It has been rightly claimed that, between 1945 and 1955, Max Ophuls was the greatest director in the world, crafting a string of dense pearls unmatched before or since. Even 'Le Plaisir', supposedly a minor film in his canon would be a staggering masterpiece in anyone else's.

A triptych of Guy de Maupassant stories, it is also about a trio of Gods. The first two are shown to be limited: Maupassant, author, creator, narrator, speaks to us from the darkness, disembodied, all pervasive ('I could be sitting next to you'),responsible for everything we see - in the last story he crashes down to earth, and is responsible for a suicide attempt; and Ophuls' camera, seemingly weightless, able to navigate space with a freedom unavailable to humans - even it is barred from Madame Tellier's Establishment, forced to peek in from outside. It can reveal the bleak reality behind the prostitutes' gaiety, but is has no access, like the men who exploit them, to their souls.

Or does it? The stunning epiphany at the church, is, after all, on one level just a trick of the camera, or a mere figment of the women's imagination. As we would expect, the camerawork, composition, decor, music and acting are breathtaking and ambiguously nostalgic; what is more remarkable is the magic sense of nature, so rare in Ophuls, and, with the exception of the Archers, King Vidor and Lynne Ramsey, so rare in cinema.

This film is made up of three stories by Guy du Maupassant--all of which have something, apparently, to do with pleasure (hence the title). However, this connection is very tenuous to say the least.

The first is about an old man who is vain and wants to remain young. He does this by wearing a mask as he dances. Nothing interesting here other than a sad old vain man.

The second is by far the longest one. It's about a brothel in a small town and it actually has two part. In the first one, it shows the reaction of the men in the community when the place found unexpectedly closed. The second consists of these women going to see the christening of the niece of one of the sex workers. All this is well acted--very well acted. Other, however,than perpetuating the 'hooker with a heart of gold' notion, this one didn't seem to have much of a point--more just a slice of life.

The third is about an artist who falls in love with one of his models. However, once they begin cohabitating, they soon get sick of each other. But, through a twist of fate, they are stuck with each other. Pretty depressing.

Apparently I am in the minority on this one. While its overall score is almost 8.0 and Stanley Kubrick apparently adored the film, it left me very flat. Now this is not because of the acting or direction--it was first-rate all the way and very lovely to watch. No, my problem is that none of the stories were that interesting--particularly the first and third ones. And the stories also didn't seem to have a lot of meaning or significance or irony.

Max Ophuls is rightly regarded as a major filmmaker and this is a major work. If you'd heard of his fluid camera-work but hadn't seen a film bearing his signature this film would illustrate perfectly what people mean by his fluid camera-work. In 1952 the portmanteau film was hardly new; in England we had seen both Quartet and Trio (a joke in the early fifties had two hippies walking down Broadway and passing in turn cinemas where these titles were playing: One says 'Man, we better dig this crazy combo, it's fading fast') followed by Encore, all featuring short stories by Somerset Maugham but it's fair to say that all three lacked the visual style and sheer sumptuousness that Ophuls brings to DeMaupassant. Framed by The Mask and The Model the piece de resistance is The House of Madame Tellier, a four-reel examination of the role of the bordel in the provincial town - when they close for a day the whole sub-social life of the town is disturbed. If the lion's share of the plaudits go to the middle segment the others have more than their own individual moments and staples of French cinema like Jean Gabin, Danielle Darrieux and Simone Simon get to strut their stuff and pay their dues. A visual delight.