Le Bossu (1997)
Directed by Philippe de Broca

Film Review

Ever since it was first published in serial form in 1857, Paul Fé's historical adventure story Le Bossu has been a French literary favourite, so it is hardly surprising that it has so far been adapted around a dozen times for the big and small screens.  The best known version is a much-loved classic directed by André Hunebelle in 1959 starring Jean Marais and Bourvil, which knocks spots off earlier adaptations such as the lacklustre one offered by Jean Delannoy in 1944.  Philippe de Broca's 1997 gutsy big budget extravaganza is the version that is most faithful to Fé's original story and makes an entertaining romp, although it lacks the humour, pace and charm of Hunebelle's more conventional swashbuckler.

One of French cinema's more commercially successful filmmakers, de Broca notched up a string of box office winners in the '60s and '70s, most showcasing the talents of Jean-Paul Belmondo: L'Homme de Rio (1964), Le Magnifique (1973), L'Incorrigible (1975).  Le Bossu is cut from the same cloth as the director's previous feisty historical spectaculars, Cartouche (1962) and Chouans (1988), with a star-studded cast and classy production values calculated to draw a large audience.  The film may not have been an unqualified hit with the critics, but it attracted a respectable 2.3 million cinemagoers on its first release in France.

A key ingredient in the film's success was the inspired - and certainly risky - casting of Daniel Auteuil in the lead role.  Lacking the physique and conventional good looks of Jean Marais, Auteuil was by no means the obvious choice for the part of the swashbuckling hero Lagardère, although he proves to be surprisingly adept in the film's many superbly choreographed fight scenes and brings a much needed humanity to the character, something that tends to have been overlooked in previous adaptations.

No less surprising is the casting of Fabrice Luchini as the lead villain of the piece, the dastardly Comte de Gonzague, whose sublime nastiness is given an unexpected human dimension through Luchini's masterfully understated portrayal of cool villainy interlaced with a tragic vulnerability.  Marie Gillain is as captivating as ever as the heroine, Aurore de Nevers, a swashbuckling role that requires her to play the spunky tomboy for all it is worth, and she seems to revel in the opportunity.  The no less capable Vincent Perez, Philippe Noiret, Claire Nebout and Jean-François Stévenin all make their presence felt in their made-to-measure roles, adding lustre galore to this enjoyably starry package.

Dazzling performances and sumptuous visuals would ordinarily be enough to appease the most fastidious of critics, but in the case of Le Bossu the glaring deficiencies in other departments prevent the film from being the unqualified success it deserves to be, given the care and attention that have been lavished on the production design.  (Of the nine Césars the film was nominated for, it took only one award, for Best Costume Design).  By attempting to cram as much as possible of Paul Fé's original epic tale into the film, Le Bossu ends up being a tad overlong and unwieldy, its uneven pacing aggravated by de Broca's pretty flat and unimaginative mise-en-scène.

Running to just over two hours, the film outstays its welcome by failing to achieve an equitable balance of action set-pieces and less showy dramatic interludes.  For the most part, the glossy visuals can hardly fail to impress, but there are times where the shot compositions are so artificial and stagy that they deaden rather than enhance the performances.  Viewed as undemanding family entertainment, Le Bossu is easily on a par with those great swashbuckling crowd-pleasers of earlier decades, but given the calibre of the cast and the money that has been lavished on it, you can't help wondering how much greater the film might have been had it been scripted and directed with more vigour and imaginative flair.

Film Synopsis

Philippe the Duke of Nevers is in love with Blanche de Caylus, the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat, and he is over the moon when he learns that she has given him a child outside wedlock.  Little does he know that he has a deadly rival in Count Philippe de Gonzague, who loves Blanche with such a passion that he will let no one interfere with his plans to marry her.  On the day of Nevers's wedding to Blanche, Gonzague's murderous henchmen show up and abduct the unfortunate bride.  Before he is is cut down in the ensuing swordfight, Nevers places his baby daughter Aurore in the care of his trusted ally Lagardère and extorts from him a promise to keep her safe. Lagardère manages to evade Gonzague's hired killers by joining a company of travelling players, leaving his enemies to think that Aurore died by drowning.

Sixteen years later, Aurore has matured into an attractive young woman, but she knows nothing of her past, least of all her noble parentage.  She has grown up believing Lagardère to be her father, so she is understandably surprised when her devoted guardian tells her the truth.  Lagardère's one ambition now is to reunite Aurore with her mother, who leads a reclusive life, unable to come to terms with her tragic past.  To that end, he passes himself off as a hunchbacked accountant so that he can enter the employ of the wicked Gonzague and bring about his ignominious downfall...