Dangerous Liaisons (1988) Deep Dive

Dangerous Liaisons (1988) is one of the best 18th century-set films, particularly from a costume design/historical accuracy perspective (although the story, acting, script, set design, and more are also amazingly great). With the new TV adaptation coming to screens in November 2022 on Starz, we thought it was high time to do a deep dive on the film in order to complement our podcast. The problem, of course, is that this is SUCH a great movie that I could write a book about it. It was hard to decide where to focus this review! In the end, I’m going to focus on the historical accuracy of the costuming — our default angle here at Frock Flicks — worn by the four main female characters in the film, and also touch on some aspects of designer James Acheson‘s process and thoughts about his work. Maybe at some point we can look at the boys!

First, the original source material — the novel Les Laisons dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos — was published in 1782. However, director Stephen Frears asked designer Acheson to set the film’s costumes earlier, in order to make the characters “more accessible” and avoid the film becoming a “showy costume piece.” Acheson said, “Barry Lyndon,’ with big wigs and big hats — that ‘incroyable’ look where everyone looks like they’re about to fall over. The 18th century was a period that was all about presenting oneself…” (Donna Bulseco, “The Lively Arts: The Scene: Dangerous Designs,” WWD, March 27, 1989). In an interview given about 20 years later,

“Acheson explained that in the 1790s French fashions were overly extravagant and the more outlandish — the bigger, wider and taller — the better. So that the camera could access to [sic] the actors’ faces and movements, however, Acheson researched and chose designs based upon attire from the 1760s.” (Elizabeth Galindo Wright, The Interaction of ‘Originary Practices’ and Costume Design in the Development of Historical Film Genre in 21st Century Hollywood Cinema, Ph.D. diss., University of California, 2011).

However, there does seem to be some confusion here. The “incroyable” look was indeed an early 1790s fashion, but it’s different from the earlier 1780s look, which is more puffy and rounded. That being said, it is an era that’s more extravagant than the more elegant lines of the 1760s, so I can see why they moved things earlier.

Because the film also references late 1750s fashions, let’s look at late 1750s through early 1760s French women’s fashion:

Now let’s compare that to early 1780s fashion, when the book was published:

Finally, let’s look at the 1790s, which is what Acheson presents as the alternative:

The other big factor for Acheson was the limited budget and time. He told the Chicago Tribune,

“The film was so rushed. We had to start at the end of May and get it out by the end of the year (to qualify for Academy Award consideration). Behind us is director Milos Forman’s version, called `Valmont,’ which was shot over 26 weeks and has twice the budget. ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ was shot in 9 or 10 weeks for $14 million” (Candice Russell, “A Winning Liaison: Oscar-Winner James Acheson’s Costumes Steal the Scene Without Overpowering the Actor,” 1989)

He says he cut corners by using sari silks and Victorian lace. As you’ll see when we look at individual dresses, there are also a few corners cut in terms of skirt size on court dresses and fitted-back gowns instead of loose française pleats.

Now, let’s look at the wardrobes of the four main female characters: the aristocratic Marquise de Merteuil (Glenn Close), the upper-middle-class but untitled Madame de Volanges (Swoosie Kurtz), her daughter Cécile (Uma Thurman), and the upper-middle-class Madame de Tourvel (Michelle Pfeiffer). I’m going to focus on the various styles worn in the film and their historical accuracy, so let’s organize things by style!

 

Underwear: Corsets & Hoops

I’m including this category because the opening scene, in which the Marquise de Merteuil and Vicomte de Valmont (John Malkovich) are dressed, is so iconic. For one thing, they get the garments right. For another, they do a lot to show how makeup and wigs were core in this era. And finally, it does such a great job demonstrating how dress functions in this story and culture:

“It’s an attempt to show two people dressing for battle. This is a ritual of dressing, as if they were putting on armor like a samurai warrior. It’s the whole idea of protection and presentation, as they present themselves in an extraordinarily controlled image. It’s the only time we see them with their servants. After that, they are left alone with each other” (“A Winning Liaison”).

