Film Review
A sprawling period melodrama that is only just held together by its
flawless direction and glittering ensemble of mesmeric performances,
Les Enfants du paradis has come to
be regarded as the acme of French cinema. It consistently comes
out top in polls of the greatest French films and provides the more
verbose film commentators with an easy excuse to choke on their own
superlatives.
A powerful tale of rivalry, betrayal and unrequited
love, this opulent masterpiece has earned the epithet of the French
equivalent of
Gone With the Wind, and was the
crowning achievement of the partnership between director Marcel
Carné and writer Jacques Prévert. Whilst it
was made under the most difficult of circumstances,
Les Enfants du paradis is a major
technical and artistic feat that has widespread appeal and remains one of the
most celebrated of French films, a landmark of 20th century cinema.
The idea for the film came about in January 1943, when the actor
Jean-Louis Barrault persuaded director Marcel Carné (whom he had
previously worked with on two films:
Jenny and
Drôle
de drame) to make a film about the life of the important
French mime artist Jean Baptiste Gaspard Debureau. Although
Carné was easily seduced by the concept, his screenwriter Jacques
Prévert had reservations - mime did not exactly play to his
strengths as a writer of dialogue. Prévert was more
interested in a contemporary of Debureau, the infamous thief, murderer
and part-time poet Pierre-François Lacenaire. The two men
agreed that a film which featured both Debureau and Lacenaire would
have great public interest and stand more chance of getting past the
Nazi film censors. Another historical figure was thrown in for
good measure, the famous Parisian actor Frederick LeMaître, along
with a fictional aristocrat based on the Duc de Morny. These four
characters would be rivals for the heart of the film's main protagonist, the
free-spirited courtesan Garance. The latter character was created
specifically for an actress who had previously featured in three of
Carné's films - the incomparable Arletty. This was to be
Arletty's greatest role and it is undoubtedly the actress's captivating
performance which has done most to make the film such an enduring
success. Aged 37, and with six impressive films already
under his belt (including his latest box office hit
Les Visiteurs du soir), Marcel
Carné was burning with enthusiasm as he set out make the
greatest film of his career, but it was to prove a time-consuming and
costly ordeal which came close to being derailed on more than one
occasion.
Les Enfants du paradis took
over two years to make and had a production cost of around 60 million
francs, a phenomenal sum for a film made under wartime
constraints. A tenth of the budget went on a lavish
reconstruction of the Boulevard du Temple, a major Parisian
thoroughfare, at the Victorine studios in Nice; 200 yards in length,
this was one of the largest sets ever built for a French film.
When a large part of this set was damaged by storm in the winter of
1943/4, it had to be rebuilt, at a cost of a million francs. The
biggest setback, however, came early in the shooting schedule, when the
Italian co-producer backed out after the Allies had begun their
offensive against Italy in the summer of 1943. Not long after
this, the film's French producer André Paulvé was
dismissed by the Nazis because of his Jewish origins. Disaster
was averted when Pathé stepped in and agreed to finance the
completion of the film, although the three-month hiatus added to the
escalating production cost.
The biggest challenge that Carné faced was acquiring the
materials needed to make the film. Actors came very cheaply - he
had no difficulty finding the 25,000 extras for the swelling crowd
scenes. Building materials and film stock were harder to come by,
and electricity was likewise severely rationed.
Carné risked his own neck by hiring set designer Alexandre
Trauner and composer Joseph Kosma, both Jews, to work on the film in
secret. In addition, Several members of the cast and crew
(including the writer Jacques Prévert) were actively involved in
the French Resistance. In an ironic twist, the actor who was
originally cast as the informer Jéricho, Robert Le Vigan, was
exposed as being a collaborator. When Le Vigan fled to
Sigmaringen in Germany, he was replaced by Pierre Renoir, the older
brother of director Jean Renoir. Another complication was that
the cinematographer Roger Hubert was not available for the final phase
of filming at Pathé's studios in Paris in the spring of
1944. His replacement, Philippe Agostini, had an arduous task to
match Hubert's distinctive style of lighting, and received
no credit for his efforts on the final film. Not long after
completing the film, Arletty was arrested for collaboration (the result
of a brief affair with a German officer) and spent a short period in
jail.
Once
Les Enfants du paradis was
in the can, its director did everything within his power to delay its
release until after the Liberation (even to the extent of deliberately
misplacing some of the reels). Carné not only believed
that his film would benefit from an eruption of patriotic sentiment but
it would also play a positive role in helping France to regain her
dignity after a humiliating period of military defeat and
occupation. Another thing that Carné was insistent upon
was that the film should be shown in its entirety, as a three hour long
epic and not, as it had been made (to conform with Vichy dictate), as
two separate ninety minute long films (sub-titled
Le Boulevard du crime and
L'Homme blanc). The cinema
owners agreed to Carné's request, but doubled the price of the
cinema tickets to make up for the lost income from having fewer daily
screenings. Following a successful premiere in March 1945,
Les Enfants du paradis
was released to almost universal critical acclaim. In spite of the inflated ticket price, it
attracted an audience of nearly five million in France, making it the second most
popular film of the year, after Jean Dréville's
La Cage aux rossignols.
