Initially poorly received in the U.S. (largely due to a missing 13 minute butcher cut) and lightly regarded, François Truffaut's Mississippi Mermaid (La Sirène du Mississippi) deserves reappraisal. An economical director without peer for storytelling, Truffaut demonstrates his ability to venture into Hitchcock's suspense/thriller territory while simultaneously delving into Buñuel's patented themes of sexual obsession. And it all starts with Catherine Deneuve--literally. Following the financial success of Stolen Kisses, producers Robert and Raymond Hakim offered to finance Truffaut's next film as long as he cast Deneuve, who was then working in Buñuel's Belle du Jour. After a lunch meeting, Truffaut was "sold" on the beautiful actress and vice-versa (the beginnings of another of the director's discreet extramarital affairs), and the project began to take shape.

Working single-handedly to adapt William Irish's novel, Truffaut transposes the setting from 1830 New Orleans to the tiny island of Reunion (off the coast of Madagascar) in the 1960's. Pre-dating the days of Internet personals, wealthy tobacco magnate Louis Mahè (Jean-Paul Belmondo) marries a woman (Deneuve) that he met through personal ads and has corresponded with. Although her appearance doesn't match the picture she had sent, Mahè accepts her explanation that she lied from lack of confidence. After all, he had told similar "white lies" by claiming to be the company foreman instead of the owner to avoid suspicion that his unseen correspondent was out for his money.

Madly in love with his new bride, Mahè naively sets up joint access of both his business and personal bank accounts totaling 28 million francs. Inevitably she withdraws the funds and disappears, setting Mahè into action. He hires a private detective to track her down since it's also apparent that she wasn't who she claimed to be and additional foul play could be in the mix. Depressed and angry, Mahè vacations on the Riviera, inadvertently discovering his bride working as a prostitute in a local dance hall. Vowing to kill her, Mahè purchases a revolver and confronts her. She fesses up her part in the deception, claiming that she was manipulated by her former gangster boyfriend, and tells a sad story about her unhappy life as an abused orphan. So, what does Mahè do in this modern noir world where no character is blemish free? Can he really trust this cunning woman? What about the detective, who is hot on the trail?

Using his trademark medium and long tracking shots, Truffaut allows us to observe his characters objectively so we can anticipate their actions. Dialog is crisp and to the point since so much of the story is communicated visually, and Truffaut often utilizes cinematic shortcuts without leaving us behind. Just examine the opening sequence where banker Jardine (Marcel Berbert) winds his way to Mahè's mansion after the opening credits highlight various personal ads. Despite jump cuts and absence of narration, we know exactly what's going on when a housekeeper greets Jardine. Truffaut ranks among the best visual storytellers, alongside Hitchcock.

This time he adds layers of ambiguity to his characters, much like the way the Master used Janet Leigh's paradoxical Psycho role. Truffaut takes full advantage of Deneuve's talents. He describes her in the 1969 issue of Unifrance Film Magazine:

"What I like about her, is her mysterious quality. She is wonderfully suited to parts involving a secret, or a double life. Catherine Deneuve ads ambiguity to any situation and any screenplay, for she seems to be concealing a great many secret thoughts, we sense there are things lurking behind the surface. . ."