It looks spot on for mid-18th-century corsetry, which was cone-shaped and relatively long, with tabs over the hips:

The hoops made for the film also look very much like this extant pair:

Of course, Close had some thoughts about wearing a corset: “The corset was incredibly important as far as movement and class,” calling it “confining.” She went on to say, “The costumes totally informed the way I moved. I wanted to look as if I were gliding when I walked, playing against the tight corset. Merteuil is a proud aristocrat and should radiate elegance, class, and control” (Art of the Character: Highlights from the Glenn Close Costume Collection).

That being said, designer Acheson was very disappointed by the actors’ lack of period posture and mannerisms. He said,

“The reason that film is so disappointing for me is that neither director or the actors were in any way engaged in any research of any kind about the 18th century. Those actors don’t inhabit those costumes, they wear them. But it’s like a fucking pantomime … Malkovich would have had a dancer teacher from the age of six … the way he slubbed around like, you know, with those pudgy thighs from all his footballing days … How would a woman sit? How, you know, what was the etiquette of the period? … I had it all at my fingers. None of them across the board were in any way interested” (The Interaction of ‘Originary Practices’).

This is interesting, because of course I think many of us have pointed to this film as an excellent example of period mannerisms! That being said, I think we can credit the costumes themselves for making the women look so elegant, rather than the actors’ technique.

That being said, Acheson understands that corsets aren’t torture:

“While they are flattering, Acheson’s costumes look as if they are uncomfortable and tight, but he says that isn’t the case. He never heard an actor complain. ‘I worked with women between the ages of 18 and 83. Even Mildred Natwick [Madame de Rosemonde} was corseted. The thing about all that structuring is that if it’s done properly, your body can relax into them. Your body learns to cope with that stricture, which governs the way you walk and sit and move'” (“A Winning Liaison”).

Although he adds,

“’Glenn Close was corsetted to within an inch of her life. We got her waist down to 24 1/2 inches. To be restricted like that was quite confronting for all the actresses involved. It’s a very sexual image that has gone on for centuries, the notion of the corsetted female body.’ But even John Malkovich is held in by whalebones under his clothes to give him an authentically laced-up posture. The stiff, unyielding period clothes in the film don’t at once appear to invite the sexual frollicking that forms the basis of the plot, but Acheson feels that the erotic frisson lies with the clothes’ bondage-like appeal — difficult to get into, and even harder to get out of” (Dresser to the stars — James Acheson’s work is seen by millions of moviegoers. His latest accolade is an Oscar nomination for his costumes for Dangerous Liasions, The Guardian, March 6, 1989).

Now, let’s move on to the gowns and jackets, working from least formal to most:

 

Jackets

Jackets are worn by several characters in the film, although they make up a minor portion of the main characters’ wardrobe.

First, we have Madame de Tourvel’s hip-length jacket laced over a stomacher:

This jacket is a great option for a more informal outfit and a lower-ranked character. Jackets were inspired by working-class and peasant wear, although in this era they were generally just shorter versions of gowns:

That being said, this style is most reminiscent of the pet-en-l’air, a shortened version of the robe à la française, and so should have the loose back pleats:

Mid-century hats were indeed usually wide-brimmed and flat:

Another jacket is worn by the Marquise de Merteuil. Theoretically I’d be saying that it’s too informal for her character, but this is the only jacket she wears AND it’s essentially a riding habit, which was a style worn for traveling, and that’s what the marquise is doing. Plus, they made it out of fabulous yellow and white brocade and trimmed it with black, so it looks smashing:

Riding habits indeed were hip length and had fitted backs. They did, however, tend to be made out of wool or other menswear-styled fabrics:

Finally, Cécile, daughter of a well-to-do but untitled family, wears this hooded jacket ensemble when she visits Madame de Tourvel in the hospital. It appears to be made of quilted fabric, and assuming it’s cold out, that’s a great choice for cold-weather traveling.

