Word: moreau
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...Enchanting." That word came up often among the people who dealt with French Actress Jeanne Moreau for this week's cover story. It was the reaction first of Paris Correspondent Barry Farrell, who began the interview in the South of France and then went to Mexico, where Moreau & Co. were on location near the resort city of Cuernavaca for the shooting of Viva Maria! Invited to be her houseguest at the villa she had rented for herself and staff, Farrell spent ten days interviewing at poolside, on the set, and on auto trips to Mexico City, Barry...
...have to fabricate a medieval cobbled-street market, a walled village, or a 12th century Romanesque castle: all were within kilometers of his set. Which left most of his rigid $1,000,000 budget for casting, and he could hardly have made it pay better, signing on Jeanne Moreau as Dolly Tearsheet, Sir John Gielgud as Henry IV, and even Margaret Rutherford as Mrs. Quickly. One other area where Welles didn't cut down: gluttony, which left him hospitalized after he gobbled up a middle-sized lamb and washed down four liters of hot wine...
...mere nod during the opening credits, then plunges into an orgy of intrigues on a pretty fast track. Viewers may occasionally wish they had a pony to keep abreast of what is happening. But they will never lose interest, thanks to two shrewd performers, Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jeanne Moreau, under direction from Marcel Ophuls...
Belmondo plays a. bass fiddle until Moreau, his former wife, lures him into a role as confidence man. Her goal is to set up a double swindle that will avenge her dead father, whose career was ruined 20 years earlier when he built a dam of rather flimsy concrete supplied by unscrupulous partners. On an offshore island, the first victim is soon shelling out 40 million francs for rights to a sandy beach he already owns. Then, in sunny Nice, Partner No. 2 (Gert Frobe, the Goldfinger of Goldfinger) finds himself jowl-deep in violence, sham infidelity, fixed races...
...mostly a bravura display of brightly stylish footwork. Befuddled, blackjacked, or held head down in a pool, Belmondo spins athletically through a series of double and triple crosses, showing more bounce per trounce than any leading man of his class. On the final bounce, it is inevitably Moreau who catches him. The minx with a perpetual moue, she sings, dances, suddenly flashes her searchlight smile over an unpromising patch of script-and the lost art of ultrasophisticated comedy springs to life on the instant. She seems more assured than ever as a chic dissembler who has hung by her fingernails...