Imagine it: It’s your accomplishment, but someone else is able to take all the credit. And that someone is your own husband. And it’s decades before the feminist movement is around to encourage you to do something about it.
Or to even suggest that you should do something about it.
Let’s face it, there is being a woman here and now, and being a woman there and then. The part where one’s “historical and cultural context” can make all the difference in the world.
Yet here was a woman thrust into the world of “avant-garde” libertines. The world in which the iconclasts reigned. The world hell-bent on “revolutionizing literature, fashion and sexual expression”.
But even among them there were lines to be drawn around gender. And sometimes that worked in her favor…and sometimes it did not. The irony then being that only as a result of her husband bringing her into this world would a story such as this even exist at all.
Of course there will always be the gap between the story that unfolds up on the screen and the actual reality of the times and the characters being portrayed. Not to mention all of the things that you bring into it as well. Political prejudices for example. As one IMDb reviewer noted, “after I thought I was watching a movie that was historically accurate, the director says that he had changed several characters and other aspects to make them more contemporary — meaning: what he thinks the way things ought to have been 100+ years ago, vs reality.”
In particular, I suspect, the part played by Missy.
IMDb
[b]According to Keira Knightley, it was illegal for women to wear men’s clothing in that time period in France.
The location shoot in Budapest was so warm at times, Dominic West wore a water vest inside his heavy costume that functioned like a car radiator, circulating cool water around his upper body. The contraption was recommended to him by John C. Reilly who used such an apparatus while playing the rotund Oliver Hardy in the biopic Stan & Ollie.
The actual author, Colette, wrote the novella “Gigi” which served as the basis for the stage production and film of the same name.[/b]
at wiki: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colette_(2018_film
trailer: youtu.be/Mqdyyk-iOvY
Colette [2018]
Written in part and directed by Wash Westmoreland
[b]Gabrielle Colette’s Father: And how is Paris these days, Willy?
Willy: It’s a hotbed. It’s electric. It’s heaving with artists and poets and writers, all seeking to say something profound. Most of them are too young, of course, or too crazed, but still, they generate a certain life force.
…
Father: We were going in to see a play, weren’t we?
Mother: Yes, La Tosca.
Willy: I…I was at the opening. I wouldn’t bother, to be frank. I mean, Sarah Bernhardt does her best. She always does. But it’s melodramatic in extremis.
Mother: Maybe I’ll go, make up my own mind.
Willy: Well, of course. But do remember, if a book bores you, you can throw it away. If a painting is too garish, then you can close your eyes. But bad theater, it’s like dentistry. You’re compelled to stay in your chair, having your skull drilled until the entire grisly procedure is over.
…
Arman: Willy, the Eiffel’s tower. Are you for or against?
Willy: Oh, I’m for it, if a little jealous of this giant erection in the heart of our capital belonging to somebody else.
…
Willy: So, what did you think of the salon?
Gabrielle: I liked the tortoise. I thought he was as bored as I was.
Willy: I suspect you were more intimidated than bored.
Gabrielle: No. I thought they were all…shallow and pretentious.
Willy: No. Come on. You’re reading them wrongly. It’s not so much pretension as exaggeration. The ideal is to be authentic but larger than life. To present a personality with a capital “P.” You could do it too. Country girl charm.
…
Schwob: Are you writing for him too?
Gabrielle: Mm-hmm.
Schowb: He’s made you one of his ghosts already?
Gabrielle: Just letters.
…
Willy: She’s not a disreputable woman. They’ve even written a play about her. It was a shit play, but nevertheless. Who the hell wrote that letter?
Gabrielle: I don’t care who wrote it.
Willy: Look, Gabrielle, she’s no rival to you. I promise. Look, I’ll never sleep with her again. But you have to understand, this is what men do. We’re the weaker sex. We don’t have your strength. We’re slave to our urges. And here in the city, it’s perfectly acceptable to…
Gabrielle: Nonsense! I don’t accept it. You’ve been lying to me all this time. I wait for you all day long and I never ask you for anything because you say we have no money.
Willy: But it’s true. We have no money.
Gabrielle: Because you spend it all on her!
Willy: I really don’t.
Gabrielle: And then…And then, when you get into bed and I touch you, and I kiss you, and you say you’re too tired…
Willy: No, no. I’ve been unattentive. I’m sorry. I’ll make amends.
Gabrielle: Don’t you dare touch me!!
[she storms away from him]
Willy: Gabrielle, I… I gave up my inheritance for you! My bloody freedom!
Gabrielle: Go to hell!
…
Mother: What is it, my love?
Gabrielle: It’s just…nothing is how I imagined it.
Mother: Oh. Come here. My little kitten. No one can take away who you are. No one. You’re too strong for that. You always have been. Just trust no one but yourself.
Gabrielle: I know.
Mother: So what’s he done to upset you?