Here’s a similar style, although note the back pleats, which the film ensemble doesn’t have:

Cécile’s cap looks like those worn in the period. These seem to be going out of fashion for younger women, but do still appear sometimes:

 

English Nightgowns

The next group of costumes are what I would call English nightgowns or early robes à l’anglaise. When the anglaise was first adopted in France, they did appear to follow the same stylistic points seen on the English dress (the “nightgown”) that inspired it — although they adapted that in the late 1770s to be the fitted-back dress we think of. However, there are a few sources that indicate that the pleated-back style was worn in France, including that Ollivier painting above (Le Thé anglaise) — look at the woman in the grey/blue dress on the right. I’m guessing that, given the year this film was designed and the fact that Acheson is English, the fact that this style probably wasn’t much worn in France was missed. But there’s only one among them that’s more theatrical than historical, so I’m giving it a pass.

Madame de Volanges wears this nightgown in her first scene.

Compare it to this extant English nightgown:

This style would have been pretty rare in this period, and possibly fashion-forward, although there isn’t enough information to really know for sure. I think for the film, it’s most seen on Mme de Volanges and so meant to indicate her status as lower than the marquise, who is almost always in robes à la française which just have so much more fabric.

Here’s another on Volanges:

Mme de Volanges’ daughter Cécile gets what I’m charitably calling a nightgown because it too has a fitted back. This is the famous Scalamandre “strawberry” brocade dress, and the fabric is fresh and pretty and so suits Cécile’s character. It does, however, have the dreaded back-lacing, which is a very theatrical and non-18th century approach to dressmaking. However, I also have to realize that just because this drives ME crazy, it’s only one element, and the dress is otherwise pretty nice.

For comparative lack-of-back-lacing, see my rant about this topic!

Finally, Mme de Tourvel wears a fitted-back Brunswick gown to visit the Vicomte. The Brunswick was a hooded, high-necked, long-sleeved dress often worn for traveling. It would be warm in winter, and the scene is set then; it also reads a bit more practical than the other gowns in the film, which demonstrates Tourvel’s non-aristocratic status.

It’s very similar to the gown in this English painting:

That being said, the Brunswick appears to most usually have had the pleated back of the française. But I’m giving them another pass, because there aren’t hard and fast rules in 18th-century costume!

Tourvel wears a “Marie Stuart” cap, which was a retro style reminiscent of those worn by Mary Queen of Scots. These were very fashionable earlier in the era; by this period, they tend to be seen in portraiture on older ladies. But it works well to make Tourvel seem unostentatious and demure.

The last nightgown is worn by Tourvel when Valmont breaks things off. It definitely looks like one of those sari silks given the border-used-as-trim. Acheson recalled, “We had a lot of trouble with the fabrics. We couldn’t find 18th-century patterning in fabrics. We used sari fabrics, which are individually woven” (“A Winning Liaison”).

 

Not Sure

It’s always good to have a category called “not sure,” isn’t it? This particular style fascinates me, because it definitely exists, but there aren’t a ton of sources documenting it:

These are the main sources I know of for this puffed-sleeve style! So it’s hard to know too much about it. Two iterations of it show up in the film:

Cécile wears an open-front version over a stomacher:

And Tourvel wears a similarly-cut, fitted back version that’s clearly meant to be formal wear:

Did they get those right? Who can say!

 

Robes à la Française

Now we come to the most predominant style in the film — the robe à la française. This was THE dress of the 1740s through the 1760s, so it makes perfect sense that it’s worn a lot in the film. You’ll note the marquise almost always wears the style, in contrast to those jackets and nightgowns on the slightly-lower-class other ladies.

First is the marquise’s peach (to me) dress — which Acheson said is actually yellow, and a real 18th-century textile:

“Made from a delicate 18th-century yellow brocade fabric that was found at an antique fair and by the end of the film was fraying and falling apart” (The Interaction of ‘Originary Practices’)

Compare it to the real deal:

Acheson actually says he held back on trimming:

“Acheson purposely held back in designing for ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ and didn’t go as far with the trimmings and decorations as he could have. ‘There’s a richness there, but it’s controlled. Costumes in the paintings of Boucher and Fragonard are more elaborate, but we chose not to do it because you don’t want to give an actor something so elaborate that he has to act out of it'” (“A Winning Liaison”).

