Film Review
It is a curious feature of
Thérèse
Raquin that whilst it is an obvious continuation of director
Marcel Carné's obsession with doomed romantic entanglements it
also marks an unmistakable change from what has gone before. The
brooding oppression of Carné's earlier poetic realist films can
still be felt, but the lavender-scented romanticism has given way to
something uglier, a sordid earthiness laced in bitter cynicism.
The film represents a conscious attempt by its director to embrace
modernity, warts and all, and portray life as it was at the time in
which he was working, rather than to adhere to a more romantic style
which, in the migration from post-war austerity to the first gasp of
the consumer revolution, had become dépassé. Like
Émile Zola, the author of the great novel on which the film is
based, Carné appeared to be motivated by a desire to tear
himself away from the limiting constraints of bourgeois romanticism and instead
offer a more uncompromising view of human nature, one which exposed the
savage beast that lies beneath the seemingly civilised exterior.
Or it could be that Carné, aged 46, was just going through the
usual mid-life crisis...
Marcel Carné's striving for naturalism is as much reflected in
the look of his post-WWII films as in their content. Whilst
Les
Tricheurs (1958), a vivid and surprisingly acute dissection
of contemporary youth, has a distinct Nouvelle Vague glow to it,
Terrain vague (1960) feels
almost like a documentary with its neo-realist presentation of urban
delinquency.
Thérèse
Raquin is a transition piece which retains the oppressive mood
and fatalist themes of Carné's earlier films whilst offering a
far less generous assessment of human frailty. Romance is
suborned to animal lust, evil rendered banal and almost
excusable by the mores of the time. The old certainties are swept
away and the film is steeped in the kind of moral ambiguity that best
characterises film noir, of which this an exemplary example. Just
as Jean Renoir had done with his inspired adaptation of
Le
Bête humaine (1938), Carné takes the substance
of a classic Zola novel and re-expresses it in a way that would be
instantly relevant to a modern cinema audience. The film is as
much a commentary on the social ills and moral decline of its time as
it is a worthy Zola adaptation and supremely satisfying example of
French film noir.
Thérèse Raquin
shows its modernity most visibly through its extensive location
sequences in Lyon, which offer a flattering portrait of a modern
industrial city which comes close to rivalling Paris in its bustle,
grandeur and diversity of architecture. The labyrinth of narrow streets in the
cramped Old Town in which the heroine lives provides a stark visual
metaphor for her repressed, narrow existence from which
she can never escape, whilst the grand
boulevards further afield represent the freedom that a life with her
new lover appears to offer. The other modernist touch is the choice of male
lead actor, Raf Vallone. Giuseppe De Santis's neo-realist
masterpiece
Riso amaro (1949)
had made Vallone, a former professional footballer, an overnight star
of Italian cinema and a highly sought after actor. With his
rugged good looks and labourer's physique, Vallone brought a whole new
machismo to the big screen, a raw sexual allure combined with an
intense brooding presence and a likeable everyman persona. He was perfect casting for the part of
the illicit lover Laurent in
Thérèse
Raquin and contributes precisely the unapologetic naked
sensuality that the role demands.
Cast opposite Vallone is his French female counterpart, Simone
Signoret, an actress who had become a byword for smouldering sensuality
through such films as
Dédée d'Anvers
(1948),
Manèges
(1950) and
Casque d'or (1952). In
what is considered one of her signature roles, Signoret ignites both
the celluloid and our heartstrings with a performance of understated
power and harrowing poignancy. Whilst neither Vallone nor
Signoret's character can be described as sympathetic, both actors
compel us to empathise with their plight and regret the tragic
destination their characters are clearly marked for. The
supporting roles of Madame Raquin and Camille went to two very capable
character actors, Sylvie and Jacques Duby (both excellent), whilst the
part of the wicked blackmailer Riton is beautifully rendered by Roland
Lesaffre, Marcel Carné's close friend and protégé.
It is as futile to flaw the performances in this film as it is to find
fault with Carné's mise-en-scène. If the film has a
weakness it is only to be found in Charles Spaak's screenplay, which
relies a little too much on mechanical plot contrivance and comes close
to ruining the film with a
deus ex
machina plot resolution which owes more to James M. Cain's
The Postman Always Rings Twice than
to Zola's original novel. It is a testament to Carné's
skill as a director and the calibre of his actors that the film's plot
deficiencies are so easily overlooked. Another touch of genius is
Roger Hubert's crisp monochrome cinematography. This has a cold
solemnity that immediately evokes the abject bleakness of Fritz Lang's
film noir classics, providing a suitably dark prism through which to
view the grimmest and cruellest film of Marcel Carné's post-WWII
period.
© James Travers 2011
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Next Marcel Carné film:
L'Air de Paris (1954)
Film Synopsis
After being adopted by her aunt, Thérèse Raquin was
forced into marrying her sickly cousin Camille at an early age.
For the past 17 years, she has been trapped in a loveless marriage,
working in her aunt's haberdashery shop in Lyon to support the husband
she has grown to despise. One day, Camille gets himself drunk and
has to be carried home by Laurent, an Italian lorry driver. The
instant that Thérèse sees Laurent she is attracted to
him. He is everything a man should be, not the mean sickly
creature she is married to. Laurent is equally drawn to
Thérèse and the two embark on a clandestine love
affair. When he realises his wife's infidelity, Camille decides
to take her to Paris, to place her with relatives who will cure her of
her wanton nature. On the train to Paris, Thérèse
is met by Laurent, who urges her to elope with him. In the course
of a violent confrontation, Laurent throws Camille out of the
train. For a while, it looks as if the police have accepted
Thérèse's story that her husband's death was an
accident. Then she receives an unexpected visit from a man who
claims to have witnessed Camille's last few
moments...
© James Travers
The above content is owned by filmsdefrance.com and must not be copied.