Alex da Silva The film takes place in a French village and we concentrate on two characters – headmistress Stéphane Audran (Hélène) and butcher Jean Yanne (Paul). Looks like we have a love story coming on. And we do. But hold on, there's been some excellent spooky music during the opening credits suggesting some sort of ominous proceedings. All becomes plain when dead women start appearing in the locale and detective Roger Rudel (Grumbach) appears on the scene to investigate. There is a serial killer operating in the area…..The film has a slow pace but still keeps you watching as you know who the killer is and wait to see how things unfold. Or do you know the killer? Given that we concentrate on two characters, it has to be one of them. You start to doubt the obvious as your imagination takes you to other places. Once it is established who the guilty party is, the story is still gripping as we head to the climax.What is interesting about this film is that you are left thinking about it. Yep, the guilty party is obviously an abomination – there is no justification for a serial killer no matter what environment has been experienced. You have to be unhinged to carry out these sort of atrocities. But, the other character – to be so morally devoid – surely that is an equally worryingly state of mind to be in? I wonder if this links in to the French notion of murder being justified if it is a crime of passion? Is there no moral obligation to do the right thing if it contradicts your current feelings around the concept of love? And what is love? The satisfaction of an ego? Is the director just relating the psychology of the French, ie, arrogance? And that is what lingers in the minds of the audience from the rest of the world as we think "how can this be right?" The acting is good in this film and I recommend seeing it as certain scenes stand out. It has a great setting in the village and will guarantee to get you thinking at the end. By the way, I have nothing against the French – I love garlic and onions and I also admire their sense of anarchy and revolution. They truly embody the real punk spirit. If they don't like something, they don't do it. Maybe you need to be arrogant to live like this and maybe that's not such a bad thing. In which case, this film is truly disturbing.

jandesimpson Way back in the mid '80's we took a family holiday in the Dordogne where we devoted one day to a rather special pilgrimage. With the aid of a map the village of Tremolat was not difficult to find. Tremolat - the name evokes that most magical of village locations for probably our favourite and certainly most oft watched French film. On arrival what surprised us was an absence of tourists and coaches. Surely this would be like Oxford as it is now with its "Morse" tours; but with people discovering the location of the butcher's shop, the school with Madamoiselle Helene's little flat above, the church, the cemetery, the caves. But fifteen years after Chabrol made his most unforgettable film there, no one had got round to organising a "Boucher" tour. It was a case of making one ourselves. We were excited and in no way disappointed. Everything was there and we were even able to retrace the exact walk that Popaul and Helene had taken in that memorable tracking shot from the wedding party to the school in the village square. The location of the butcher's shop, although a domestic dwelling was clearly identifiable as was the school which was in fact the Mairie. As the latter was a public building we were able to enter and even mount those very same stairs only stopping when we reached the door. Beyond, an office perhaps, so we didn't break the spell by trying to enter.Claude Chabrol died last year so this reminiscence is by way of being a belated tribute to the French director who, with the possible exception of Francois Truffaut, has given me the most pleasure over the years. I have caught up with much of his late oeuvre only in the past few months and have to confess to being often disappointed. He made far too many so there are quite a few potboilers. But way back in the crossover period between the late'60's and early '70's he made those three extraordinary psychological thrillers that are among the glories of French cinema - "La Femme Infidele", "Que La Bete Meure" and finest of all "Le Boucher". The sound of Popaul's soft cries of "Madamoiselle Helene" coming out of the darkness and the image of Helene standing alone by the river and silently staring ahead are unforgettable moments among so many. Thank you, Claude Chabrol, for the lasting pleasure of your three greatest films and for "Le Boucher" in particular.

