Reviled by critics and audience when it was first seen, La Règle du Jeu (a.k.a. The Rules of the Game) is now
almost universally acknowledged as one of the greatest of all French
films, the crowning achievement of Jean Renoir's remarkable filmmaking
career. A scurrilous satire on class divisions and the attitudes
of the French bourgeoisie in the 1930s, no film better depicts the
separation between the aristocracy and the working classes in France on
the eve of World War II. This is not only Renoir's most
ambitious and most technically flawless film, it is also his most
enduring, a darkly comedic commentary on the eternal divide between the
haves and the have nots.
Les Enfants du paradis (Children of Paradise) was the most
ambitious film to come out of the fruitful partnership between director
Marcel Carné and screenwriter Jacques Prévert. Made
under the most difficult of circumstances, when France was under Nazi
occupation, the film is a visual tour de force, a sprawling blockbuster
to rival Hollywood's Gone With the
Wind. Ostensibly a tale of unrequited love and amorous
rivalry set in the Parisian theatre world of the 1830s, the film came
to be regarded as an overt symbol of defiance against the Nazis and the
Vichy régime. Many members of the cast and crew were
active in the French resistance or Jews being sheltered from the
Germans. With its epic narrative, stunning
production values and mesmerising performances (from
a stellar cast that included Arletty and Jean-Louis Barrault), the film
was a massive box office hit after the
Liberation but was overlooked by most of the critics. Today, it
is widely considered one of the greatest films ever made.
One of the great pioneers of French cinema, Abel Gance explored the
possibilities of silent film to his fullest in this six-hour long epic,
which recounts the early years of Napoléon Bonaparte with
breathtaking ambition and extraordinary visual flair. In making
this film, Gance bankrupted his financial backers and hindered his
subsequent career, but the result is one of the great monuments of
cinema, an unsurpassed experimental masterpiece. In its original
form, Napoléon
employed colour tinting, split screen and triptych photography,
although few cinemas had the special equipment required to screen it in
this format. So attached was Gance to this film that he re-edited
it (with additional scenes) as a sound film in 1934 and later as a
lavish drama-documentary at the end of his career. With its
impressive battle scenes and startlingly inventive camerawork, Napoléon deserves its
reputation as the most outstanding French film of the silent era.
There is a satisfying irony in the fact Jean-Luc Godard's most
accessible film is also one of his most complex and important. Le Mépris (Contempt) is Godard's most coherent
and effective assault on commercial cinema, a provocative yet intensely
compelling piece that delivers a cogent moral on the destructive
consequences that follow from cowardly compromise, in both one's
professional and private life. Brigitte Bardot has never looked
more ravishingly beautiful, nor has she given a more stunning performance, than
she does here, ably supported by an unlikely cast that includes Michel
Piccoli, Jack Palance and Fritz Lang. Oddly, Le
Mépris was to be Godard's final (grudging) concession to
mainstream cinema; after this, he didn't seem to care about what
audiences or critics thought about his work - the only spectator that
mattered was himself. In this sense, Le Mépris feels like a
mission statement for everything that Godard did next.
François Truffaut's inspired adaptation of Henri-Pierre
Roché's autobiographical novel Jules
et Jim was to be one of the high points of the French New Wave
and secured the international reputation of the director and his lead
actress, Jeanne Moreau. A film of extraordinary intimacy and
lyrical power, Jules et Jim
encapsulates Truffaut's vision of life and cinema more than any other
film he made. It has a timeless appeal, a dark-edged celebration
of love, life and friendship that has an intoxicating simplicity and
charm. Moreau is at her most enigmatic and compelling as the
inscrutable femme fatale Catherine, with Oskar Werner and Henri Serre
completing the ill-fated ménage-à-trois to
perfection. Beautifully photographed by Raoul Coutard and
memorably scored by Georges Delerue, Jules
et Jim has a unique poetry that is so redolent of its era and
makes it one of the most captivating of all French films.
Conceived by director Jean Renoir as an appeal for national unity at a
time of unprecedented political and economic crisis, La Grande illusion met with a warm
approval from critics and audiences when it was first released in 1937,
although it later fell out of favour and was banned by the French
government in 1940 for its depiction of fraternisation. Germany's
propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels dubbed the film Cinematographic
Enemy Number One and ordered that all prints of the film be destroyed
once France had capitulated to the Nazis. Miraculously, the film
did survive and is now considered one of the greatest anti-war films of
all time, a film that poignantly reminds us of the illusory nature of
the barriers that divide one man from another.
There is a simplicity and tortured humanity to Carl Theodor Dreyer's La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc (a.k.a. The Passion of Joan of Arc) which
ensures that no one who watches this film can fail to be moved by
it. Dreyer's aggressive use of close-up lends the film an
extraordinarily brutal immediacy, forcing the spectator to identify
with the heroine (superbly portrayed by Maria Falconetti) and feel her
humiliation and suffering as she undergoes her calvary as a victim of
man's unthinking cruelty. The film proved to be highly
contentious (particularly with the Catholic Church) when it was
first seen and was not a commercial success. Following its
restoration in the early 1980s, its reputation as a silent masterpiece
has been bolstered and it now ranks as one of the great cinema triumphs
of all time.
