"The Marquise of O," set during the Napoleonic turmoils of nineteenth century Europe, focuses on the misfortunes of lovely young lady known as the Marquise (Edith Clever). Her father is a colonel who must surrender the town he is defending to the Russians. One of these Russian soldiers, a noble officer referred to as the Count (Bruno Ganz), saves the Marquise from a band of rapacious Slavic soldiers. Later, when he takes the barely conscious woman to her family's house, he revisits her in the middle of the night in a scene with deeply suspicious overtones. Fast forward a bit, when the Count comes to visit the Marquise and her parents. He proposes a marriage between himself and the young lady, much to the shock of everyone involved. The Marquise tries to put him off for a bit, but the Count is undeterred. He presses for a commitment, which apparently is a big no-no in the early nineteenth century as evidenced by the increasing sourness of the father and mother, but eventually settles in to wait. A complication arises when the Count learns he must head back to Russia to fill a post, an assignment he incredibly considers disobeying in order to stay near the Marquise. Her parents are appalled-what sort of man would spurn a direct order from the leader of his country? It soon becomes obvious why the Count tried to put off his trip.

The Marquise begins to feel unwell. As time progresses, she fears she may be pregnant, something the implications of which will be disastrous for her and her family. She's not married and doesn't have any overt suitors other than the Count, so aside from a miraculous virgin birth, someone's been up to no good. When her parents find out about what happened, the unfolding hysterics are quite something to watch. Nineteenth century Europe is a place and time when an unwed mother might as well commit suicide rather than birth a child. The pregnancy places the family's honor in grave jeopardy, which the Colonel will not allow. He disowns his child, banishing her from the house to a distant country estate. The Marquise's mother is torn, at first expressing outrage at her daughter's state and then softening later. A risky plan to reconcile the family involves placing an advertisement in the local newspaper seeking the father of the child. Even I groaned aloud at such an audacious endeavor. The locals do too, finding great amusement in the fact that a highborn woman doesn't know who fathered her child. And who did? We have a good idea, but must wait for it to play out at the end of the film.

I loved this film. The movie is all about how a strict sense of honor, fused with repressive ideas about how a woman should conduct herself, play out in a small family. While we may laugh over how concerned the characters are about the situation, and Rohmer certainly laughs as well, that doesn't make for a less interesting film experience. If "The Marquise of O" were nothing more than a quaint little picture about moral conundrums two hundred years ago, it would not merit attention. What sets the film apart is the sumptuous cinematography and compelling atmosphere. I don't know a whit about painted art, but it is obvious Rohmer set out to create a world resembling a painting. I shouldn't say ONE static painting, as the movie looks like one huge moving painting. The colors, atmosphere, and background are simply amazing to look at. Each frame of the film looks as though Rohmer carefully pulled it off a canvas. It's not as obvious as "Barry Lyndon," where Kubrick had his actors strike poses, but "The Marquise of O" looks like it should be hanging in the Louvre.