It’s time for THE FRENCH HAD A NAME FOR IT 5 at the Roxie in San Francisco. Don Malcolm’s theme du series – The Frenetic Fifties. Six days (four for me)/Twenty films (16 or so for me).
Que le marathon commence.
Thursday, November 15
Therese Raquin aka The Adultress (Marcel Carne 1953): “There is no romance in love.” A bourgeois household. A man with a supervisory job at the port, his impassive wife who works in the family fabric shop, and his domineering, smothering mother. A passionate proletarian truck driver –and a foreigner! – at the port with eyes for the wife. The wife and the truck driver begin an affair, that becomes a love, but his passion – and passions – turn into an obstacle and get the better of them.
Carne and the phenomenally prolific Charles Spaak adapted Emile Zola’s novel of the same name. Simone Signoret and Raf Vallone turn in stellar performances. Vallone is at all times determined and explosive. Signoret conveys a passion through passivity like I have never seen. No, it is not Le Jour se leve (1939) or Le Quai des brumes (1938), but it does establish that Carne could make a fine film noir post-WWII.
Un homme marche dans la ville aka A Man Walks in the City (Marcello Pagliero 1950): I admit it – up since 4:45am, plus the abysmal air quality (currently the worst in the world) during a day of walking, general tiredness kicked in. I left the theatre when it hit 11:00pm and the film had not ended. I’ll undoubtedly regret it because I was finding its neo-realistic depictions of the docks and its workers appealing. The connection is not surprising: Pagliero portrayed Manfredi in Rome, Open City (Roberto Rossellini 1945), and was one of the co-writers of the story for Paisan (Roberto Rossellini 1946). He also was one of the stars in Dedee d’Anvers (Yves Allegret 1948), shown at the first edition of THE FRENCH HAD A NAME FOR IT and still one of my favorites from all editions. Yes, my lack of fortitude will result in a vengeful Fate.
Ayez pitie de mon ame immortelle.
Friday, November 16
First, a follow-up to yesterday regarding Un homme marche dans la ville aka A Man Walks in the City (Marcello Pagliero 1950): Being told that a version (with subtitles) is on YouTube, I watched the final 45 minutes. It confirmed that what I saw Thursday night was appealing. The two Thursday films provide a nice juxtaposition. While Therese Raquin aka The Adultress (Marcel Carne 1953) depicted inter-class warfare – bourgeois vs. proletariat – this film was devoted to intra-class warfare – proletariat vs. proletariat. With a fine downbeat conclusion. Everybody loses.
Memo to self (translation: I’ll think about it, but may never do it): Compile a list of film noir where a port city plays a character and, then, compare that to a list of film noir where a border city plays a character. I have a hypothesis or three that may explain, at least in part, why I find such movies so compelling.
Sursis pour un vivant (literally: Suspended for a Living; idiomatically: Dead Man Walking) aka Pensione Edelweiss aka Thanatos Palace Hotel (Ottorino Franco Bertolini & Victor Merenda 1959): Noir question(s) of the day – Is resuscitation of a desire for living an act of philanthropy and, if so, is such philanthropy a con? A man, Jean, botches a suicide. While recovering in the hospital, Dr. Thanatos informs him that suicide is better when assisted by professionals. He signs a euthanasia contract, pays an extravagant fee, and soon finds himself in an isolated Alpine hotel. There are Borcher, the hotel manager, two of his staff, and six others like Jean at the hotel. Jean and Nadia, one of the other visitors, soon have an emotional connection.
Whenever an ominous tune is heard – whether played on the piano by Borcher, on a record, or by other means – one of the visitors will die during the night. Soon Jean and Nadia are the only two left. They want out of their contracts, but Borcher refuses because, although for you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave. They make a difficult successful escape to Paris. Borcher kidnaps Nadia, and Jean returns to the hotel to rescue her. But nothing is as it seems.
Film noir as vertiginous entertainment. With Henri Vidal as Jean, Lino Ventura as Boucher, and Dawn Addams as Nadia. All that was missing was Robert Goulet singing “What I Did For Love” at the end.
Then comes Moreau.