Gabrielle: Nothing. Nothing. It’s just new, that’s all. I must get used to marriage.
Mother: Better to make marriage get used to you.
…
Willy: Well, life is awful without you. It’s just dead. I… I don’t feel like myself at all. Everything just seems utterly pointless. Can’t even write anymore. You mean more to me than all the women of Paris put together.
Gabrielle: Have you sampled them all?
Willy: Please don’t mock me.
Gabrielle: You’re very happy to mock everybody else.
Willy: It’s true, but it’s just…Look, it’s just horseshit. Words are deceptive little bastards. But if you trace mine to their source, to my bruised and aching heart…
Gabrielle: Well, I wouldn’t credit that as the organ of origin.
…
Gabrielle: I can read you like the top line of an optician’s chart.
Willy: That’s brilliant. Did you just make that up?
…
Willy: Just tell me what you want, Gabrielle. I’ll do anything.
Gabrielle: I know who you are, Willy. Maybe I knew it all along. But I want you not to lie to me.
Willy: I won’t. Never again. I promise.
Gabrielle: I want to be part of things. I don’t want to be treated like some little wife at home. I want to know what’s going on.
Willy: You will. You’ll be part of everything.
Gabrielle: Do you promise?
Willy: Promise.
…
Willy: You. You could write. Those stories you told me of Saint-Sauveur last year.
Gabrielle: My school stories?
Willy: Yes. That could be Willy’s next novel. Well, try it anyway, but try it now. Start immediately. Aim for four hours at a time. The wolves are at the door!
…
Gabrielle [writting her novel]: “My name is Claudine. I live in Montigny. I was born there in 1873. I shall probably not die there.”
…
Willy: Did you manage four hours?
Gabrielle: Twice that, at least.
Willy: You didn’t. You must be a natural.
Gabrielle: I’ve changed a few things…for the story. I think it might ruffle a few feathers back home.
Willy: Oh, don’t worry about the facts. You can change events, add a character. Just adapt it to the times. All people really want is the feeling, the emotion, the great sweep of narrative.
Gabrielle: So you mean I can write whatever I want?
Willy: Of course. No one will dispute it. And if they do, “It’s the hand that holds the pen that writes history.”
…
Willy [after reading Gabrielle’s novel]: It’s a truly wonderful depiction.
Gabrielle: And?
Willy: And…we won’t be able to get it published. That’s the shame of it.
Gabrielle: What’s wrong with it?
Willy: Honestly? So I’ll treat you like any other writer I’m giving a report to, shall I?
Gabrielle: Yes.
Willy: Except that I love you. I adore you. Should be clear about that.
Gabrielle: Just… Just say it.
Willy: There’s nothing driving it. There’s no plot. A novel by Willy grips you from chapter one, whereas yours…There’s too many adjectives. And some of the characters are interesting, but…it’s too cloying. It’s too feminine.
Gabrielle: Well, that was a waste of bloody time.
Willy: Not if you enjoyed it.
Gabrielle: I wrote it for you!
…
Willy: Quoting the good book, Gaston? You may remember a little verse about coveting other men’s wives.
Gaston: And you may remember one about not trying to remove a speck from your brother’s eye with a log in your own.
…
Willy: Gaston’s first play was absolute rubbish, but his mother runs a salon, so, of course, it was a huge success and he was praised to the skies for his brilliant writing and his sublime talent. Unctuous prick. He was after you.
Gabrielle: He’s not my type, and they just got married.
Willy: Yeah, well, they’re no longer on honeymoon, I assure you, my dear.
Gabrielle: Your jealousy is misplaced.
Willy: How so?
Gabrielle: It was the wife I found interesting.
…
Gabrielle: A little louche.
Willy: Louche sells, trust me. We need more spice, less literature. I know what men want. So do the publishers.
…
Schwob: All of Paris is saying your husband is a genius.
Gabrielle: And what do you say?
Schowb: He is. If that book is anything to go by.
Gabrielle: Look at him. I haven’t seen him that happy in a long time.
…
Publisher: I believe Willy based Claudine in part on your school days.
Gabrielle: Yes, I think I had a little something to contribute.
…
Gabrielle: Is something wrong?
Willy: Well, wh-what do you think is wrong? Finally we have a success, and then you imply that I’m not the true author of it.
Gabrielle: No, I didn’t.
Willy: We’re holding dynamite here. We’ve created something really powerful, and if it goes off at the wrong time, then it could blow our bloody heads off.
Gabrielle: Ollendorff is your publisher, Willy.
Willy: Yeah, well, Schwob also said something.
Gabrielle: Schwob is part of the factory.
Willy: People love to talk. They praise you to your face. Then the moment you turn around there’s knives in your back. I understand the mentality here. You don’t.
Gabrielle: Well, I understand it well enough to write a book that’s the toast of Paris.
