I expected cool Gallic control and got something closer to Patricia Highsmith with the ambition sanded off.
Les Biches isn't really interested in plot — it's more a slow, cold-eyed study of obsession going off like milk. I respect what Claude Chabrol's reaching for here more than what actually lands. Three leads, all thoroughly detestable, and I never once found myself picking a side.
It feels as if that's the point, though. Stéphane Audran's Frédérique is basically a posh vampire, quietly hoovering up the personalities of the other two until there's nothing left to root for. Neat idea on paper. Rougher going across ninety-odd minutes of watching someone slowly get eaten.
Jean-Louis Trintignant cops the worst of it — by the time Frédérique's finished with him he's less a character than a Frédérique-shaped absence, drifting through his own film looking faintly sedated. So when the tragic ending finally shows up, it's knocking on a door nobody's answering.
Handsome, chilly, all cheekbones and no pulse. Worth a watch — just don't expect it to hug you back.