Jusqu’au dernier aka Until the Last One (Pierre Billon 1957): Carny Noir! Fernand (Raymond Pellegrin) is out of a six-month stay in prison. Through his sister, he gets a job at the carnival. He’s laying low because he double-crossed Fredo (Paul Meurisse) and his gang, stealing their cash from a heist that he was to hide for them. Now Fredo and the gang are after him. And he’s after the carny’s ballerina, Gina (Jeanne Moreau). A carny being a carny, it is filled with carnies, with seemingly everyone a con man or woman with a hidden agenda. One carny con man steals the money from Fernand so that he can pay the debts of the carny owner – a con man by definition – and marry his daughter. Add the ultra-sadism of Fredo and his henchman and one has a multilayered narrative of deceit and violence. With a counterbalance of the most sarcastic dialogue this side of Groucho Marx and W.C. Fields, uttered by characters that are, by turns, despicable and oddly honorable and sympathetic. But it all explodes in the end and there are no winners, only losers, except…
A boy and his dog – recurring silent stoic characters that become a running gag. Perhaps a proxy for a passive society that sees what is happening around it, but remains detached. Or, a non-verbal Greek chorus. Or, just a running gag.
Les louves aka The She-Wolves aka Demoniac (Luis Saslsvsky, 1957): “It’s words that matter to her, as long as they are unspoken.” No characters named “Ilsa,” but there could have been. Two POWs, Gervais and Bernard, escape from an internment camp in Occupied France. They are best friends who know everything about each other. Bernard has had a pen pal relationship with Helene and they are going to get married, even though they have never physically met. Unfortunately, he has a losing encounter with a speeding train. Gervais takes Bernard’s identification papers, goes to Helene’s home, and is greeted as Bernard. He IS Bernard. Yes, shades of Cornell Woolrich’s “I Married a Dead Man,” adapted for film as No Man of Her Own (Mitchell Leisen 1950), with a gender switch.
Helene’s sister, Agnes (Moreau), a seer by trade, is not so sure. In fact, she is certain that “Bernard” is not Bernard. She tries by various underhanded means to establish that for Helene, but Helene will not accept it. She tells “Bernard” that Agnes is just trying to prevent her one chance for happiness. Agnes even invites Bernard’s estranged sister, Julia, to visit him. Julia greets him unhesitatingly as Bernard. What’s going on?
Bernard’s and Julia’s fabulously wealthy uncle recently died. He left his entire estate to Bernard. A-ha! An extortion plot cooked up by Julia and her fiancée: pay us our fair share of the estate or we expose you and nobody gets anything. Agnes commits suicide with poison. Helene confesses that she knew that “Bernard” was Gervais, but she is now in love with “Bernard.” They marry. “Bernard” becomes ill. Helene takes him to a secluded country estate to care for him. His condition worsens. Could it be…? He tries to escape or effect a rescue, including by surreptitiously giving a local a letter to mail to the police, but Helene intercepts it before it is mailed. Shades of My Name Is Julia Ross (Joseph H. Lewis 1945), with a gender switch.
No one gets out alive from Noir Hell. But it is a joy to watch people try.
Saturday, November 17
Le craneur aka The Showoff (Dimitri Kirsanoff 1955): Bar patron: “She’s a pretty girl. I like pretty girls.” Bartender: “So does she.” That is not the only lie told in this lurid film of deceit. Phillipe (Raymond Pellegrin) is seen arguing with Betty (Dora Doll) in a nightclub phone booth, going to the bar, taking a drink, and leaving. Betty is found dead. All signs point to Phillipe, even though the club manager (Paul Demange) tells the police that he can’t believe Phillipe would do it. The police head for Phillipe’s, but the manager gets word to him first. Phillipe goes to the apartment of Juliette (Marina Vlady), the club’s singer and the “pretty girl” of above. The manager appears – then two long flashbacks to get the audience caught up to this point.
Betty encourages demolition car driver, Phillipe, to take a driving job with a nightclub denizen. Phillipe is told it is a load of nylons on which customs had not been paid, but after custom agents’ bullets penetrate one of the cartons, Phillipe realizes he’s into drug trafficking. His anger at the deceit is assuaged by the allure of the money. That sets off a chain of events that brings us to the present and the realization that Phillipe that has not been told the truth about much of anything and is now being framed for murder. But Juliette, who doesn’t really like girls, is his reluctant Guardian Angel.
