Le Bonheur - 1965

François is not depicted as a monster, a sadist, or a mustache-twirling villain. He is genuinely kind, gentle, and loving. This makes his psychological makeup far more terrifying. François views happiness through the lens of modern consumer capitalism: it is something to be acquired, accumulated, and maximized.

The narrative of Le Bonheur is intentionally simple. François (Jean-Claude Drouot) is a handsome, loving carpenter who lives in the suburbs with his wife, Thérèse (Claire Drouot), and their two young children. They have a perfect life—sunshine, picnics, laughter, and a healthy sexual relationship.

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That is an interesting prompt — just the title and year, no specific reviewer or publication. "Le Bonheur" (1965) is Agnès Varda's deceptively sunny, quietly devastating film about a married carpenter who loves his wife and children... and then falls in love with another woman, seeing no contradiction.

Le Bonheur is perhaps the most radical feminist film ever disguised as a conventional domestic drama. Varda’s direction is a masterful exercise in visual irony. The opening credits, which feature a zooming sunflower and rapid cuts of the family walking through a field, are accompanied by Mozart’s ominous Adagio and Fugue in C minor, which hints at something dark beneath the cheerful surface. Varda uses the aesthetics of Impressionism—dappled light, vibrant flowers, picnics in the grass—to criticize the very notion of domestic bliss. The men speak of women interchangeably, comparing them to plants or animals, treating them as accessories to their own personal fulfillment. François’s shocking lack of self-awareness and his ability to bounce back from tragedy without a second thought is a direct indictment of a patriarchal society that enables male happiness at the expense of female subjectivity. Many contemporary critics found the film amoral or irresponsible, which was exactly Varda’s point: she exposed a male fantasy for what it is, and the male establishment was horrified. François is not depicted as a monster, a

that uses the language of commercials and fairy tales to expose the myth of domestic bliss [6, 25, 31].

At first glance, Le Bonheur subverts the traditional narrative architecture of the melodrama. The story follows François (played by Jean-Claude Drouot), a handsome, good-natured young carpenter who lives a remarkably content life in the Paris suburbs. He is deeply in love with his beautiful, doting wife, Thérèse (Claire Drouot, Jean-Claude’s real-life wife), and their two radiant children (also played by their real-life children). Their life is an endless succession of sun-drenched Sunday picnics, gentle embraces, and domestic harmony. François views happiness through the lens of modern

Watch it. But do not watch it alone. And do not watch it expecting to feel good. Watch it to understand that the sunflowers, for all their beauty, grow from the earth that has swallowed the dead.

Instead of standard black fades, Varda uses blocks of solid primary colors—vivid blues, intense reds, and bright yellows—to transition between scenes. These colors evoke emotional shifts and highlight the artificiality of the narrative.

Unlike a traditional melodrama, François experiences no guilt, angst, or internal conflict. To him, love is an expandable resource. He famously explains his philosophy to Thérèse during a picnic, comparing his happiness to an orchard: he already had a wonderful orchard, and now he has found another tree, which simply means more fruit. He believes his affair only increases his capacity to love his family. Thérèse listens, smiles, and accepts his explanation. They make love. But while François naps, Thérèse walks to a nearby lake and drowns.