The serpentine trimming pattern is super typical of mid-century gowns. As you get later into the 1770s, things tend to be more vertical like the Metropolitan Museum française shown above:

 

At the opera, Merteuil wears a cream française that is probably my favorite gown from the film:

I’m convinced she wears the same gown later in the film but with a different stomacher:

Overall, I’d say the fabric patterns chosen for the film look great. This is an era of naturalistic floral patterns, which you can see in this great guide to 18th century fabric motifs:

Next up, Merteuil’s brown-ish/peach gown:

The graduated bows are a super typical stomacher trim in this period:

Next, Merteuil wears a red taffeta française to the opera. Sadly this is the most we see of it:

Then we come to a française that was directly inspired by a portrait of Madame de Pompadour, Louis XV’s mistress, by Boucher — except the gown color is changed. I don’t love the color change for the period — dark colors like this didn’t tend to be worn in the mid-18th century, but were fashionable earlier. That being said, it makes sense for the character, who is nothing if not dark!

Merteuil’s last française is also dark, again I think working with her character’s trajectory. It’s made of a palm-patterned silk brocade, which brings a nice touch of Asian exoticism to her dress — and this was definitely an era of fascination with the Middle East and Asia, and motifs from there are present throughout French fashion.

Once again, Fanny Wilk’s guide to 18th century fabric patterns is a great demonstration of how they loved Asian motifs:

 

I was starting to expect Madame de Volanges to stick to nightgowns, but she does actually get some robes à la française. She visits Cécile in the convent in this printed red silk:

Now, it’s worth mentioning that the French tended to match the gown to the stomacher and petticoat, rather than using contrasting colors, which was more of an English style:

 

She wears a super-bright fuschia française while visiting in the country. I’m guessing the color is to show she’s more nouveau riche than anyone else?

Volanges has a boring, light green française at breakfast:

Cécile gets a few robes à la française herself. This white one is when she’s newly out of the convent:

Another in pink satin with lighter pink embroidered borders:

And Tourvel gets a few as well! This one is a woven fabric — it’s not terribly shiny, but I’m guessing it’s still silk? Or maybe linen?

She gets a peach française in what I think is silk shantung. Nubby silks wouldn’t have been worn in this period, but you do what you gotta do.

What I DON’T love about this particular dress is that it appears they’ve boned and stiffened the shit out of the stomacher, which just wasn’t done. Stomachers were pinned to the corset and so didn’t need much boning.

Here’s a similar gown with similar stomacher:

Another française with compère stomacher for Tourvel, this time in a diamond and floral woven silk:

 

Court Gowns

And finally, we come to the incongruous court gowns, which really wouldn’t be worn except, as the name implies, at court. Nonetheless, Volanges wears one to the opera, and I have no idea why, character-wise.

And again at a party:

Compare it to these Swedish court dresses made in the French style. They were worn for a wedding and a coronation, hence the HUGE skirts:

And in the final opera scene, Merteuil wears one. What both film gowns miss is the “train,” the open-front overskirt with long train that’s worn pulled to the back.

This is the one style that SHOULD lace closed in back! Because it was modeled on 17th century gowns.

 

Hair & Makeup

Acheson actually had a say in the hairstyles — except for Glenn Close’s. He said in a later interview:

“I did have hair control… [done by] Peter Allen, one of the reasons that film looks good, and the men’s wigs are superb, to be contrasted with Glenn Close’s hair, which looks pure 1960s rather than ’70s is just, because it’s done by her own personal hairdresser…” (The Interaction of ‘Originary Practices’).

I’m confused about the reference to ’70s, but I actually like everyone’s hair, including Close’s! You can read a whole lot more about why in this post about my favorite films for 18th-century hair.

You’ve probably noticed that the only time the characters wear the kind of artificial makeup typical of the period is in the final scene at the opera. Acheson said, “We experimented with a more powdered, made-up look, but it’s difficult when the whole film is shot in close-up. So the artificiality of Glenn Close is left until the end, and used as a dramatic statement’” (Dresser to the stars — James Acheson’s work is seen by millions of moviegoers. His latest accolade is an Oscar nomination for his costumes for Dangerous Liasions, The Guardian, March 6, 1989).

What deserves props for historical accuracy in Dangerous Liaisons? What nitpicks do you have?