shouldn’t deter you from doing so, either.

But if you are one of the lucky folks who can go into Diabolique totally unsullied, fucking do it! Now!!!

I envy you if you can. I’m not a spoiler-phobe, but witnessing Véra Clouzot’s iconic sacre-bleu! face—and the shocking thing she’s reacting to—without the slightest foreknowledge must be one of cinema’s sweetest treats. French audiences were probably merde-ing themselves in 1955. (Hmm… maybe it’s Diabolique’s fault that the Seine is basically 50% shit and piss.)

It’s been said ad nauseam over the years, but here it is again… Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Diabolique is the Hitchcockiest movie directed by someone other than Alfred Hitchcock. He wanted to do it, as the story goes; Clouzot just beat him to the rights. But it’s all for the best because even though Hitch’s version would’ve undoubtedly been fierce as hell, Clouzot’s adaptation of Diabolique inspired Hitchcock’s direction of Psycho. So, it’s hard to be mad about how things played out.

It’s also hard to picture what a version of Diabolique would be without the performances of Simone Signoret and Véra Clouzot. Okay, yes, there’s the American debacle from the 90s with Sharon Stone and Isabelle Adjani, sure, but why would you watch that when you could simply… not? To be clear, I love Sharon Stone and Isabelle Adjani, but they can’t save the misguided remake, which has gone largely forgotten for a reason.

Plus, movies about a couple of chicks teaming up to kill the abusive cheater who wronged them are just better in black and white. And in French.

In the original, Simone Signoret, who was only a few years away from earning an Oscar for Room at the Top, has such a commanding presence as Nicole, a scorned mistress turned cold-blooded murderess. I’m a huge fan of Simone Signoret, here and elsewhere. She’s an actress you have to pay attention to if you want to fully appreciate her. Signoret’s every movement is precise, and every line delivery is measured. She especially flourishes in the moments between dramatic beats.

When it comes to the two lead roles, Nicole is arguably the trickier part to play, and Signoret exhibits so much tact while doing so. No matter where she is—on school grounds with her students, in private with the headmaster she’s having a very public affair with, or among the shadows where she weighs the queer feelings she may have for her co-murderess/the headmaster’s wife—Nicole has to wear multiple masks without appearing as though she’s donning one at all. Simone Signoret pulls it all off beautifully and absolutely slays.

Véra Clouzot, Signoret’s co-star, has the more conspicuous role as Christina, the feeble wife of the cruel headmaster she and Nicole conspire to kill together. She spends most of the film in a state of unease, so our eyes go to her frequently throughout the film. Whenever Christina and Nicole encounter a snag, it’s Mme. Clouzot’s expressive visage we’re immediately drawn to. Véra Clouzot plays the part deftly, with delicacy; it’s a resonate performance that thrives on camera.

Christina’s condition is not merely a tension gauge for the story—it’s a directorial sleight of hand. Véra Clouzot’s emotional portrayal, by its nature, is a magnet for empathy, and it works like a charm. As a result of us being hyper-fixated on Christina during certain key moments, we’re not looking closely at anyone else. In other words, Véra Clouzot’s intensity sometimes eclipses the slyness of Simone Signoret. In another film, this may be called upstaging, but in this case it’s dexterous filmmaking.

Henri-Georges Clouzot was a very calculated director. If you’ve never seen his The Wages of Fear, I highly-highly-highly recommend it. It’s one of the most suspenseful films I’ve ever seen. (William Friedkin’s remake of it, Sorcerer, is also nerve-racking.) I wish I could say the same of Diabolique, which was Clouzot’s follow-up to The Wages of Fear. To be perfectly honest, I find Diabolique’s rhythm rather sluggish. I caught my mind wandering several times and had to consciously re-focus. Now, considering how deliberate Henri-Georges Clouzot was, could the lethargic pace be purposeful and intended to amplify the shock factor at the end? Possibly. Or maybe I’m too kind.

But let’s be real. The ending is what makes the film significant. It’s the proverbial rug that ties the room together. Yes, all the sick photography leading up to the twist is striking and attention-grabbing, but if you’re not cinematographically inclined, that may not mean as much to you as does to me and our old buddy Hitch. Watching Diabolique, you can practically see him visualizing ideas he’d use later on in Psycho. So, even if it does drag on occasion, Diabolique is still a stunning piece of cinema worth checking out.

It’s also implicitly queer, and who’d I be if I didn’t at least mention it? Of course, this is a film from the 50s, so it was never going to be overtly queer, even in Europe. But if you read between the lines, something is definitely smoldering between Nicole and Christina. I mean, Nicole is openly sleeping with Christina’s husband—and everybody knows it, including Christina—yet they’re friendly with each other, they ditch town together, they room together, and they scheme together. Soooo… add up all the lines, carry the one, and the sum equals out to… 🎶 leeesssbiannns! 🎶

Or bis! We shan’t erase the bis—they hate that.

Nicole and Christina being bi actually makes more sense, now that I think about it. In cinema, bisexuals are the deadliest queers, and that is why we stan!