Summary
Patrice travels to a remote island to find a young wife for his uncle Marc. There
he meets a beautiful blonde named Nathalie, who agrees to return to the mainland to marry
Patrice’s uncle, if only to escape her life of penury. The marriage takes place,
to the chagrin of Patrice’s aunt Gertrude, who lives in Marc’s chateau with her timid
husband and her malicious son, Achille, a dwarf. Embittered because Marc has robbed
her of her inheritance, Gertrude intends to profit from Patrice’s obvious affection for
Nathalie to gain her revenge. Whilst Patrice and Nathalie are relaxing together,
Achilles pours liquid from a bottle marked poison into their drinks. But the liquid
is no poison - it is a powerful love potion...
Review
One of the many towering cinematic achievements that miraculously came out of France’s
darkest hour, L’Éternel retour unites the creative talent of director Jean
Delannoy and writer Jean Cocteau. The result is an intensely moving film about love,
jealousy and malice, captivating in its lyrical charm, yet haunting in its assessment
of the worst in human nature.
The film is based on the timeless story of Tristan and Isolda, updated to a contemporary
France setting. The film’s title derives from Cocteau’s belief that the same stories
recur again and again in history, without the protagonists realising.
Perhaps not surprisingly, given the time at which the film was made, this is one of Delannoy’s
darkest films. It features one of his most brilliant and terrifying creations, the
dwarf Achille (brought to life by a remarkable performance from Pierre Piéral).
The sheer wickedness of Achille heightens the nobility of Patrice and the blonde Nathalie,
who are portrayed by Jean Marais and Madeleine Sologne, both actors at the height of their
powers in a mesmerising performance.
As in many films of this period, it is not too difficult to read anti-Nazi symbolism in
L’Éternel retour. The enforced separation of Patrice and Nathalie,
Natalie forced into a loveless marriage with Marc, tormented by the mindless brutality
of Achille, and then the final union of the two lovers... Could this possibly be
an allegory for the state of France under Nazi occupation? A country torn apart,
succumbing to an enemy it was unable to resist, tormented by the mindless brutality of
the German police, yet never yielding up its spirit...? As Cocteau states at the
start of the film: the same stories recur again and again, apparently without anyone realising...
© James Travers 2001
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