Agnès de rien (1950)
Directed by Pierre Billon

Film Review

There are strong echoes of Hitchcock's Rebecca in this atmospheric melodrama, an eerily baroque interpretation of Germaine Beaumont's 1943 novel Agnès de rien.  Director Pierre Billon was at the height of his powers around this time, impressing with his vivid adaptations of other literary works by Dostoyevsky and Colette - L'Homme au chapeau rond (1946) and Chéri (1950).  Showing something of the stylistic flair of his film noir swan song Jusqu'au dernier (1957), Billon's take on Beaumont's bleak novel exhibits an almost Wellesian extravagance in its mise-en-scène and design, but the bold, near-expressionistic visuals do not distract from the performances which resonate with feeling and inner torment and make this one of the director's most gripping films.

Now a major star thanks to her leading role in Jacqueline Audry's Gigi (1949), Danièle Delorme was the obvious choice for the title character, the kind of vulnerable ingénue role that the actress would struggle to break away from in later years.  In a film where light and shade are gloriously over-emphasised, Delorme's innocence and normality make her a striking contrast to all of the other characters, who can't help looking like the inmates of a lunatic asylum.  Queen of the fruitcakes is Yvonne de Bray, who appears in one scene but makes such an impact, as a mad old woman who is convinced she is a killer, that her performance, poignant and terrifying in equal measure, stays with you long after watching the film.

Ketti Gallian (the director's wife) is only mildly more unsettling than de Bray and comes across as something halfway between vamp and vampire, exuding quiet malignancy as effortlessly as Delorme conveys complete helplessness.  The most surprising and moving performance is supplied by Paul Meurisse, who, in the part of a mentally disturbed man with a split personality, has the opportunity to bring together his two extreme screen personas - the sinister madman and seductive lover.  The haunting sequence where Meurisse opens his heart to Delorme in the crumbling remains of a Druid temple is surely one of the high points of his career, a rare moment of tenderness in a film that is almost relentlessly grim and oppressive, stifled by its own bleak poetry and impregnated with a bitterness bordering on the obscene.

Film Synopsis

At the insistence of her husband Francis, Agnès de Chaligny is forced to take up residence in his ancestral family home in the country whilst he, a struggling artist in Paris, sorts out his finances.  This is the first time the young woman has visited her in-laws and the welcome she receives is far from cordial.  The old château is inhabited by her sister-in-law Alix and her husband Carlos, an alcoholic depressive who is often away from home.  Intimidated by Carlo, who strikes her as unhinged, and handled with cold detachment by Alix, Agnès soon realises she is unwelcome and writes to her husband to beg him to allow her to return to him.  The letter she receives in reply leaves her in no doubt that her marriage is over and her enforced stay in the château is merely the pretext for a separation.  The only person who is capable of helping Francis and saving his marriage is his rich mother, but when Agnès finally gets to meet her it is clear that she is completely out of her mind.  It is then that Carlos's true character becomes apparent to her.  Instead of fearing him, she begins to form a strong emotional attachment with him, and even contemplates starting a new life with him.  But happiness is not the de Chaligny way.  After Agnès has made up her mind to return to Paris Carlos succumbs to the family curse...