Andy, upon finishing The Rules of the Game:
I’m torn between 2 reactions. Damned rich fucks, for one. But on the other hand, Geez, i’d love an enormous home in the country where i could go party with my friends for a solid week.
I know i’m a relentlessly irritating anti-classist drone, but, yes, i was super irritated at the horribly privileged and wealthy people this film is about. No, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. Oh, how charming that La Chesnaye is content with his wife, Christine, running off with Andre, the pilot, because Andre is “one of their set.”
I don’t debate that Rules of the Game is well made and that there’s a lot of symbolism used effectively: the instances of performances during the party, La Chesnaye’s interest in mechanical music devices, the hunting of game where the hunters stand in a line and wait for the animals to be flushed directly toward them by beaters. And there were also certainly moments of amusement, tho’ i suspect that half the time i was laughing at places that Renoir didn’t necessarily intend for me to laugh.
And that’s because i find the privileged, wealthy class to be hilarious only in how disturbing and disgusting their extreme privilege is.
In conclusion: Rules of the Game compared with The Great Gatsby. DISCUSS.