Cheri
An interesting web of relationships–and it became more intricate over the years that Colette and Auguste were involved: she divorced her first husband and took up with the man who would become her second, Henry de Jouvenel, editor of the newspaper Le matin (where Colette later served as theater critic). Clearly Colette defied traditional attitudes toward adultery, homosexuality, and May-September relationships. (In a society defined by sexist double standards, it was an extraordinary assertion of female equality and independence for a mature woman to sleep with a younger man–especially if she was the one who decided when the arrangement was over.) She and her well-heeled bohemian circle were obviously dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure, but also to a deeply held ethic of personal freedom. They worshiped love while seeking to demystify it; they disdained conventional morality, considering hypocrisy an infinitely greater sin than infidelity; and they judged their romantic involvements by how much they taught them about themselves and about life.
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Charting the twists and turns that part and reunite the couple, Cheri casts an unsentimental eye on its characters’ sentimental actions. Both Lea and Cheri, like the real-life figures on which they’re modeled, subscribe to a philosophy of free love and liberation yet find themselves struggling with almost irresistible feelings–physical longing, fear of loneliness, anxiety about growing old. Deploring possessiveness, they nonetheless succumb to it. This dissonance between their ideas and their emotions is as recognizable today as it was 80 years ago–and perhaps thousands of years before that. Their struggles with each other and within themselves are at once timeless and contemporary, elevating Cheri above the level of a complacent Masterpiece Theatre period piece.