For me, the characterizations – Vlady, Pellegrin, Doll, and especially Demange – surpass the convoluted narrative. About the only thing for which I am relunctant to suspend belief is a flashback that reveals plot points that the person having the flashback wouldn’t know. But, then, there is Vlady….always Vlady.
And there she is again! Les nuits des espions aka Double Agents (Robert Hossein 1959): “You cannot be too suspicious.” The set up is simplicity itself, or so it would seem. London, 1941. A female German agent (we only see her back) is to carry stolen D-Day plans to her male counterpart in France and get some valuable documents from him. The meeting point is a cabin in Normandy. At the same time, British intelligence is sending a female agent (we only see her back) with fake plans to intercept the German agent and pass the fake plans on to the male German agent at the cabin in Normandy. There is also a male British agent doing the same in France. And therein lies the complexity of a film about two people (Vlady and Hossein) in a cabin for one night.
Initial mutual suspicion – “I am German.” “I am, too.” “No, I am English.” “I am, too.” – evolves into mutual love – “Does it matter that I am English?” “No, let us meet after the war.” But they are unable to resolve to the full satisfaction of each the suspicion about the other’s nationality and commitment to love. Their seeming calm in the eye of the raging storm outside is a façade for the emotional storm inside the cabin. Can one ever prove ones true identity? Can one ever prove one’s trust? Can there ever truly be trust between lovers? The dilemma is finally solved, but that discovery cannot be without the pain of loss.
Hossein and Vlady, in what was the last year of their marriage, are smoldering in converting what one expects to be a Spy Thriller into a passionate noir Domestic Melodrama. Together and separately, they have become major players in my film noir canon through the exposure provided in the five THE FRENCH HAD A NAME FOR IT series.
La bête a l’affut aka The Beast at Bay (Pierre Chenal 1959): Let the deceit continue! The proceeds of a benefit auction for policemen’s orphans, sponsored by Elisabeth Vermont (Francoise Arnoul), a beautiful young widow, are stolen. A prison warden and a prisoner on work release are killed at the warden’s home. Another prisoner on work release, Daniel Morane (Henri Vidal), is injured at the home. Knowing he’ll be blamed for the deaths, he runs and breaks into Elisabeth’s chateau to hide. When she discovers him, he explains that he is just a victim of circumstances, that he and the other prisoner were at the house to work for the warden’s wife, which was a cover for the affair she and the prisoner were having, that the warden discovered it, that there was a fight that resulted in the death’s and his own injury. Fate just dealt him, an innocent man soon to be released from prison, a bad hand. Elisabeth decides not to only hide him for the moment, but to tend to him through his recovery. As will happen, they fall in love and decide to run away together.
And every word that has come out of Morane’s mouth has been a lie. In a noir fashion he will meet his Fate…except what’s Fate got to do with it? This film is a wonderful example a film noir where Fate is used as an excuse by a character to entrap others. Morane knew every step he wanted to take and consciously decided to take each step. He just thought the only consequences would fall in his favor. This, however, is noir. He should have known better.
Quai de Grenelle aka The Strollers (Emil E. Reinert 1950): If Fate did not truly have a role in La bête a l’affut, it certainly makes a comeback here. Or, given the films’ release dates, maybe Fate’s role in 1950 had dissipated by 1959. Jean-Louis (Henri Vidal – see the thread yet?) catches snakes in the country for test labs in the city. With a small crate of snakes on his shoulder, he meets his girlfriend, Simone (Francoise Arnoul), in the city. As they stroll, they cross a street outside of the crosswalk, which leads to an argument with a police officer, which leads to a comment that they may have been involved in a bank heist, which leads to passersby accusing them of being the robbers, which leads to Jean-Louis dropping the crate, which leads to the snakes escaping, which leads to mass confusion, which leads to Jean-Louis and Simone running away. One gets the sense that this may not turn out well.