François Truffaut's directing career got off to a flying start
with what is considered to be one of his greatest achievements, an
intensely involving portrait of adolescent rebellion which closely
mirrors the director's own troubled juvenile upbringing. Les 400 coups (a.k.a. The 400 Blows) won Truffaut the
Best Director award at the Cannes Film Festival and established him as
one of the leading lights of the French New Wave. Formerly a
firebrand critic on the Cahiers du
Cinéma, Truffaut brought a fresh impetus to French cinema
in the late 1950s, paving the way for a whole new generation of auteur
filmmakers. The talented 14-year-old lead actor Jean-Pierre Léaud
became one of Truffaut's most faithful collaborators, reprising the
role of the director's alter ego Antoine Doinel in four of his
subsequent films.
Of the handful of films that Jean Cocteau directed, surely none has
the alluring visual poetry of La
Belle et la bête, a remarkably inspired re-interpretation
of the well-known Beauty and the
Beast fairytale. Endlessly referenced by other filmmakers,
the film is a piece of pure cinematic magic, the sets, costumes and
photography conjuring up a realm of childhood fantasy that is as
tangible as anything in our world, only far more enticing and
believable. Cocteau's favourite actor Jean Marais is perfect for
the part of the Beast, projecting an aching loneliness and terrifying
menace through his startling leonine mask, whilst holding us in his
thrall as he savours Cocteau's exquisitely poetic dialogue. In
the austere aftermath of World War II, this was the kind of escapist
fantasy that French audiences desperately needed.
The product of an improbable partnership between modernist filmmaker Alain
Resnais and nouveau roman author Alain Robbe-Grillet, L'Année dernière à
Marienbad (a.k.a. Last Year
in Marienbad) is assuredly one of the most perplexing and
inexplicably mesmerising of all French films. From its haunting
opening sequence, a long tracking shot through a deserted mausoleum of
a house, the spectator is hooked and becomes a willing onlooker in a
bewildering romantic intrigue in which the barrier between reality and
fantasy is well and truly annihilated. Time and space have no
meaning in the flaky dream-world that Resnais projects us into, a
limbo-like alternative reality in which everyone resembles an automaton
who is condemned to play out the same routine for eternity. Can
this never-ending charade, a cruel parody of life, be a mere fantasy, or
is it a terrifying prediction of the nightmare that is to come after
death...?
With his remarkable debut feature, director Alain Resnais combines an
exquisite story of a relived amorous infatuation with a haunting
meditation on man's propensity for senseless destruction. Just as
we may cling to the memory of an idyllic love affair, so we must not
forget the tragedy of Hiroshima - the past is what allows us to make
sense of the present. Resnais's fascination for the relationship
between time and memory is central to his work but it has its most
powerful and poetic expression in this complex and beguiling
work.
Jean-Luc Godard's self-conscious attempt to deconstruct the American
gangster film is a mass of contradictions, a film that is reviled by
some and regarded by others as the greatest piece of cinema art
ever. Pierrot le fou is
one of the most beautifully photographed of Godard's films but it is
also one of his most perplexing, a film that appears to be as much
about the incompatability of the sexes as a tongue-in-cheek homage to
the American pulp fiction. Jean-Paul Belmondo and Anna Karina are
perfectly suited for the two contrasting lead characters and inject a
healthy dose of sixties style and eccentricity into one of cinema's
weirdest existential odysseys.
If there were such a thing as an award for the creepiest French film of
all time, it would surely go to Georges Franju's Les Yeux sans visage, a mesmerising
horror-fantasy that somehow manages to distinguish itself from British
Gothic horror films of the time and their Italian Baroque
counterparts. With its stunning dreamlike composition and truly
gruesome story about a face-stealing mad surgeon (Pierre Brasseur at
his most chilling), this is a film that shocks and delights in roughly
equal measure, one of cinema's most wonderfully poetic excursions into
the realm of pure terror.
Arguably the most perfect of Jean-Pierre Melville's sublime gangster
films, Le Cercle rouge brings
together three icons of French cinema (Alain Delon, Yves Montand and
Bourvil) and pits them against one another in the most stylish, most
intricately constructed policier of the decade. With a
spectacular heist sequence to rival that of Jules Dassin's Du rififi chez les hommes, a
compelling plot and some stunning performances, it is easy to see why
this was Melville's most successful film - it is a tour de force in
every respect.
The acme of the French film musical has to be Jacques Demy's Les Parapluies de Cherbourg, one of
the most captivating and moving romantic films ever to have been made
in France. The fact that Demy's melancholic dreamworld is so far
removed from and yet so near to the realities of present day France (in
particular the Algerian War) lends it an added poignancy, whilst Michel
Legrand's music carries such emotional feeling that you scarcely notice
the creaking mechanics of the overly sentimental plot. The film
made 20-year-old Catherine Deneuve an international star and proved
beyond any doubt that Hollywood did not have a monopoly on quality
musicals. Anyone who can resist blubbering like a newborn as the
final scene reaches it tragic crescendo is probably in the advanced
stages of rigor mortis.