For its first 15 years, cinema had been a curiosity, a sideshow amusement
at fairgrounds, but in the 1910s this curiosity rapidly developed into a
full-scale industry on both sides of the Atlantic. In France, Gaumont
and Pathé led the way in servicing the mushrooming demand for this
new medium of mass entertainment. Louis Feuillade had hit after
hit with his ambitious adventure-thriller serials, whilst Léonce Perret found an appreciative
audience for his more sensitively crafted naturalistic dramas. Meanwhile,
more artistically inclined filmmakers, such as Albert Capellani, André
Antoine and Abel Gance, were actively
exploring the bounds of cinematic expression with their unceasing experimentation
in every aspect of filmmaking. Sadly, many works from this pioneering
decade are lost to us, but what remains is a dazzling kaleidoscope of artistic
bravado. Here are some of the highlights of French cinema from the
1910s.
For a more complete list consult our best films index and complete films index.
Max victime du quinquina (1911)
Max, victime du quinquina is a short comedy masterpiece,
full of hilarious comic set-pieces which amply demonstrate why Max Linder
was a legend in his own lifetime. Linder's flair for visual humour was
unrivalled and influenced many subsequent comedy giants, including Charlie
Chaplin and Buster Keaton. In the hundreds of short films he made,
Linder was way ahead of his time and he virtually invented the language of
film comedy.
La Tare exemplifies the kind of quality melodrama
that was a speciality of the film studio Gaumont and its star director Louis
Feuillade in its early days. Showcasing the talents of the charismatic
actress Renée Carl (a frequent collaborator of the director),
the film deals with the concept of the 'fallen woman' to devastating effect,
making this a savagely forceful critique of contemporary bourgeois morality.
Le Trust, ou les batailles de l'argent was an
important milestone both for Gaumont and Louis Feuillade. A fast-moving,
well-paced crime intrigue, it anticipates the massively popular thriller
serials that the director would go on to make for the studio over the course
of the decade, including Fantômas, Les Vampires and Judex
Thanks to Feuillade's visual flair, and the charismatic presence of its lead
actor René Navarre, the film manages to be remarkably compelling,
in spite of its somewhat ludicrous plot.
À la conquête du pôle was the
last commercially successful film to be made by Georges Méliès,
arguably the greatest film pioneer of the previous decade. Adapted from Jules
Verne's novel The Adventures of Captain Hatteras,
this ambitious adventure-fantasy recaptures the magic of Méliès's
earlier cinematic matvel, Le Voyage dans la lune,
effectively telling the same story but with even greater visual flair. Its
high-point is the dramatic appearance of a gruesome man-eating ice monster
which oddly prefigures King Kong.
Until 1998, La Hantise was the earliest surviving
film to reference the sinking of the Titanic. One of Louis Feuillade's
more restrained films, it is quiet but engaging melodrama that sets out to
debunk the then popular craze of chiromancy. Some incredibly dodgy
model work (the Titanic looks laughably like a toy boat in a bath) is redeemed
by the strong central performances, with the result that La Hantise manages to be an absorbing drama.
One of Gaumont's foremost directors, Léonce Perret brought considerably
charm and flair to his films, and this is more than evident in his enchanting
short Le Chrysanthème rouge. The
film has a very simple plot - a humorous variation on the Judgment of Solomon
story - but in Perret's deft hands it becomes a wonderful little fable which
manages to be poignant, hilarious and more than a little macabre. The
film is worth noting for Perret's liberal use of close-ups, a device that
was rarely used at the time.
Le Coeur et l'argent was a collaborative venture
by Gaumont's two lead directors, Louis Feuillade and Léonce Perret.
An unusually pessimistic melodrama, the film is distinguished by its
extensive use of exterior locations and also some daring use of split-screen
photography. The lead role was taken by the stunningly photogenic Suzanne
Grandais who, one of Gaumont's biggest stars at the time, was considered
the Mary Pickford of French cinema.
Le Mystère des roches de Kador represents
the artistic pinnacle of the pioneering filmmaker Léonce Perret. An
obvious precursor to Feuillade's thriller serials, this remarkable film has
a surprising modernity with its generous use of real locations and slick deep
focus photography. It was one of the first French films to make effective
use of the raw Brittany landscape, but what is more interesting is its flagrant
self-referentialism. This could well be cinema's first example of a 'film
within a film', a first stab at what we now term metacinema.
Léonce Perret demonstrates his skill for combining everyday incident
with fantastic intrigue in his stylish short Sur les rails.
Using his trademark split-screen device, Perret manages to get us inside the
head of a potential murderer and then shocks us with a horrifying realistic
staging of a scene in which one railworker attempts to kill his rival. The
film ends with one of the most daring stunts ever recorded on celluloid.
The most famous of Louis Feuillade's thriller exploits, Fantômas
was such a big hit for Gaumont that the director followed it up with four
sequels and a succession of incredibly ambitious thriller serials. Adapted
from a popular series of novels by Pierre Souvestre and Marcel Allain, Feuillade's
Fantômas differs from subsequent versions in that it sets the
intrigue in a tenebrous landscape that has a weirdly dreamlike feel to it.
A defining example of réalisme fantastique the film
takes us into a dark place where horrifying murderous crimes are dispatched
with cold and ruthless efficiency, not by your average mastercriminal
but by a truely terrifying phantom of the night.
Pathé's response to the commercial success of its rival Gaumont was
to up its own game by creating a subsidiary (SCAGI) that was devoted to making prestigious
adaptations of French literary works. Albert Capellani, Pathé's
star director, took charge of this subsidiary and oversaw the making of many
ambitious masterworks, one of the finest being his dazzling adaptation of
Zola's classic novel Germinal. Running to two hours, this kind
of superproduction was virtually unheard of at the time and helped to make
the feature film cinema's main attraction. Capellani shows great daring and
innovation in realising the novel's famous set-pieces, notably the flooding
of the mine at its apocalyptic climax.