A newspaper plays it all for a sensational angle. Simone dances with a snake in a club to support herself and tries to convince the newspaper of Jean-Louis’ innocence. Jean-Louis goes underground, befriends Mado (Maria Mauban), a prostitute, and her enigmatic older gentleman friend, Zance, who has a penchant for admiring and selling high-heeled shoes, and all the while becomes more paranoid. Perhaps dealing with vipers makes one a viper. Or, if the entire world consists of vipers, what choice does one innocent man have?
La passante aka The Passerby (Henri Calef 1951): A barge. A captain, Malard (yes, Henri Vidal), and one crewman. Only one path for a barge. That canal and its banks are the universe. A universe invaded by Madelaine (Maria Mauban), a woman on the lam with a secret who convinces Malard to give her transportation and sanctuary. Any trepidation Malard has about Madelaine and her secret – after all, we don’t choose our pasts – fades as he falls in love with her. He protects her from the sexual assault by the jealous crewman. Malard wants to run away with her. She, however, comes to realize that she must show any love she has for him in another way.
The story is thin, but the film is not. It is a gorgeously shot noir Domestic Melodrama with emotional, albeit depressing, heft. Do we dare to have a double feature with L’Atalante (Jean Vigo 1934)? Can we take it?
After five movies, and in anticipation of five more on Sunday, I bid adieu to the Roxie and Henri Vidal for the evening, missing Gates of Paris (Rene Clair 1957). That should be rectified soon.
Sunday, November 18
Les amants de Verone aka The Lovers of Verona (Andre Cayatte 1949): Yes, it is an updated version of Shakespeare’s play. With dialogue by Jacques Prevert. There ought to be a law to protect sentimental old fluffs like me from viewing such films. But, no, I have to endure another enchanting version while making sure nobody sees me wiping my eyes (it was due solely to the air quality in San Francisco, I swear).
While in Venice to shoot interiors for a film version of “Romeo and Juliet,” the actress portraying Juliet (Martine Carol) visits Murano. A young, brash glassblower (Serge Reggiani) instantly falls for her. The actress accompanies her producer to the palace of an idle, formerly rich, formerly Fascist family whose antiques will be rented. That arrangement is engineered by the family’s daughter’s fiancée (Pierre Brasseur), an opportunist that the daughter does not love. The daughter (Anouk Aimee) charms her. She offers the daughter the job of being her stand-in. The glassblower bluffs his way onto the movie set to see the actress and, fortuitously, is selected to be the stand-in for the actor portraying Romeo. The first scene to be shot is the balcony scene. The director tells the stand-ins that no dialogue is to be spoken, just look into each other’s eyes. They do…and it continues after “Cut.” The cast and crew relocate to Verona for exterior shooting. Their love blossoms and the stage is set for the lovers of Verona.
Her family is not amused by her relationship with a working class boy. Her fiancée is amused even less. A plan is hatched to rid the boy from their lives. And the working class girl who adores him becomes a pawn in that plan.
You know how this will go. There are some twists, and it gets very dark. All in the most beautifully shot film of this series. At home, follow it with Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast. But don’t blame the air quality for what will likely happen.
Maya (Raymond Bernard 1949): “Maya” means “illusion” in Hindi, as a mystical Indian sailor tells us. It also means “power of creation.” Bella, a prostitute in a port city, is all things to all men. “I can be anyone you want.” She is a potential partner to an enterprising pimp. She is a pleasant stop for a visitor. She is the embodiment of a killer’s dream passion. She is the past lover and new love for another sailor. She is a dancer and model for the mystical sailor. But if you are everything to everyone, then you are nothing to yourself. As her love sails away shouting “Marie! Marie!”, the name of his past love and who he wanted Bella to be, Bella descends to what she was at the start – a prostitute who is anyone you want. Maya.
The occasional heavy-handedness of the script (Simon Gantillon and Bernard) is more than compensated for by (a) the performances of Viviane Romance as Bella and Jean-Pierre Grenier as Bella’s new love, and (b) the cinematography of Andre Thomas. The narrow night alleys of the town are a soft-focus version of a skewed Caligari vision. Tilted, unnerving, and derelict, but teeming with lives, albeit low lives. And one life who will be anyone you want.
