La Symphonie fantastique (1942)
Directed by Christian-Jaque

Film Review

La Symphonie fantastique was the grandest of the thirty full-length films produced by the German-run company Continental-Films at the time of the Nazi occupation of France.  The man appointed to run Continental, Alfred Greven, took a special interest in the film and had a hand in the screenplay.  An accurate and authoritative account of the life of Hector Berlioz the film is certainly not, despite its casual plundering of the composer's Mémoires.  In common with most self-respecting biopics about prominent artists, it is the work rather than the man who is celebrated, and whilst it may fail to impress as a serious piece of drama, La Symphonie fantastique stands as a fairly respectable tribute to one of France's great composers.  A supremely lavish production that revels in the superiority of French culture, it was bound to appeal to a beleaguered French nation at a time of great anxiety and uncertainty.

As you might expect for any film of importance bankrolled by the Nazis, this gloriously self-indulgent biopic has a non-too subtle subtext, Greven's intention presumably being to liken France, under the guiding hand of its enlightened leader Maréchal Petain, to its subject.  As in the case of Berlioz, perseverance and constancy would inevitably prevail, overthrowing the stale old order as the country took within her grasp the glory that was rightfully hers.  Unfortunately, some prominent Nazis (including Hitler's propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels) saw the film differently - as a flagrant appeal to French nationalism that might put fire in the belly of the resistance movement.  It's a curious dichotomy that is to be found in several of the films made by Continental and if Greven had not himself invested so much in it it's possible that La Symphonie fantastique may have gone the way of many other 'dangerous'  films - all copies rounded up and thrown into the nearest available incinerator.

Greven was the main driving force behind the film but the task of directing it fell to 37-year-old Christian-Jaque, who had already notched up one notable success for Continental with L'Assassinat du père Noël (1941), a Santa-themed whodunnit.  Christian-Jaque was an incredibly prolific filmmaker but his output was far from consistent and the epithet 'auteur' is not one that slips easily into one's estimation of his talents.  What he did possess was a keen visual sense (which first manifested itself when he worked as a poster designer in the 1920s) and a natural flair for making polished films with immense popular appeal.  With the tremendous resources offered to him by Continental, Christian-Jaque was at his most extravagant - only a handful of the hundred or so other films he made (Les Disparus de Saint-Agil, Boule de suif, Fanfan la Tulipe) bear comparison with the films he made during the Occupation.  With is sumptuous set designs, beautifully lit compositions and grandiose camerawork, La Symphonie fantastique revels in its confident majesty, its highpoint being a wildly expressionistic visualisation of Berlioz's inner journey towards the composition after which the film is titled.  And then there are the lavish set-pieces which culminate in an eye-popping staging of Berlioz's Requiem within the Hôtel des Invalides - a suitably opulent visual accompaniment to the composer's greatest musical creations.

No one would dispute that Jean-Louis Barrault was the obvious choice to play Hector Berlioz, convincingly aging in the course of the film thanks to some superb make-up work.  Not only was Barrault one of the leading lights of the French stage (and a very capable screen actor to boot), he also bore an uncanny likeness to the composer - enough to convince you that he was a near descendent.  Barrault's one deficiency as a film actor was a slight leaning towards the theatrical, and this is certainly noticeable in La Symphonie fantastique (helped by the mawkish and prosaic script, which offers little by way of serious character development and psychological depth).  Fortunately, the brazenly operatic tone of the film proves to be just the setting that Barrault needs to shine on camera.   Indeed, apart from his subsequent iconic portrayal of the mime artist Baptiste Deburau in Marcel Carné's Les Enfants du paradis (1945), there is probably no other film in which the actor is so utterly captivating.  As his career progressed, Barrault would give better, more subtle performances, one of the best being his arresting portrayal of Henri Dunant (the founder of the Red Cross) in the far more sober biopic D'homme à hommes (1948), again directed by Christian-Jaque.

Given Barrault's professional standing at the time, it's hard to fathom why he received third billing in the credits, following his two glamorous co-stars Renée Saint-Cyr and Lise Delamare, who vividly portray the two loves in Berlioz's life (or at least the highly romanticised version of the composer's life conceived by its authors' fanciful imagination).  As engaging as Saint-Cyr and Delamare both are, neither makes anything like the impact of the film's lead actor.  Indeed some names even lower down in the cast list leave a more memorable impression - Bertrand Blier as Berlioz's eternally loyal friend, Noël Roquevert as a comedy policeman (apparently a fugitive from an Offenbach operetta), Jules Berry as a reluctant sponsor of the composer's work and Gilbert Gil as the tragically conflicted son.

None of the characters is particularly well-drawn - in fact, all are patently crude amalgams or simplistic impressions of their real historical counterparts - but this hardly matters.  The most palatable biopics tend to be those that turn a blind eye to factual accuracy and instead try to fashion some kind of popular myth that shows us how things 'ought to have been', if only there had there been more love and poetry in the world.   As it glibly adheres to this tried and tested formula, reducing the life of a great artist to a slim scrapbook of fleeting melodramatic incidents, La Symphonie fantastique fastens on us the knowing wink of a brothel owner that promises us what we would rather have - tawdry diversion in place of thorny enlightenment.

Film Synopsis

In Paris circa 1825, Hector Berlioz is a reluctant medical student who shows more interest in music than human anatomy.  Convinced that his future lies as a composer, the young Berlioz abandons his studies and devotes himself to his musical compositions, encouraged by his friend Antoine Charbonnel.  The world, it seems, is not yet ready for Berlioz's new concept of musical expression and it is only after long years of hardship and disappointment that his efforts begin to bear fruit.  Inspired by his nascent love for the actress Harriett Smithson, he composes his Symphonie Fantastique but success still eludes him.  Berlioz marries Harriett and she bears him a son, Louis, before penury drives them apart.  Scarred by life's experiences, Berlioz ultimately triumphs over adversity.  By the time he has reached middle-age he is recognised the world over as one of the greatest composers of his generation.  As he resumes his love affair with Marie Martin, a companion of his youth, Berlioz needs only one thing to be fully happy - to be reconciled with his estranged son...