When a sheltered young man from the provinces decides to attend college in Paris, his big-city cousin elects to school him in the ways of the world. The plot of Claude Chabrol's 1959 second feature, Les Cousins, is as simple as that. And, yet, not quite so simple as it seems. Our naive protagonist, Charles, appears oblivious to Cousin Paul's calculated attempts to corrupt him, while Paul, a high-living, hard-partying libertine, couldn't care less about his own studies. Along with his parasitic, mean-spirited best friend, Clovis, Paul attracts a crowd of fawning admirers who frequently gather in the tres cool apartment Paul shares with Charles. When free-spirited Florence shows up, Charles is instantly smitten and falls head-over-heels. For her part, Florence is charmed and might like to see where this leads. But, perversely, Paul and Clovis aren't having it. When Florence arrives at the apartment one day to await Charles' return home from class, the insidious pair convinces her that Paul is the right guy for her, not the innocent and foolish Charles. 

So it doesn't take much convincing before Florence trots off to the bedroom with Paul, leaving Clovis positively glowing with malice nearby. Charles eventually does return to the apartment--he and Florence apparently got their wires crossed about their meet-up-- and the lovers slowly descend the stairs so that Charles can deduce what they've been up to. It's for his own good, don't you see? says Paul. Except Charles has been devoting so much time to his books that he's not particularly quick on the uptake. Paul finally spells it out for him, announcing that Florence will be moving in with him, and not Charles. Although the three of them will live in the apartment together, only Paul will share conjugal favors with Florence. Initially, Charles doesn't seem too jarred by this sudden turn of events but actually he is, oh, he is. Unfortunately, Cousin Paul has one wall of his apartment adorned with guns he's been collecting. And there are bullets in a desk. At this point near the end, you may think you know where this film is heading but, most likely, you won't. 

In many ways, Les Cousins plays like a slow-building tragedy filled with selfish, unlikeable characters and shrewd observations. But it's also got a brittle, dark humor that, when it rears its ugly head, is a driving force in this startlingly unsentimental film. Les Cousins has been called New Wave but I'm not sure about that; to me, it doesn't really feel like other films in that category. The director, Claude Chabrol, would later come to be known as the French Hitchcock but I'm not sure that's right, either. Les Cousins isn't so much a suspense thriller--until you get to the very end--as an ironic  tragicomedy. But this type of Gallic/gallows humor won't be for everybody. There's also a slight homoerotic charge to the relationship between the two cousins, and that of Paul and Clovis, as well. Hitchcock almost certainly would have capitalized on this (though very subtly), especially since Brialy actually was gay: it seems like catnip for Hitchcock's inclination towards mischief. 

The troubled-in-real-life Gerard Blain plays Charles, sympathetically at first, but that's before his determined naivete becomes frustrating to everyone onscreen and in the audience. Blain is solid and handsome (and maybe a little boring) but delivers a convincing enough performance. However, it's Jean-Claude Brialy who has the showiest role in the movie. As Paul, he's outstanding and absolutely monstrous, a scabrous, narcissistic DRAMA QUEEN complete with theatrical gestures, flamboyant wardrobe, elaborate tantrums and vicious schemes. He's a seething mess but, even so, his grandiosity makes it easy to see how certain other young people might be drawn to him. Not so easy to figure out is what these college kids see in Clovis (Claude Cerval) who's at least 20 years older and obviously mooching off Paul. On the surface, Paul and Clovis are kindred spirits--cruelty is at the heart of their friendship. True, Clovis is always on hand to help clean up Paul's little mishaps, but he's an alcoholic who shows up at the apartment with increasingly destructive guests in tow. It seems likely that he'll soon be aging out of his party-boy gig (and thus his usefulness to Paul). Watching this movie, I couldn't help thinking that Paul and Clovis wouldn't be out of place starring in a Real Housewives spinoff.  

As Florence, Juliette Mayniel is bemused, unglamorous and a little wishy-washy. It's hard to see why Charles falls for her, although Paul's motivations are clear enough. When Florence finally demonstrates that she can be just as cruel and needy as the rest of them, Charles pushes her away, but it's far too late by then. Stephane Audran (who Chabrol later married) and Genevieve Cluny also have small roles as decorative party girls. 

For me, Claude Chabrol--unlike Hitchcock--is an acquired taste. I like some of his movies but not all of them. I don't mind that they're often languidly paced (okay, sometimes I do mind) but, overall, I enjoy his mordant humor, gleefully dark sense of irony, and the intelligence on display in (most of) his films. Except for the banal parties, not much happens in Les Cousins, yet there's more going on than meets the eye. The performances are first-rate, the well-written script nastily amusing and unkind (like much of Chabrol's work). There's not a lot to dislike but it's not a film you can warm up to, either. 

Interestingly, Chabrol's debut feature, (Le Beau Serge) made the year before Les Cousins, cast the same lead actors--Brialy and Blain--in roles opposite the type each played in this film: Brialy was the sympathetic fish out of water while Blain played a village drunk. Les Cousins is an interesting early film from a world-renowned director, which makes it worth seeking out. It may not be his best movie but it's far from his worst.