Rafles sur la ville aka Sinners of Paris (Pierre Chenal 1958): Nearly twenty years after Le dernier tournant (1939), would Chenal captivate me again and more than Saturday’s La bête a l’affut? It only took until the opening credits to have me enthralled – a crisp black-and-white still photograph of an urban setting at night and a big, brassy, jazz score by Michel Legrand. Then the names of Charles Vanel and Michel Piccoli appeared, which closed the deal.
A simple underlying plot: A notorious gangster, Le Fondu (Vanel), is hospitalized. He overtakes his guard, takes his gun, and escapes. Chased by two police inspectors, Vardier (Piccoli) and his partner, Le Fondu kills the partner. The police must now hunt down the sly slippery Le Fondu, with the effort led by Vardier and his new-to-the-force young partner.
That is merely pretext for a tale of manipulation, betrayal, and revenge. Vardier manipulates Le Fondu’s nephew, a small-time pimp, and his prostitute lover to help find Le Fondu. He also manipulates his partner’s young, seemingly innocent wife into an affair. The pimp becomes a stoolie. Vardier’s partner and his wife, with whom Vardier is apparently now in love, announce they are leaving the country due to her encouragement. Vardier sets his partner up in hope that Le Fondu will kill him. On and on, no one is untouched by a corrupt amoral influence. Betrayal and revenge for betrayal abound. Yes, there may be redemption, but do not let anyone fool you – redemption is not always pretty.
Deux Duvivier…
Sous le ciel de Paris aka Under the Paris Sky (Julien Duvivier 1951): A day in Paris. And as a day moves Friday from light to dark, so does this incredible cinematic story. A man, celebrating his silver wedding anniversary, is on strike at a factory. A man fishes in the Seine with his dog. A poor elderly woman searches for milk to feed her cats. An artist searches his soul. A schoolgirl is terrified of going home with bad grades. A fashion model lends moral support to her love as he, again, takes a medical entrance exam. Her friend, newly arrived in Paris, looks for the man of her dreams. And their lives intersect wherever Fate determines.
During the moments of light, sometimes lightheartedness, it was difficult to keep from asking, “But is it noir?” Then there would be a hint that every silver cloud has a dark lining. And that lining can grow and become all encompassing. Duvivier is here just to remind us that life has both Light and Dark…and Fate will decide which prevails when and how. That is noir.
La fete a Henriette aka Henrietta’s Holiday (Julien Duvivier 1952): During WWII, Duvivier was in Hollywood. At some point he and Preston Sturges must have taken a meeting. Take the tone of Unfaithfully Yours (Preston Sturges 1948), add a dash of Sullivan’s Travels (Preston Sturges 1941), and a small pinch, just for the credits, of The Palm Beach Story (Preston Sturges 1942), and you have the underpinnings of this audacious and entertaining movie.
Two screenplay writers are lamenting the rejection of their latest product due to censorship. They need to create something out of what is now nothing. With their trusty typist (and two paramours) they improvise casting, story, script, and direction. But their grand artistic visions conflict. One wants the lurid and erotic, starting with an outlandish premise and working toward cliché. The other wants something representing the common person, starting with the cliché and working toward the outlandish. Mon dieu! The clash of creative differences! Each improvises what he wants – and that is acted out on the screen – only to have it rejected by the other. Taken as a whole, what we see is lurid, erotic, common, and cliché.
The multitudinous plot lines – or, is there only one plot line? – cannot be readily summarized. Suffice it to say that there is enough crime, deceit, and killing popping up to make a case for film noir. And, given that the entire conceit is about a world out of whack, that is another point in film noir’s favor. As Don Malcolm put it in his introduction, it is a meta-noir-comedy. And a joyous experience.
A very special thanks to Therese Grisham who years ago first opened my eyes to Duvivier beyond Pepe le Moko and his Hollywood movies, and to Don for showcasing Duvivier’s criminally under seen film noir. Again, thanks to Don for his hospitality and sharing the lost continent of French film noir.
So sorry to miss the last two days. Adieu and FIN.
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