Last Tango in Paris: Examining grief and the complicated legacy of this landmark film

As I continue my cinematic journey through France in preparation for my summer trip, I recently revisited Last Tango in Paris (1972) with a friend.

After the film ended, we agreed on one thing: it is not an easy watch.

Where we differed was in what we took away from it.

My friend felt the film had not aged well. Given what we now know about its production, and the way many of its sexual and power dynamics are viewed today, I understand that perspective.

Yet watching it through my Mortality Movies lens, I was struck by something else. Beneath the controversy lies a powerful and unsettling portrait of grief. At its core, Last Tango in Paris is not really about sex. It is about what happens when grief is denied a voice, a witness, and a place to go.

The story follows Paul, a middle-aged American living in Paris who is reeling from the recent suicide of his wife, Rose. Rather than mourn openly, he enters an anonymous sexual relationship with a much younger woman, Jeanne. He insists they share no names, no personal histories, and no emotional attachments.

One of the most revealing scenes occurs when Paul establishes this strange rule.

No Names. No History.

At first, Paul’s demand seems designed to create freedom.

No past. No obligations. No expectations.

But viewed through the lens of grief, it becomes something else entirely.

Paul is trying to escape his own story.

If Jeanne doesn’t know who he is, she can’t ask about Rose. She can’t touch the wound left by suicide. She can’t force him to confront the reality he is desperately trying to avoid.

The relationship becomes a hiding place rather than a connection.

Yet grief has a way of finding us no matter how many barriers we build around it. The harder Paul tries to keep his history outside the room, the more it dominates every aspect of his life.

His anonymity isn’t liberation.

It’s avoidance.

The Hidden Labor After Death

Another scene that stayed with me involves a young hotel employee cleaning the bathroom where Rose died.

It is not a dramatic scene. There are no speeches or emotional confrontations.

Instead, we witness something films rarely show.

Someone has to clean up.

Death is not only emotional and philosophical. It is also physical, practical, and messy.

As someone who has spent years encouraging conversations about death and dying, I was struck by how this brief scene acknowledges the people who often remain invisible after a death occurs.

When someone dies, especially by suicide, the impact extends far beyond immediate family members. Friends, coworkers, first responders, funeral professionals, and sometimes complete strangers become part of the aftermath.

The scene reminds us that grief leaves traces in places we don’t always think to look.

When Mourning Has No Structure

Perhaps the most significant mortality scene comes when Paul speaks with Rose’s mother about funeral arrangements.

He insists there be no funeral Mass, no priests, arguing that the Church doesn’t approve of suicides.

Historically, many religious traditions treated suicide differently from other deaths, sometimes denying funeral rites or adding layers of stigma for surviving family members.

What makes the scene powerful is that Paul’s response is not theological.

It is emotional.

He is angry.

He is protective.

He is grieving.

Beneath the conversation lies a larger question: What happens when mourners feel excluded from the very rituals that are supposed to help them heal?

Throughout the film, Paul appears to have no meaningful structure for his grief. No trusted community. No therapeutic support. No healthy ritual through which to process his loss.

The result is a grief that spills into every corner of his life.

A Film That Hasn’t Aged Comfortably

My friend’s criticism deserves consideration.

Many viewers today find aspects of Last Tango in Paris troubling, both because of what appears on screen and because of what later emerged about the film’s production. In later years, actress Maria Schneider, age 19 at the time of filming, described feeling exploited during the making of the film. There were also comments by director Bernardo Bertolucci that fueled ongoing debates about consent, power, and artistic responsibility. For many modern viewers, these concerns are impossible to separate from the viewing experience and have become part of the film’s legacy.

I don’t think we need to ignore those concerns in order to acknowledge the film’s exploration of grief.

In fact, holding both truths may be the most honest response.

A film can be artistically significant and deeply problematic.

It can offer insight while also making us uncomfortable.

It can reveal emotional truths while reflecting attitudes that deserve criticism.

Grief Will Be Heard

Unlike many films about loss, Last Tango in Paris offers no redemption arc.

Paul never finds peace.

He never develops healthy ways to mourn.

He never learns how to carry his grief without being consumed by it.

That may be why the film remains so disturbing.

It presents grief not as a pathway toward healing but as a force that, when denied acknowledgment and structure, can become destructive.

One week earlier, I revisited Chocolat, another French film that explores the influence of the dead on the living. In that story, Vianne eventually learns how to honor her mother’s memory without allowing it to control her life.

Paul never reaches that point.

His grief remains unspoken, unsupported, and unresolved.

Last Tango in Paris may not be a comforting film, and it certainly isn’t a simple one. But viewed through a mortality lens, it serves as a stark reminder that grief does not disappear when ignored.

It finds another way to speak.

And if we refuse to listen, it may eventually consume everything in its path.

Mortality Movie Question: Have you ever seen grief expressed through anger, avoidance, or self-destructive behavior rather than sadness? How did it affect the people around the grieving person?

Gail Rubin, Certified Thanatologist, features Last Tango in Paris in the “Grief and Growth” chapter of her latest book, 98.6 Mortality Movies to See Before You Die.