Le Petit soldat (1963) - film review

It is 1958, at the height of France’s war with Algeria.  A deserter from the French army, Bruno Forestier, belongs to an extreme right-wing terrorist cell operating in Geneva.  To prove his credentials, he must assassinate a Swiss journalist who is collaborating with a rival left-wing group supporting the Algerian terrorists, the FLN.  Along the way, Bruno meets and falls in love with Veronica, whom he mistakes for a model when she is in truth in league with the left-wing activists...

Jean-Luc Godard’s second full-length film after the ground-breaking and highly praised À bout de souffle was Le Petit soldat, his first political film, centred around the Algerian conflict.  His direct approach, which included some potentially inflammatory rhetoric and a disturbing torture scene, was too much for the censors and the film, made in 1960, was banned, being released only in 1963 once the war with Algeria had ended.

Technically, it is probably Godard’s most conventional film, bearing a stronger resemblance to the works of Jean-Pierre Melville, with its dark underworld overtones, than his own subsequent films.  Many of the ingredients we associate with Godard can be glimpsed in this film, in embryo form.  These include Raoul Coutard’s mesmerising, fluid camera work, and some lengthy unscripted scenes where the director relies on his actors to create their own dialogue.  These typically Godardesque devices create a refreshing sense of spontaneity which is lacking from conventional cinema.

One place where this unfamiliar spontaneity works most effectively is in the famous torture scene.  What is most disturbing about this long scene is not the violence which is employed but the every-day manner in which the torture is applied to Bruno by his tormentors.  The banality of the surroundings (a hotel room) and the way in which Godard shoots the scene (with no display of emotion, either on the side of the victim or torturers) lends the film a sickening sense of realism that transcends existentialism.  This is probably the most shocking scene of any of Godard’s films, one which the critics were quick to condemn when the film was finally released.

Another obvious target for the critics, particularly those of a left-wing political disposition, was the film’s  trenchant apolitical stance.  The film makes no attempt to distinguish between extreme right and left wing politics, both are equally as valid or equally as flawed in Godard’s eyes.  This is reflected in the political ambiguity of the central character Bruno Forestier, who resorts to right-wing terrorism not because he necessarily believes in right-wing politics but because he needs a cause to believe in.  Since the Second World War, his country, France, has lost its political ideology, which is why France is destined to lose the Algerian war.   This was indeed an accurate reflection of the mood in France at the time the film was made but was clearly not a view which the authorities were going to allow Godard to peddle in public cinemas, hence the enforced ban.

Despite its strong political tone, the film also has a compelling sense of humanity, reflected in the apparent innocence of Veronica, beautifully portrayed by Anna Karina (an actress who would feature in many of Godard’s subsequent films).  The ambiguous nature of her relationship with Bruno, who is clearly attracted to her, adds another tragic dimension to the film.  Played magnificently by Michel Subor, Bruno himself is a flawed idealist who represents a generation of young French people looking for meaning in their lives in a world without ideology or purpose.  In Bruno, Godard reflects the popular unrest which would create major ructions on the French political scene in later years, culminating in the 1968 riots.

© James Travers 2001

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