La Derniere Femme (1976)
Love, Relationships, Romance, Family, Men, watch this moving film to see how Feminism has destroyed everything Beautiful in our world.
When feminism steals his wife, a jobless engineer bags his baby’s stunning Italian nanny and Marco Ferreri rubs your nose in the wreckage of a real man’s last stand.
Gérard Depardieu is this hulking young engineer, motorbike and all, working a petrochemical plant that’s just gone on technical unemployment in the mid-70s slump. His wife Gabrielle has already packed up and joined the MLF, that women’s lib circus, leaving him stuck raising their nine-month-old boy Pierrot alone in a soulless high-rise. He goes to pick the kid up from the crèche and there she is — Valérie, this young knockout who was about to skip off to Tunisia with some older fella. She looks at Gérard, at the baby, at a man actually holding the family together, and next thing she’s moved into his cramped apartment in the Créteil new town. They start fucking immediately, hard and messy, right in the kitchen with the kid in the mix like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Ferreri, the same guy who made you...
watch people eat themselves to death in La Grande Bouffe, just plants the camera and lets it happen: sweat, bodies, the concrete walls, no pretty lighting, no false romance. Valérie slides into the mother role for Pierrot while Gérard starts feeling like he’s nothing but a walking hard-on, the women circling around his son, his ex dropping by, tensions building until he’s just this big frustrated male reduced to his cock in a world that decided it doesn’t need him anymore. It gets under your skin because Ferreri’s not playing games — he’s showing what happens when the natural order gets smashed and a man is left trying to hold onto something real while everything around him turns against him.
This is 1970s France, right after the 68 hangover when the MLF militants started turning wives into crusaders who walked out on husbands and kids, the oil-shock factories shutting down, the grim new-town banlieues like Créteil with their tower blocks and gray industrial edges. They shot the factory bits at that massive vapocraqueur in Saint-Avold, Moselle, all steel pipes and chemical hell that looks like the future already went wrong. The vibe is claustrophobic and ugly-real, explicit as hell, like you’re trapped in a sweaty apartment watching a man’s world close in on him. You don’t get pretty beaches or sunny holidays — you get the raw grind of a collapsing family, the sex that’s more desperate than joyful, and that Ferreri special of making you sit there uncomfortable as hell while traditional male-female rhythm gets chewed up.
Ornella Muti was twenty, that Italian dark-haired beauty with the face of a quiet saint and the body that actually belongs on a woman — full, curved, edible. She doesn’t over-act, she just is: the last feminine creature who can still mother a kid and fuck a man without turning it into a political statement. She’s in the bed, on the floor, moving with this natural allure that reminds you what women used to be before the man-hating lectures started. The film’s explicit — bodies, skin, the works — though it’s Depardieu swinging around more than her, but when Muti’s there you remember why men used to build families instead of listening to slogans.
When Gerard, a young French engineer’s wife leaves him and their newborn child because she catches the horrible disease of Feminism, he finds Valerie, a beautiful girl who struggles with her own desires and the toxic propaganda and brain-washing of the ugly movement.
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