…
Willy: I don’t know why you’re so keen on nature. Animals are vile to each other.
Gabrielle: Animals are honest at least. They never lie.
Willy: Yes, my dear. Well, that’s because they don’t speak.
…
Willy: But don’t you think she’s being hypocritical? I mean, it’s acceptable for Claudine to sleep with Rezi, but she doesn’t want Renaud to do the same.
Gabrielle: Not behind her back, no. The betrayal came when Renaud lied to her. Renaud, who swore he would always be honest.
Willy: Well, perhaps he wanted to tell her, but he was…frightened of her volcanic jealousy.
Gabrielle: Well, then, he was a coward as well as a liar.
Willy: You’re very harsh on him.
Gabrielle: If not me, who else? And Renaud would never be jealous if, for example, Claudine went off with a young man for a change.
Willy: He would find that unacceptable.
Gabrielle: Oh. Infidelity for Renaud is a matter of gender?
Willy: Yes, it is.
…
Willy: How long have you known?
Gabrielle: About a month.
Willy: Well, I must say, I’m impressed by the way you’ve handled yourself. A younger Claudine would have thrown a fit.
Gabrielle: I’m planning on killing Renaud off in the next one.
Willy: What? No, you can’t. No, please, don’t.
Gabrielle: “The hand that holds the pen writes history.”
…
Georgie: I know that you have no time for me since our separation, and I know I behaved badly. But I’m begging you. Ask Willy to change it before publication. Please, Colette. One woman to another.
Gabrielle: I can’t.
Georgie: You’d let me suffer? I
Gabrielle: It isn’t just Willy, Georgie. It… It’s… It’s the book itself. Willy thinks it’s a work of art.
Georgie: You had your chance to be decent, but now it will be left to my husband to settle it. Ollendorff has agreed to a lump sum for the destruction of the entire print run.
Gabrielle: What? You can’t do that.
Georgie: He’s already accepted.
Gabrielle: That sly bastard. You can’t. You just can’t.
Georgie: Well, we have, and that’s how it is.
Gabrielle: You duplicitous bitch.
Georgie: I had a good teacher.
…
Willy: The thing is, Ollendorff signed the deal, but he neglected to mention that he does not own the copyright. Because I do. So it was simply a question of trotting along to the next publisher, collecting a second advance, and the printing presses are hard at work as we speak.
…
Missy: It seems Claudines are everywhere these days.
Gabrielle: Yes. There’s even been a Claudine murderess in Marseilles. She slit her husband’s throat.
Missy: Good for her. But seriously, you’ve done something important. You’ve invented a type.
Gabrielle: Willy has, you mean.
Missy: I mean you have. All those young girls between girlhood and womanhood, you’ve given them a voice. You should own up to it.
Gabrielle: Somebody told you?
Missy: I didn’t need to be told. Meeting you is enough.
Gabrielle: It’s true. I wrote them.
…
Gabrielle: What do you think of Missy?
Willy: She’s very pleasant. But she perplexes me. I’m…Words are either masculine or feminine, but there’s no…there’s no word for Missy.
Gabrielle: Oh, I could think of one or two.
…
Gabrielle: It must have been very hard for you. Putting on trousers, I mean.
Missy: No. It was entirely natural. I was a rather awkward child, if you can imagine me in pigtails and a dress. I never felt like I belonged, and then one day I tried on my brother’s school uniform, and that was it. I knew I was home for the first time. I’ve come a long way since then. Of course, it’s far easier for me than for a woman of no means, but I wanted to show that it can be done. What about you?
Gabrielle: What about me? Well, I dress as a man. Willy dresses you as a schoolgirl.
…
Gabrielle: Willy is demanding, yes, but…he also gives me a lot of freedom.
Missy: It is a long leash he keeps you on, but it’s a leash nevertheless. And perhaps you enjoy that.
Gabrielle: Do you think that’s terribly wrong?
Missy: No. It’s entirely your business, but… Never mind.
Gabrielle: But what?
Missy: I wonder if there will come a time…when you must decide, are you Claudine or are you Colette?
…
Gabrielle: You know the new Claudine book?
Willy: Yes.
Gabrielle: Why don’t we publish it under both our names?
…
Gabrielle: I need my name on the book.
Willy: No. Willy is a brand. And, in any case, women writers don’t sell.
Gabrielle: You bastard. You fat, smug, lazy, selfish bastard.
Willy: This is utter nonsense. If you felt so strongly, you should never have agreed to it all.
Gabrielle: Goddamn you, Willy.
Willy: Without the progenitor, there would be no Claudine.[/b]
Next up: The kiss.
[b]Willy: I saw our creditors yesterday. It’s horrific. We lost everything at the Moulin Rouge.
Gabrielle: Not today, Willy.
Willy: Colette. We need to sell the country house. We have no choice.
