Le Dernier des six (1941)
Directed by Georges Lacombe

Film Review

Whilst it leans a little too self-consciously towards The Thin Man series of films made in Hollywood in the 1930s and 40s, Le Dernier des six does have its own distinctive Gallic identity and helped to establish what would rapidly become one of the most popular and enduring genres in French cinema, the 'polar' or mystery thriller. The film was based on the pulp crime novel Six hommes morts by the Belgian writer Stanislas-André Steeman, one of a series of works featuring the ever-resourceful detective Monsieur Wens.  The whodunit plot is clearly pilfered from Agatha Christie's oft plagiarised Ten Little Indians, which would be adapted for cinema a few years later as And Then There Were None (1945) by French filmmaker René Clair during his stay in Hollywood.  For Continental-Films, the German-run company that produced the film, Le Dernier des six was a prestige production which fulfilled perfectly the company's raison d'être, to provide harmless escapist entertainment for a mainstream French audience and take the nation's mind off the small matter of Nazi occupation.

Georges Lacombe may have been credited as the film's director, but you can't help feeling that a large measure of the creative input came from its writer, Henri-Georges Clouzot, who would make his directorial debut with the film's sequel, L'Assassin habite au 21 (1942).  The stylistic similarity between the two films is striking and leads one to conjecture that Clouzot may have exerted much greater artistic control than he is credited with (the film is certainly far more imaginatively directed than Lacombe's earlier work). As Clouzot began his career in pre-Nazi Germany, working on French adaptations of popular German films, it is hardly surprising that he should be heavily influenced by German expressionism, and this is apparent in both Le Dernier des six and its equally stylish follow-up, most noticeably in the stark lighting and bold use of shadows, which contribute much to the atmosphere and tension of these two enjoyable films. 

Another striking expressionistic touch is the elaborate music hall dance sequence which includes not only a respectful homage to Busby Berkeley's famously flamboyant choreography (seen in such films as 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933) but also a shot of a girl in a glass that appears to be a sly nod to Hitchcock's Champagne (1928).  The latter assumes greater significance when we recall that Clouzot is now widely regarded as France's answer to Alfred Hitchcock, through his classic suspense thrillers Le Salaire de la peur (1953) and Les Diaboliques (1955).  (It is worth noting en passant that, like Clouzot, Hitchcock undertook his apprenticeship in the leading German film studios and was very much influenced by German expressionism.)

Continental's star actor Pierre Fresnay was an obvious choice for the role of the unflappable (but patient) Inspector Wens, and he seems to be as comfortable in the role as Basil Rathbone was (at coincidentally the same time, on the other side of the Atlantic) as Sherlock Holmes.  Of course, every cool, cerebrally endowed sleuth must be partnered with a dim comedic sidekick, and so whilst Rathbone had Nigel Bruce's inept Dr Watson to contend with, Fresnay was saddled with the greater hazard of Suzy Delair's wannabe starlet.  The chemistry between the  imperturbable Fresnay and volcanic Delair is perfect, and their characters' abrasive relationship provides ample scope for lightening the tone of the film without distracting too much from its central murder mystery strand. (For those who have read Christie's novel or seen one of its umpteen screen ripoffs the comedic digressions are the main attraction, as the killer is all too easily identified.)  Naturally, the two actors returned to reprise their roles in the next Wens film, L'Assassin habite au 21, and there is no doubt that the series would have continued for many more years had it not been for the severe backlash that Fresnay and Clouzot both suffered through the ill-fated Le Corbeau, the film that almost put an end to both of their careers.  After the war, Clouzot and Delair would work together one more time on Quai des Orfèvres (1947), another slick murder mystery set in the tawdry milieu of the French music hall - arguably Clouzot's finest film.

Film Synopsis

Santerre and his five friends - Gribbe, Gernicot, Namotte, Perlonjour and Tignol - enter into a strange pact after they win a tidy little windfall in a bet.  They will go their separate ways and attempt to make as much money as possible with their share of the winnings.  At the end of five years, they will meet up and divide between them all they have managed to accumulate.  When the day comes for the six men to honour their agreement, one of them is missing.  Namotte has apparently gone to a watery grave after falling from the ship that was returning him to France.  The five remaining men appear not to be greatly concerned by their comrade's death.  It just increases their share of the earnings.  But then another of the friends dies.  After Gernicot is shot dead in Santerre's lodgings the remaining friends become a tad concerned.

Not long after Superintendent Wens begins his investigation, Gernicot's body suddenly goes missing.  The obvious culprit is Santerre, but it seems that Perlonjour was also in the neighbourhood at the time the crime was committed.  Gernicot's attractive widow, Loilita, gladly accepts an invitation by Santerre to perform a number at his popular Parisian nightspot, The Palladium.  This is the place where the third of the friends, Tignol, meets his untimely end, in a dressing room.  Victim number four is Gribbe, apparently murdered in his own home.  Then there were two: Santerre and Perlonjour, the two most likely suspects!  Wens soon realises that there is more to the case than first meets the eye.  Assisted by his glamorous partner Mila Malou, he clears away the red herrings and comes up with an explanation to the mystery that is, on the face of it, totally impossible...