Au pays des lits clos (1913)
Directed by Maurice Mariaud

Film Review

Just as valuable objects have a tendency to slip down the back of a sofa, so great films can often disappear without trace, only to be unearthed by chance many years later.  Au pays des lits clos is one such cinematic gem.  It exemplifies not only the quality of film production that Gaumont achieved under the control of its artistic director Louis Feuillade in the 1910s but also the readiness with which the company fostered new creative talent.  The film was directed by Maurice Mariaud, who, in his mid-thirties, had joined Gaumont at its Paris-based Buttes-Chaumont studio as an actor but quickly demonstrated an aptitude and enthusiasm for filmmaking that the company was quick to exploit.

Having proven his ability with half a dozen modest shorts, Mariaud was provided with the resources usually reserved for Gaumont's more prestigious directors (Feuillade and Léonce Perret) for his masterly composed modern fairytale set on the rugged weather-beaten coast of Brittany.  It was an auspicious start to a career which delivered almost fifty shorts and a number of impressive features (Tristan et Yseult, As Pupilas do Senhor Reitor), with some of Mariaud's best work being made during his three-year period in Portugal whilst contract to Caldevilla Film.  But like so many of his equally talented peers of this era, Mariaud is all but forgotten today, even though just under half of his work survives, waiting to be rediscovered and savoured by connoisseurs of great silent cinema.

With a significant portion of the film shot on location in picturesque Brittany, Au pays des lits clos immediately sets itself apart from the bulk of film productions of its time.  Mariaud and his experienced technical crew appear committed to delivering the most authentic slice of Breton life that they could manage, with the locals arrayed in traditional Breton dress and engaged in their customary activities - a world apart from the ceaseless hub-hub and rushing modernity of present day Paris.  Women are never seen to be idle in the film.  When they are not taking an active part in the story, they are happily preoccupied with housework or lace-making.  Meanwhile, the men-folk are busily engaged in their routine chores, mostly in support of the local fishing trade.  All this creates a sense of a community where unceasing dexterous activity is as much a part of the local culture as the wearing of wooden clogs and lace coiffes.  Mariaud's film is both an affectionate portrait of Breton life and a sophisticated piece of popular entertainment, its documentary-style feel giving it a charm and authenticity that no purely studio-based production could ever hope to match.  Au pays des lits clos is a regionally-based film way ahead of its time, having much of the expressive power and ethnographic value as Jean Epstein's enchanting Breton studies made almost two decades later - Finis terrae (1929), Mor vran (1931) and L'Or des mers (1932).

The film may be short but it is packed to the gills with details and incident.  It immediately grabs the spectator's attention with a dramatic lifeboat rescue, with hoards of locals swarming to a hangar to launch the craft that will hopefully save the lives of those in peril on a burning ship.  The urgency and distress that this brings to the little community is conveyed by inter-cutting the well-organised rescue attempt with domestic scenes in which the women of the village anxiously await the return of the brave rescuers.  After this spectacular opening, Au pays des lits clos gently eases its way into a more conventional groove and proceeds as a modern version of Sleeping Beauty - in which a mysterious stranger regains his lost identity through the affectionate companionship of a young Breton girl, who inevitably loses her heart to him.

The storyline is pure hokum but the quality of Mariaud's mise-en-scène turns it into an engaging piece of film poetry that has much more in common with the astonishing work of the director's Scandinavian contemporaries - Mauritz Stiller and Victor Sjöström - than any other filmmaker working in France at the time.  This is especially true of the director's inspired use of the natural location, which becomes an essential part of the film's composition throughout, reflecting not only the day-to-day lived experiences of the characters, but also their intense moods and feelings.  Contrast how happy Annaïck appears as she nurses the amnesiac Prince Otto back to health with the abject, crushing sense of bereavement she feels later on in the film after the Prince's sudden return to his home country.  The setting is the same, but the rock-lined coast and idyllic open countryside suddenly acquire a bleaker, more desolate character when the young Breton girl appears by herself.

The film's bold naturalism extends to the acting style, which avoids the excessive mannerisms common to cinema of this period and appears surprisingly modern, even if the staging seems to be a tad theatrical in places.  The brazenly contrived fairytale ending only works because of the compassionate realism that Mariaud meticulously drives into the early part of the film.  Au pays des lits clos runs to just over half an hour in length but it has the impact and narrative complexity of a much more substantial work, such is the abundance of artistry and real human feeling that its director brings to it.  How could the author of such an exquisite and captivating work of cinema as this have failed to gain a reputation as one of the filmmaking giants of his era?  Alas, Maurice Mariaud was just one of many highly promising directors encouraged by Gaumont in the 1910s to have passed into obscurity as the art of cinema surged ahead, chewing up no end of anonymous talent like some insatiable technological Moloch.

Film Synopsis

One night, the peace of Saint-Ganolé, a sleepy Breton fishing village, is broken by an alarm notifying its inhabitants that a small vessel is in distress.  A lifeboat is launched and returns a short while later with only a single survivor from the stricken ship.  Dazed, the badly injured young man is taken to the house of the old and respected fisherman Père Kerndeck, where he is nursed back to health by his kind-hearted granddaughter Annaïck.  There is no clue to the stranger's identity and, because of the head injury he sustained at sea, he has lost his memory and can barely communicate.  Over several weeks, through Annaïck's devoted care, the young man - dubbed L'Innocent because of his child-like nature - gradually regains his senses, although he still cannot remember who he is.

Quite by chance, the Kerndecks come across a notice in the paper reporting the mysterious disappearance of Prince Otto Christian, the heir to a European principality.  The Prince had been en route for America when his ship was apparently lost at sea, leaving no trace of its crew and passengers.  Hearing the report read to him, L'Innocent recognises the name Prince Otto as his own.  Now that he knows who he is, he knows also that he must return to his own country and resume his courtly duties.  Annaïck is devastated by the Prince's hasty departure and her days suddenly become dead and empty in his absence.  Then, unexpectedly, a car draws up outside the Kerndeck's modest dwelling.  Prince Otto has returned, with the news that he has renounced his claim to the crown of Gallistrie so that he can marry the girl he loves - Annaïck!