It’s not uncommon for a film’s impression to deepen almost magically upon second viewing. And so it was for me with Lady Chatterley, Pascale Ferran’s French-ified D.H. Lawrence adaptation, which I admired without much enthusiasm the first time and found completely wonderful the second. Maybe you have to be in a certain mood to fully commit to Ferran’s unhurried pace, the silence and stillness of the affair between Constance (Marina Hands), a wealthy housewife, and Parkin (Jean-Pierre Coulloc’h), her partially paralyzed husband’s gamekeeper. Once you’re in the film’s hold, though, you’ll be awestruck by how bold and fresh it feels.

Though the film’s English setting and names are preserved, the characters speak en français (Parkin becomes therefore Par-keen). But it’s Lady Chatterley’s cool-headedness about sex that is its most distinctive, and quintessentially French, quality. Rather than bosom-heaving and bodice-ripping, we get six very different, carefully choreographed lovemaking scenes that chart the evolution of a romance from its fumbling beginnings to an intimacy that transcends class consciousness. Ferran pulls off the all-too-rare trick of making these scenes the key to our understanding of the lovers’ bond; Lady Chatterley is a vivid illustration of the power of sexual intimacy to change how we look at ourselves, as well as the person we’re in bed with.

The first time I saw the movie, I found myself wishing for a bit of the emphasis, the poetic juice that Jane Campion or Terrence Malick might have brought to the material. The second time, I was lulled by the gentleness of the film, and struck by how closely Ferran observes her characters, as well as how modern and subtle her insights are (listen for Parkin’s high-pitched moans during sex as a hint of the surprising gender dynamics of this relationship). Lady Chatterley is a damn good movie, and good movies deserve to be seen at least twice.

LADY CHATTERLY DIR. PASCALE FERRAN | NOT RATED | AT SELECT THEATERS IN LA AND OC