Sans laisser d'adresse (1951)
Directed by Jean-Paul Le Chanois

Film Review

Jean-Paul Le Chanois's brand of populist humanist cinema may appear somewhat twee and idealistic today but, in the 1950s, it struck a chord with the cinemagoing public and made Le Chanois one of the most commercially successful French filmmakers of his day.  His comedy Papa, maman, la bonne et moi (1954) attracted an audience of over five million, no doubt in part because it touched on one of the most pressing social issues of the day: housing.  In Sans laisser d'adresse, Le Chanois deals with another concern of growing importance: single motherhood.  Scripted by Alex Joffé, the film was originally to have been directed by Joffé himself, with Bourvil in the lead role, but Le Chanois took over the assignment when Joffé dropped out.  Undeterred by the film's modest budget, Le Chanois took the most contrived of plots and turned it into one of his most uplifting films, one that is a both a love poem to the city of Paris and the most sincere celebration of human solidarity.  The film was not only a massive hit in France and abroad, it also received the Golden Bear at the 1951 Berlin International Film Festival

With a fair chunk of the film shot on location in the streets of Paris (in a way that is obviously influenced by Italian neo-realism) you can sense the proximity of the French New Wave - particuarly as many of these sequences were shot without formal authorisation, with the camera carried on the operator's shoulder, à la Nouvelle Vague.  From Montmartre to Saint-Germain-des-Prés (where singer Juliette Gréco does a turn in one of those trendy cellar nightclubs), there's scarcely a quarter of the capital that does not appear in the film.  One of the film's attractions is that it provides a comprehensive portrait of Paris in the early 1950s, making it a mix of travelogue and time capsule.

One of the pecularities of Sans laisser d'adresse is that it is neither a melodrama nor a comedy, but some indefinably effective marriage of the two.  There's a fair amount of humour along the way (you can hardly wait for the scene where Louis de Funès crops up as an expectant father) but the serious social themes are seldom far from the surface.  Things take a decidedly grim turn towards the end (De Sica's Umberto D. springs readily to mind) as the heroine appears poised to throw both herself and her baby into the Seine.  In the film's most touching sequence, Bernard Blier cheers up a thoroughly wretched Danièle Delorme by opening her eyes and ears to the beauty of life in one of the most depressing districts of the capital, assisted by a Mozart symphony and some startling camerawork.

The film was important for both Blier and Delorme, allowing both actors to widen their repertoire considerably in the years that followed.  Previously cast almost exclusively as the habitual loser, Blier suddenly acquired a humanity and everyman charm that endeared him to French cinemagoers.  Recently catapulted to stardom as the lead in Jacqueline Audry's Gigi (1949), Delorme could now move on from her period gamine roles and start playing real women, ranging from an innocent caught up in the Irish Revolution (La Jeune folle) to a scheming psychopath with murderous tendencies (Voici le temps des assassins).  Sans laisser d'adresse owes its heartrending authenticity to the delicate rapport that develops between Blier and Delorme's characters, the one reluctant to help, the other reluctant to seek help.  Solidarity isn't just about giving, it is also about taking.  Delorme's realisation that she is not alone (after a batallion of taxis have scoured the city to find her, mowing down scores of pedestrians in the process) is a moment when you just have to give in and reach for the handkerchief.

Film Synopsis

Emile Gauthier is a Parisian taxi driver. One day, at the Gare de Lyon, he picks up a young woman named Thérèse and her baby.   Thérèse has never been to Paris before and is looking for a man named Forestier with whom she once had a passionate but brief love affair.  Knowing that Forestier is the father of her child, Thérèse has set out to find him in the hope that he may marry her when he receives this unexpected news.  Emile is moved by Thérèse's story and resolves to help her find her man, even if they have to search the entire city.  Unfortunately, every clue they find to the man's present whereabouts proves to be a dead end.  Then they get lucky.  One of Forestier's journalist colleagues provides them with an address.  Excitedly, Thérèse hurries to the sixth floor apartment, but the person who opens the door is not her former lover, but his wife.  Once again, Emile comes to the rescue...