Bovary in beautiful sheets

I am a brilliant 50 year old lawyer. I live in the provinces and I’m bored with my never-there husband and my two adopted daughters. My law studies not having left me much leisure, I did not read The budding wheat and I didn’t see The Breath of the Heart. This innocence allows me to find it original to sleep with my 17 year old stepson to add a little spice to my life. Here it is: student Breillat, you have two hours.

The two hours are on the screen. There is displayed a great naivety, blushes that are no longer in season, an old-fashioned audacity. We are no longer in 1923 or even in 1971. The nerds, victims of a collective hallucination, will greet the return of Catherine Breillat. There’s nothing wrong with that. Their applause has the merit of covering our yawns. Let us look into this sulfurous case. Don’t forget that we are dealing with someone who once directed Rocco Siffredi. We’re waiting for the sex scene. The director holds on. After ten minutes…