Gabrielle: No. No, Willy. You can’t do that.
Willy: Well, morally, yes, I need your permission. But, legally, well, the house is in my name.
…
Gabrielle: I’m going on tour, Sido, with Wague, for the next six months. The contracts are being drawn up now. We’re doing a new piece.
Mother: Get out of it. You have to.
Gabrielle: I’m going to do it.
Willy [entering the room]: What did I miss? Women. Knives. All very Greek.
…
Willy: Tell me something. The sole rights to the Claudines, Ollendorff. What would you give me for them?
Ollendorff: Are you serious? All of them?
Willy: Yes.
Ollendorff: The sole rights in perpetuity?
Willy: Make me an offer.
…
Gabrielle: What are we doing, Willy?
Willy: Are we finished?
Gabrielle: I don’t know.
Willy: You can’t.
Gabrielle: Why can’t I?
Willy: Because I love you. Because you’re the only woman I could ever love. And because you’re at your most brilliant when you’re with me.
Gabrielle: Am I?
Willy: Yes. You know you are.
…
Ollendorff: I was thinking if you were free, I’d like to take you and the marquise to dinner.
Gabrielle: Thank you. I’m always up for a free feed. Especially in such august company.
Ollendorff: Mmm, it’s the very least I can do for you, Colette, after all the money you’ve made for me. And will continue to make. I wish I’d been able to give Willy a better settlement. But one can only pay what one can afford.
Gabrielle: I’m not quite sure I understand.
Ollendorff: For the Claudines. The rights to the Claudines.
Gabrielle: Willy sold you the Claudines?
Ollendorff: Yes. All of them.
Gabrielle: He sold you the Claudines?
Ollendorff: Absolutely. I’m sorry. I thought he…
Gabrielle: How much did he get for them?
…
Gabrielle: Five thousand francs?!
Willy: Don’t be melodramatic. I was trying to keep the house for you.
Gabrielle: I gave you the house.
Willy: We still owed the bank.
Gabrielle: You could have sold Veber’s novels, some of your other trash. You just did it to stick the knife in me. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?
Willy: I wouldn’t have got anything for Veber’s, or Schwob’s, or anyone else’s. Now, please, calm down.
Gabrielle: Why? Why should I calm down? Oh, you hurt and you hurt and you hurt, and you think that by saying “I’m a man, that’s what men do,” you clear it all away. What you did was not just hateful, it was stupid. Now we’ll have no say over our books, and we’ll never make another penny from them.
Willy: We can write some more.
Gabrielle: No, never. Never again. Never!
Willy: You’re overreacting. This was purely a business decision.
Gabrielle: Isn’t that what our whole marriage has been? Wasn’t I the best investment you ever made? No dowry, but my God, she can write for her keep!
Willy: If you were an investment, you were a highly speculative one.
Gabrielle: I paid you back a thousand times.
Willy: Please, just stop it! Just stop talking about money! You were my ideal, my love, my obsession.
Gabrielle: You killed our child, Willy. Those books…they were all we had. And now they’re gone and there’s no chance of repair.
…
Willy: My darling, Claudine was only…
Gabrielle: Don’t. Don’t tell me what Claudine was. I am the real Claudine. Everything I thought and felt went into those books. They were me. My childhood, my memories, my opinions. Everything. And when I think of the hours I spent alone, slaving away for you, churning out scenes just to try and please you, I am so ashamed of myself for that. And yet I knew and you knew… that I was bound to do it. You found me when I knew nothing. You molded me to your own designs, to your desires. And you thought that I could never break free. Well, you’re wrong. Claudine is dead now. She’s gone. You betrayed her.
…
Gabrielle [voiceover]: After two years of music hall and theater, I’m still the same, face to face with that painted mentor who gazes at me from the other side of the looking glass with deep-set eyes under lids smeared with purplish greasepaint. I know she is going to speak to me. She is going to say, “Is that you there all alone under that ceiling, booming and vibrating under the feet of the dancers? Why are you there all alone? And why not somewhere else?” Yes, this is the dangerous, lucid hour. Now, whenever I despair, I no longer expect my end, but some bit of luck, some commonplace little miracle which, like a glittering link, will mend again the necklace of my days.
…
Title card: Colette’s The Vagabond, based on her music hall experiences, was published under her own name to great critical acclaim. Colette and Missy continued their relationship for many years. Missy often accompanied Colette on music hall tours but never again on the stage. After their divorce was finalized Colette and Willy never spoke again. The Claudine manuscripts were not destroyed by Paul Heon who instead returned them to Colette. She later used them to contest the novels’ true authorship – a battle she eventually won. Colette went on to publish over thirty novels and collections of short stories. She became the most celebrated female author in the history of French literature. In her old age, Colette remarked, “What a wonderful life I’ve had. I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”[/b]