ben schuman is The Butcher a thriller? Yes. Is it a psychological drama? Yes. Is it an idyllic small town romance? Yes. Is it a horror film? Yes. Can all of these descriptions coexist? Yes. The Butcher is indeed all of those things. It's a film that deals with the greatest, most puzzling, and most disturbing mysteries of humanity, but it's also a small, simple film with a style so subtle it sometimes appears to be no style at all. Chabrol's French contemporaries are known for their flair- for their attention-grabbing camera work and editing. Hitchcock was known for his stylish set-pieces. But Chabrol has an amazing knack for convincing us that we're not watching a stylish film. The color scheme, the manipulation of light, and the stifling editing are as meticulous as in a Hitchcock film, or a Truffaut film, but are at the same time nearly invisible. His direction is heavily stylized but appears nearly accidental. Chabrol manages to transform picnics, schoolhouses and cobblestone streets into a landscape that is horrifying for its lack of apparent horror and for its incongruity with the horror being committed. The Butcher is also the story of two people who have adapted, in their own ways, to modern society. An uneducated, old-fashioned male war veteran adapts by becoming a killing machine, and an educated, stylish woman adapts by becoming a cold narcissist. Both were apparently functioning, normal human beings until they meet each other. But, when they meet each other, their neuroses come into the foreground: his animalistic passion and her ultra-civilized coolness nearly destroy each other. Some viewers say that the woman is the monster and some say it is the man. It is the man who commits truly monstrous acts, but it is the woman who, by way of her repressed attraction to such a monstrous man, sets his gears turning. The schoolteacher never could have foreseen the effect she would have on the butcher, but she is still responsible, and that is what is terrifying. The Butcher, however, is not a masterpiece because of its cynicism; it's a masterpiece because it manages to be cynical while having utmost respect for its characters. It's a great film because of the way it explores how hard its characters try and how pathetically they fail. It's a horror film about how impossible it can be for people to change.

MisterWhiplash Claude Chabrol, the French director of many thrillers and dramas and other genres, is at his best when subtly but forcefully pulling the rug out from the viewer. This isn't your usual case of a romance story criss-crossed with a serial killer thriller. In fact, we're not made very much aware that there is a serial killer- save for a few mentions here and there- until halfway through the movie, and by the time we are it's full-throttle in a kind of expertly manipulated suspense, not in the usual sense but through an ominous musical score by Pierre Jansen and a movement of fluidity with the camera that tells the story sort of conventionally but not at the same time. It's a small, master's class in subverting the genre by making us care so much about the characters even as we know they're doomed from the happy opening.That's not to say that Chabrol has made anything that can't be enjoyed by one looking for a good entertaining thriller first and foremost. If anything the opening of the movie is what lures one in perfectly, as it's a very jovial in this wedding sequence one sees guests school-teacher Helene (Stephane Audran, Chabrol regular) and butcher Paul (Jean Yanne, perfect as the butcher), enjoying themselves and making good conversation. This stretches out into the first half of the film; a friendship develops around food that Paul brings over, and it's only when Paul thinks its time to go the 'next step' that he's told it can't be because of a past horrible relationship that Helen faced- horrible in the sense of disappointment. There's a disconnect emotionally that is left open, thus, going into the second half of the film, where finally we see what some of us would be waiting for: the serial killer plot.There's a string of murders involving women, and one of them- the bride from the opening- is a shocker not exactly for the revelation itself, per-say, but how Chabrol builds up to it. At first it's seen as the most suspenseful thing in the film so far as Helen leads her class along a mountainside and stops to have lunch. The music is playing right here, and it's really chilling for how simple it lays out the tension, like a weirdo standing across the street in a black cloak acting suspicious but, at the same time, too subtle to pin down. This adds to the sudden shock, then, after the music stops and finally the reveal happens via blood dripping on the kid's sandwich. This, however, is just one example of Chabrol's calm mastery as a director of the material.It would be one thing to go on and on about the eerie absorption of the camera-work, which goes between conventional stylization (for a French film of the period) and poetic editing and framing. Or to go on and on about the stunning work turned by Audran (going between an entire emotional palette, as it were, from happy to sobbing to frightened to pale and shot to hell) and Yanne (also great at what he's meant to be, our male protagonist and, sadly, eventual antagonist by default). But it's the emotional struggle that makes this compelling above all other good reasons to recommend.The Butcher posits a relationship that is platonic, naturalistic, and genuinely interesting; these aren't cookie-cutter characters but well-drawn and with things that make them identifiable even as they, early on, seem to go on about trivial things not related to the plot (a little like a Woody Allen movie). Then, when it switches gears bit by bit and the paranoia increases, by the time the climax comes it becomes very, ultimately, tragic. Chabrol goes to lengths to reveal, simply, the soul of a man one should not feel any sympathy for. That one close-up in the car ride to the hospital is one of the finest climaxes I might ever see in a movie from Europe, even anywhere. And damned if isn't representative of what Chabrol can do as a craftier but no less true-to-his-art member of the Cashier du cinema filmmaker club. A+