Léonce Perret's place in film history was assured when he was invited
by Gaumont to direct the company's first feature-length film, L'Enfant de Paris. With a plot that borrows freely
from literary sources that include Oliver Twist
and The Little Princess, this was the fore-runner
for the episodic crime-adventure film that was to prove so successful for
Gaumont over the next decade. In contrast to his rival Feuillade, Perret
brought a striking naturalism to his films, giving them more emotional depth
and human interest. This is more than evident in his absorbing masterpiece
L'Enfant de Paris.
L'Agonie de Byzance was one of a series of more
artsitically inclined films that Gaumont made to compete with the recently
founded company Le Film d'Art. A lavish depiction of the fall of Constantinople
to the Ottomans in the mid-15th century, it was a mammoth production (even
though the film runs to just 30 minutes), directed by Gaumont's most prolific
director, Louis Feuillade. Its main point of interest are the impressively
choreographed battle scenes, which are among the most ambitious depicted in
cinema up until this time.
If Louis Feuillade had directed Les Dents de fer it would most probably have ended up
as a mix of full-blown melodrama and suspense thriller. Instead, it
was helmed by Feuillade's close colleague at Gaumont, Léonce Perret,
who eshews such crass sensationalism and instead delivers a far more subtle
kind of film - a humane morality tale that appeals to our nobler instincts.
Most interesting is Perret's use of deep focus photography to extend
the depth of field. This endows the film not only with a heightened
sense of reality but also a striking modernity.
Le Diamant noir is among the most noteworthy films
that Alfred Machin directed during his term as artistic director of Pathé's
Belgian subsidiary. The film has two stars, a young Albert Dieudonné,
who would later become famous for his portrayal of Napoléon Bonaparte
in Abel Gance's great biopic Napoléon (1927),
and a highly photogenic leopard named Mimir, whom Machin adopted as a baby
and who starred in many of his films. The story isn't much to write home about
but Machin keeps us interested and maintains the tension by cross-cutting
between the Belgian and African settings.
Léonce Perret's second feature for Gaumont, Le
Roman d'un mousse feels spookily like a precursor to Fritz Lang's
Mabuse films, having at its core a despicable villain who delights
in the power he has over his victims. Perversely, Perret compels us
to feel more for his villain than for the innocents he preys upon - an unfortunate
woman who is about to be robbed of her fortune and a chubby little boy
who is destined to end up as fish food. Perret's trademark use of deep
focus photography brings a striking realism to its location sequences (in
Biarritz, Saint-Malo and Le Havre) and the frantic courtroom scenes at the
end of the film.
Gaumont was not slow to follow up its massive success with its series of
Fantômas films and Louis Feuillade was soon tasked with delivering
an even more ambitious thriller serial, Les Vampires. In ten
installments (each lasting about 40 minutes), the film follows the dastardly
exploits of a gang of seemingly unstoppable master criminals, one of whom
is Irma Vep, played by the seductively alluring Musidora, cinema's first
fully fledged vamp.
Louis Feuillade's run of success with his extravagant thriller serials
continued with Judex, which departs from the formula of previous serials
by having a good guy - an incorruptible judge - as the central protagonist.
Despite the lack of resources available to him (owing to the war effort)
and escalating fuel prices, Feuillade manages to deliver another ambitious,
fast-paced tour de force. With his wide-brimmed hat and flowing black
cape, the heroic lead character has an iconic silhouette, which was inspired
by Toulouse-Lautrec's famous portrait of the cabaret singer Aristide Bruant.
After gaining a reputation as France's most respected theatre director,
André Antoine went on to become a superlative filmmaker, noted for
the greater sense of realism he brought to his films than his contemporaries.
As Pathé's star director, he had the freedom to experiment and
develop his own aesthetic, and with Le Coupable he delivered a compelling
court-room drama that was much nearer to documentary than the melodrama of
the time. Antoine uses close-ups brilliantly to humanise his characters
and reveal their psychological torments, whilst real locations add greatly
to the film's trenchant realism.
Tih Minh was the last but one of Louis Feuillade's
thriller serials, and the least well-known. A fast-moving escapist thriller,
it distils the best elements of the director's earlier serials into one exciting
adventure epic, but its real value lies in what it has to say about the crises
facing humanity in the aftermath of the First World War. The film presents
a lawless world in which the conventional figures of authority are either
absent or else totally impotent, leaving it to the individual man or woman
to fight a solo crusade against an inescapable nebulous menace.
Following his first success, Mater dolorosa, Abel
Gance immediately turned out another similar marital melodrama, La Dixième symphonie, with Emmy Lynn again taking
the lead role as the victimised heroine. The last film that Gance
completed for Film d'Art, it feels modest compared with the director's subsequent
achievements but it stands head and shoulder above most film melodramas of
the time. Like Douglas Sirk in the 1950s, Gance elevates melodrama to a higher
plain and gives it far more psychological realism and artistry than audiences
of the time might have expected.
Taking its title from Zola's famous open letter in defence of the disgraced
French officer Alfred Dreyfus, J'accuse was Abel
Gance's spirited attempt to expose the folly of war by showing the terrible
human cost of conflict, not just on those who are butchered and maimed on
the battlefield, but also on those who had to endure the loss of fathers,
sons and husbands. Cinema's first great anti-war film, J'accuse still has an incredibly powerful resonance through
its compelling story and strong visuals. Most noteworthy is its final
act where the war dead rise up in their multitude and demand whether any good
came out of their seemingly pointless mass slaughter.