“It would be foolish, in conclusion, to pretend that Moravia was anything but the most profound of pessimists.” Writes Tim Parks. It’s a truth permeated throughout Contempt. 

“I don’t love you anymore.” No one wants to hear those five words. The first three words could pique an interest in potential conquest, a challenge. The first four words could be the result of unrequited love. The full five words though? There was something there and now there is not. There was a pre- and now there is a post-. We compartment these into eras, historical or personal. It never gets easier the more we experience. 

Contempt’s protagonist, a screen-writer, wants to find out why his wife of many years no longer loves him. Not even that: despises him. Did he do something? Surely he must have done something. Or she loves another man. It could be the producer that the screen-writer works for. But it could be something more simple than that. It might just be the passage of time. Changing and not changing. Or not changing enough. Or too much change.