Children of Paradise (France, 1945, Michel Carne)

Wherein Ben and I admire a film's Gaul.

Ben Begins:

Boy, talk about a complete cultural statement in support of national identity. The film is so utterly French. It positively oozes Brie. After it had unfolded a fair play, I thought of Mayhew's proto-sociological character sketches and Dickens as well as Brechet's Three Penny Opera, itself based on the much early English Begger's Opera. But Monica corrected me: "Balzac." Oui. And we wondered how in hell the movie was even made. Coming out in 1945, what were the conditions of the film industry in Vichy France immediately prior to the release of COP? It's not that the film is overtly anti-German/Nazi or anything. (Although, the rag seller/gossip/soothsayer is pretty obviously a Jew and while comically despicable, is not entirely unsympathetic.) But it is so overtly pro-French, dripping with reverence for the Gaulic temperament. It is not openly subversive of the occupying power but it does constitute some sort of resistance to defeat. The population must have found COP deeply affirming when it came out. Thus, there is a recursive cultural connection established, a meta-feedback loop, between the 18?? theatre audience depicted in the film and the 1945 audience watching it. The recognition of THAT time in France at THIS moment in France, and the celebration of the specifically French theatrical tradition, most especially pantomime - it's as if the film is saying, you can force us to be silent but we know how to talk without words so you can't shut us up. It all hooks up with importance transcending the qualities the film has as a film.

But what qualities the film has as a film! It's well shot and well editied but most of all it boasts wonderful performances of a delicious screenplay. Clever and wise come together to give us meaningful wisecracks. I thought of Lubitsch. Funny and smart is sublime in my books. The femme fatale in particular knocked me out with her Mae West meets Edith Piaf delivery, a bit too old for the role but she owned it no problem. Her lovers and the rogues gallery too, everyone was delightful. And considering the film is about four hours long, the pace was exceptionally well set. This takes a deft hand because there are moments of tremendous intimacy, angusih and poignancy which necessitate slowing the thing down almost to a stop. COP is a ribald romp that somehow simultaneously manages to present us with considerably complex characters about whom we care. The tangled relations of love are of almost epic proportions and constitute the purpose of the picture; i.e., to never forget that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Of course, the leniency towards infidelity in the film is quintessentially French and in the context of the occupation, this assertion of sexual honesty constitutes a genuinely humanist negation of political authoritarianism. It's as if the film is saying, when it comes to freedom, we have always fought for it in the first place erotically; hey, we've been ignoring the Catholic church for years so we can ignore the Gestapo now.

Just a couple other points. One, the script is not just good because the dialogue is sharp. It is good as a story too and it is as tight as a trap, accounting for any information that may have been left hanging earlier on. The film is long but it is actually lean, everything develops plot lines and character interactions previously established. It's the sort of writing that film students should study. Like I said, I thought of Lubitsch. Two, the incorporation of Othello. The way this is done is positively brilliant in a variety of ways. I will not attempt to list them all, preferring instead merely to suggest that when the actor finally performs Othello, the film moves into its final act and the emotional stakes are raised past comedy to tragedy in COP itself. It would have been easy to do this wrong, in a clumsy and unconvincing manner. But COP gracefully pulls us in the direction it wants us to go and we follow like lemmings over a cliff.

And Dan:

Hey! I'm finally catching up on some of those reviews that you've written. Why start here? Two reason. One, I just spent the afternoon in the dentist's chair, and after 3 hours with your feet elevated above your head, it's hard to think straight. And two, I wrote of a review of the film, back in the day, for Apollo Guide. Consequently, it follows the 600 word editorial limit.

"The story behind the making of Les Enfants du Paradis (Children of Paradise) is about as interesting as the film itself, and since the film is one of the great achievements of French cinema, that's saying something. Director Marcel Carné and writer Jacques Prévert developed the film under the suspicious gaze of regulators who controlled the movie industry in Nazi-occupied France, and somehow managed to slip a deliciously subversive work of art past them. The film's title is an ironical reference to the inhabitants of the nosebleed section of theatres at the time – for, while they may have been "closer to God" in the theatre's upper reaches, they also had the worst seats in the house, befitting their lowly status as society's dregs. The title also refers to those lucky and gifted enough to perform on the stage, for this very same audience reveres the actors as gods. Most importantly, the film is about love, both sought and denied, returned and unrequited, and it is in the context of the theatre, where every emotion is heightened, and every relationship shadowed by the taxing and exultant connection between performer and audience, that these relationships take the form of social and political commentary. Les Enfants du Paradis follows a four person circle of unrequited love, where each member loves someone who cannot or will not love them in the way that they need or desire. This wild goose chase of unrequited love begins with the beautiful and mysterious Garance (Arletty), who is pursued by men she doesn't love, while loving a man who is too much the idealist and romantic to love her back. Arletty is probably 15 years too old to play the part of a young beauty believably, but she's a game study. The sensualist Shakespearean actor Frederick (Pierre Brasseur) speaks of giving all his love to the audience, an affection they clearly return. Brasseur's performance here stands the test of time, as his Olivier-like charm and swagger fit nicely with a modern audience's love of the self-assured actor. While he stalks women, and the beautiful and passionate Garance in particular, like sexual prey, the effete and idealistic mime Baptiste (Jean-Louise Barrault), whom Garance clearly adores, reveres Garance as a knight might his lady, and is unwilling to soil this love with a physical expression of his affection. The shady Lacenaire (Marcel Hemand) is the third man in this peculiar love quadrangle. His affection for Garance is more proprietary than romantic or sexual; indeed, he seems to have no sexual appetite whatsoever. Each man loves Garance in part, but seem unable to give her his entire being. Set in post-revolutionary 19th century France, the film's commentary on Nazi occupation is sly. When we learn that actors at the Funambules theatre are not allowed to speak on stage, as was the case at the time, the parallels to contemporary Europe, where artistic freedom was stifled under the boot heels of fascism, is clear. Also clear is Carné's contention that while artistic expression may be temporarily muffled, it can never be completely oppressed, and can sometimes morph into something even more beautiful, as the wildly popular art of the great mime Baptiste attests. Still, such optimism had to be tempered in a film made under such difficult conditions, and Carné seems to acknowledge this with the film's decidedly mournful conclusion. While the conditions under which it was made make this film a remarkable achievement, what really marks the greatness of this film is how you can marvel at its artistry without knowing anything about the context in which it was made."

Then Ben:

Shucks. It's been so long, when I saw the subject in the subject box I thought: Isn't that a Patrick Sweeze movie, set in Calcutta, supposed to establish him as a serious actor but bombed instead? Then I thought: Isn't that a film about ghetto kids in Rio or Sao Paulo that goes from faintly optimistic to utterly hopeless? Thanks for refreshing my memory. What a great film. Just revisiting it in my mind's eye this instant. You didn't mention the mime aspect in your limited-to-600-words review, but for me that is so vital to the Frenchness of it all.