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.
© James Travers 2017
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.
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...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.