The film took 41 million francs at the box office and critics were
fulsome in their praise of it, although it failed to garner any awards
other than a special mention at the 1946 Venice Film Festival.
Without a doubt, the main strength of
Les
Enfants du paradis is the quality of the performances from its
exceptional cast. As the indomitable Garance, Arletty earns her
place in film history with a performance of breathtaking allure and
vitality, captivating and mysterious as
the woman that no man can possess, who revels in her freedom and yet
appears to be tragically alone. Equal credit should go to
Jean-Louis Barrault, who achieves a similar career highpoint with his
arresting portrayal of the great mime artist Baptiste Debureau.
Under the tutelage of his former drama teacher Étienne Decroux
(who plays a supporting role in the film as Debureau's father
and was incidentally mentor to the great Marcel Marceau),
Barrault gives a mesmerising turn in the three set-piece mime shows,
and brings
a heart-wrenching realism to Baptiste's hopeless pursuit of
Garance. The habitually
larger-than-life Pierre Brasseur very nearly steals the show as the
incorrigibly romantic Lemaître (and is hilarious when his
character goes into super-ham mode), whilst Marcel Herrand is no less
excellent as the merciless criminal Larcenaire, exuding sly villainy
from every pore. Some exemplary
character performances are supplied by Louis Salou, Pierre Renoir and
Gaston Modot, who are perfectly cast as the Count de Montray, the
peddler Jéricho and the likeable rogue Fil de Soie. Also
of note is Maria Casarès, stunning in her film debut (having
distinguished herself on stage in Marcel Herrand's theatrical troupe at
the Théâtre des Mathurins). Watch very closely and
you match catch a fleeting glimpse of Gérard Blain and Jean
Carmet, very early in their careers.
As in the previous Carné-Prévert offering
Les Visiteurs
du soir, there is a distinct anti-Occupation, anti-Vichy subtext
to
Les
Enfants du paradis, which a contemporary audience would have had
little difficult in picking up. The biggest giveaway is probably the
period setting - France under the restored monarchy (1830-1848), a time when,
as during the Occupation, the French Republic was in a temporary state
of abeyance. Parallels with France under the Nazis are bountiful,
indeed too many to enumerate. The mime theatre whose performers
are forbidden from speaking (including a lion that dare not roar) is
an obvious swipe at the broadbrush Nazi censorship of French theatre
and cinema.
Treachery being a major theme of the film, there is no
end of characters who are eager to denounce their
fellows for spite or personal advantage, in particular the sickeningly
venal Jéricho and Larcenaire, who personify the Nazi collaborator (and
how ironic that the actor originally chosen to play the former should
turn out to be a collaborator in real life!). Prévert's black humour
comes to the fore when he gets Larcenaire to play the part of a
latter-day Iago, whilst standing next to an actor made up as
Shakespeare's Othello
(a subterfuge to mask the fact that Larcenaire is really playing the
role of a Vichy agent).
Baptiste's mad pursuit of Garance, an overt symbol of freedom, would
have resonated as the French nation's desire to be free of Nazi
occupation. Meanwhile, Garance herself represents the absolute
antithesis of the Vichy government's idea of the good woman,
the selfless housebound drone whose sole raison d'être is to propagate the species
whilst acting as an unpaid slave and comforter for the master of the house.
Rather, Garance embodies the notion of the liberated modern woman,
someone who will never submit to male dominance but who sees herself
as a man's equal, free to choose the life she leads.
Garance's temporary capture by the Count de Montray is a crude
but palpable metaphor for France' capitulation to Nazi Germany
- she accepts her defeat but does not yield fully to her admirer,
thereby preserving her mystique and dignity.
Even the film's title is mildly provocative. It translates as
The Children of
the Gods, the Gods being the poor folk of Paris who occupied the
highest balcony of the popular theatre. It was this uncultured
and opinionated mob (the 19th century equivalent of an
X-Factor panel) which decided
what was tolerated at the theatre, by loudly censuring anything they
did not
like. Could Prévert possibly have had the German censors
in mind?
Whilst an awareness of the film's historical context and its
incredibly fraught production adds a frisson to the pleasure of watching it, none
of this is a prerequisite for enjoying what is arguably the greatest of
all French films.
Les Enfants
du paradis is a sublime masterpiece of
cinema art that stands on its own merits - its confident
mise-en-scène, its polished art design, its marvellous
screenwriting and its spellbinding performances. The aching
poetry of its central romantic entanglements is beautifully
complemented by its twisted humour and a stylish tribute to the lost
art of mime. No one should be put off by its daunting three hour run
time.
Les Enfants du paradis is
assuredly one of the most captivating and satisfying
of all French films, a genuine treasure of the seventh art.
© James Travers 2011
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Next Marcel Carné film:
Les Portes de la nuit (1946)