Thérèse Raquin is a taut, sweat-soaked slab of postwar French noir—dripping with guilt, lust, and the creeping dread of consequence.
Simone Signoret is mesmerising as Thérèse, all smouldering restraint and dead-eyed calculation, and the film hinges on her silence as much as her speech. Marcel Carné, best known for lush poetic realism, strips things back here to shadows, sweat, and suggestion. The riverside setting in Lyon adds a sense of physical and emotional damp, while the cramped interiors close in like a trap.
It’s not hard to see why Kurosawa named it a favourite: this is moral decay as drama, where one bad choice begets another, and fate always collects its due. The final act doesn’t explode so much as suffocate. Grim, elegant, and quietly brutal—this is noir with soul and splinters.
i read plenty of emile zola when i was younger, including therese raquin, which i didn't find i enjoyed much, but the film, well, one of those occasions when a film works better than the book. excellent casting, great performances.