Irrwege der Herzen

I didn't like this movie. It was boring. But what could I do? I was seeing it already. Stopping a movie is silly, almost as silly as watching this nonsense story about falling in love by people who don't know much about it or how even the lack of experience doesn't increase the acting performances of these second rank actors from below the ground... but let us be honest: it is not all their fault. They were just doing their job like the butcher giving meat. A bad steak, this here... Well, at least it had the excuse of being made during the second world war. But can that really forgive the director from making such terrible historical picture??

This movie plays like a Chekov play. Unspoken emotions are amped to the top. Actions are performed without being revealed. And most importantly, nothing seems to happen. Plays can get away with nothing happening, but the milieu of cinema requires and demands action. This movie avoids it and manages to still work. By doing this, it takes the world of thirties to forties cinema where plot, story and action is king and introduces character as the harbinger of a movie to the big budget studio productions of France and thus the world. It is similar to the idea behind the French New Wave but Truffaut attacked this kind of movies and this director and particularly the writers of this movie, Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost, a legendary screen writing team as old farts or the old wave, thus the term the new wave. The dialog in this movie is literate almost bibliotequeish to say the least, and it does take its time to warm or move your heart. As I said, it cons you into believing nothing is happening while we are watching the destruction of an old world; one of aristocrats, barons and the meritocracy. It is 1887 and Douce the daughter of the Bonafe patriarch who also lives with her grandma, the Bonafe matriarch in a studio-set created house that seems to have yanked right out of one of Poe's tales. It is a character in itself in the movie. Light does not come from outside in this house. Only the artificial lighting of the cinematographer castigates the gloom. The patriarch wishes to marry the servant teacher Irene who is of poor class. But she is betrothed to another of working class. I know, you've read, heard and seen this plot many times before but not as expertly done as this movie. In fact, if you are a fan of Wong-Kong-Kwai, you should love this movie. It reminded me of In the mood for love. It has all the trademark pacing, irony and exotic direction of his movies. Odette Joyeux is very good but the standout is Marguerite Moreno as the matriarch. Watch it to see how an era disappears with fumes, death, anger and a carol.

In 1887, the stranglehold the aristocracy held over the other classes is weakening. The Countess de Bonafé can no longer whip her servants, she can only brandish her cane at them. But the working class has not yet gained its full power; Fabien and Irène have to tread very carefully lest their affair should be discovered. There are two love triangles here: Engelbert-Irène-Fabien, which is very unstable, owing to Fabien being a coward and thief, and Irène not being able to solidify her hold on Engelbert, and the far more stable one of the Countess-Douce-Engelbert, three people of the same family and class who can unite when it becomes necessary to do so. Autant-Lara shows a solid hand as director; the low camera angles may distract some viewers, but the decors are excellent.

Any serious French film buff is always going to have to seek this one out if only because it marked the first outing of Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost, who went on to write all the great French films that WEREN'T written by Jacques Prevert, Charles Spaak or Henri Jeanson. They were also the two writers who got up Truffaut's nose the worst and he singled them out for special condemnation in his infamous essay in Cahiers. It's the old story, of course. If Truffaut could have written even one line half as good as these two cats he'd be well on the way to earning Amateur status. The fact is that next to these two Truffaut is illiterate. Put it this way, they're still showing 'Douce' sixty years after it was made. Will time be so good to The Four Hundred Yawns. In your dreams, Francois.

Douce is our old friend the costume drama and the fluid camera of Autant-Lara leads us gracefully into the story via the misleading (nice touch) Christmas-card setting which provides the external trappings for our main set, the well-appointed gaff of Madame de Bonafe, a gift of a role for Marguerite Moreno, who lives here with her son, Engelbert (so THAT's where Gerry Dorsey found it), who left a leg behind in one of those minor wars the French were wont to engage in, and has eyes for Irene (Madeleine Robinson) who is governess to his daughter, Douce (Odette Joyeux). Douce in turn is that way about Fabien (Roger Pigaut), a servant to Madame Bonafe (yes, it DOES sound a little like La Ronde, you got a problem with that) and stripe me pink if Fabien and Irene aren't getting it on in the servant's quarters. With basic elements such as these style is everything and Bost and Aurenche have supplied a stylish script to which Autant-Lara has added a touch of spin so that the whole thing gleams like burnished brass. Eat your heart out, Truffaut. 9/10

It's a complicated Christmas in 1888 in the Parisian home of the widowed, limping Count Jean Debucourt. His mother, Marguerite Moreno, is an overbearing monster. The governess, Madeleine Robinson, is secretly the lover of their thieving estate manager, Roger Pigaut; he has stolen the receipts from the estates and tells Robinson they will move to Canada. Meanwhile Debucourt tells Robinson he wants to marry her. This interferes with the plans of his daughter, Douce. She is played by 29-year-old Odette Joyeux as 15 going on 30, and she loves Pigaut. When Robinson turns down Pigaut's offer, Joyeux tells him she will elope with him.

Which among the three -- Robinson, Joyeux and Pigaut -- is honest about their confused wishes and hopes? How will it all play out? Director Claude Autant-Lara directs this adaptation of Michel Davet's novel with a heavy, cynical hand. He was born in 1901, the son of an actress who proclaimed herself as a pacifist at the outbreak of the First World War and fled to England, and an architect. He began in the theater as a set designer, then worked for Marcel L'Herbier. He began to direct in 1926, and when sound came in, he directed the French-language version of Keaton's PARLOR, BEDROOM AND BATH. Soon he was back in France, directing a string of more than 40 varied, expertly made, financially successful movies, all over the shop in terms of content. He directed his last movie in 1977 and died in 2000.