What makes "le bonheur 1965" so unsettling is the visual dissonance. Varda, who was also a renowned photographer, shoots the film in lush, painterly color. She cites the influence of the Fauvist painter Henri Matisse, specifically The Joy of Life (1906). The film is a moving canvas of reds, yellows, and greens.
There are no shadows. There is no noir aesthetic. When Thérèse drowns, the camera does not linger on tragedy; it stays on the beautiful, dappled light filtering through the trees. Varda uses the aesthetics of a commercial for domesticity to critique domesticity itself. The argument of "le bonheur" lies in the frame: if happiness looks this perfect, how can we trust it? The film suggests that the visual language of 1960s advertising (which sold happiness via washing machines and cars) is the same language that allows a man to replace a wife as casually as he replaces a broken chair.
To fully understand "le bonheur 1965," one must situate the film in its historical moment. 1965 was a transitional year in France. The Algerian War had ended three years prior, and the country was experiencing the Trente Glorieuses (the 30 post-war years of economic boom). The traditional family unit was sacred. le bonheur 1965
When Le Bonheur premiered at the Venice Film Festival, audiences were outraged. Critics walked out. One Italian journalist called it "a fascist film." Others accused Varda of justifying murder. The irony is that Varda was doing the opposite: she was holding up a mirror to a society that already believed a man could have his cake and eat it too.
The film won the Silver Lion (the equivalent of the Grand Jury Prize), but Varda was treated as a pariah. It would take decades for critics to re-evaluate Le Bonheur as the masterpiece it is. Today, it is taught in film schools alongside Jeanne Dielman as a cornerstone of feminist structuralist cinema. What makes "le bonheur 1965" so unsettling is
Why does Le Bonheur continue to haunt critics and audiences six decades later? The answer lies in Varda’s subversive use of the visual medium. In 1965, color cinema was often reserved for musicals and spectacles. Varda, a photographer before she was a director, uses saturated Technicolor-like hues not to celebrate life, but to critique the blindness of the male gaze.
Every frame of Le Bonheur looks like a postcard. The red of Thérèse’s dress. The yellow of the sunflowers. The blue of the summer sky. This hyper-aesthetic palette creates a dissonance with the film’s moral weight. As viewers, we are seduced by the beauty, just as François is seduced by his own logic. The color becomes a cage. Varda once said, "I wanted the film to look like a box of chocolates—something sweet that hides a poisonous center." The film is a moving canvas of reds, yellows, and greens
This visual strategy is why the keyword "le bonheur 1965" remains relevant today. In an era of Instagram filters and curated realities, Varda predicted exactly how we would use beauty to mask emotional violence.
To understand the reception of "le bonheur 1965" , one must look at the year. 1965 was a pivotal moment in France. Charles de Gaulle had just been reelected. The consumer society was booming: washing machines, cars, and televisions were flooding into suburban homes like François’s. The traditional family unit was the cornerstone of this stability.
When the film premiered at the Venice Film Festival, it caused a riot. Critics called it "fascist" and "morally repugnant" because they could not tell if Varda was endorsing François’s behavior or condemning it. (This is the genius of the film: she does neither; she observes.) The American critic Andrew Sarris famously dismissed it as "a commercial for polygamy." But over the decades, the film has been reclaimed as a masterpiece of feminist irony. It is not a commercial for polygamy; it is a horror film dressed in lemon-yellow sunlight.
