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.
© James Travers, Willems Henri 2015
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Next Jean-Paul Le Chanois film:
Papa, maman, la bonne et moi... (1954)
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...
© James Travers
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