Die goldene Karosse

I saw this recently at a retrospective celebrating the 50th anniversary of the founding of Cahiers du Cinema, and I approached it with some trepidation. I didn't know if I would like it as much as Renoir's more famous films of the 30s, and I had previously found some of the color films he did in the 50s to be less accessible. I needn't have worried; this film is a masterpiece. The color is sumptuous and breathtaking; I have always like Technicolor, in which this film is shot, for the richness of its palette. The acting is brilliant and introduced me to some wonderful actors I have never heard of before. Well worth viewing.

... or La Carrozza d'Oro, or Le Carrosse d'Or. Take your pick: the film has an early flavour of the "Euro-pudding", with a mixed (and sometimes mixed-up) Anglo-Italian cast. It was shot principally in English, which meant an extra layer of strain for La Magnani, whose manic, over-the-top performance can't quite hide the somewhat anaemic storyline.

Luckily, her overacting fits well enough with the character's context and the decidedly light and bawdy mood of the whole piece: she's a professional Commedia del Arte 'actor' touring a 16th Century Latin America which decadent Spaniards hold in their venal grip. The great Italian star drags behind her a motley crew of fellow-Italians who match her quiver for quiver in the wild hand-gesturing repertoire and performs convincingly the stage stunts that were the Commedia's stock in trade. Magnani's antics also serve as a welcome distraction from leading man Paul Campbell's comatose acting. This American non-entity gives "wooden" a bad name. Whilst La Magnani keeps running through her vast back-catalogue of facial expressions, he only ever seems able to muster two, at best. Was Renoir asleep when this guy auditioned?

Anyway, none of that matters, because this is a film that is as much art-directed as it is directed. Huge respect is owed to designers Mario Chiari and Gianni Poldori for sets that manage to be both lavishly theatrical and convincingly lived in. Maria de Matteïs and Ginevra Pasolini match their male colleagues' panache and inventiveness with a dazzling range of costumes that combine with the lush colour palette of the sets to deliver an exquisitely sensuous fantasia of this distant time and place. Rarely was the glorious three-strip Technicolor process used with such erotic abandon and sheer vitality.

Thank God for this too, because it's not as if the lame script, with its flat-footed storyline and schematic comedy was anything to write home about. There is no doubting Renoir's genuine desire to pay tribute to the Commedia genre, and his loving attention to the detail of early theatrical craft draws you in. After all, wasn't this popular form of street theatre an early precursor to the great art perfected later on the big screen by the likes of Lubitsch or Renoir himself?

In the end, I feel an indulgent love for this film, a late entry into the great French master's career and -like French Cancan - a little bit 'so what?'. Not only could I get drowned again and again in its sensuous celebration of Technicolor as life and drama, but there is also a core quality that has to do with how Renoir renders the spiritual essence of the Commedia company: throughout the film, these displaced paupers and underfed globe-trotters display total servitude and total freedom in equal measure. These are the two opposites of their fraught but impassioned lives and the source of the manic energy they need for the performance that will buy them the day's only meal. As a filmmaker who frequently struggled to achieve his vision against the strictures of the commercial film industry, Renoir seems to know intimately what those characters' lives were about.

This film is really a masterpiece. This was also French director François Truffaut's opinion, and he named his film company "Les Films du Carrosse" as a tribute to it. I once read a review in which the critic expressed the opinion that Anna Magnani's looks couldn't make it likely that the male characters of the plot fell in love with her. But this is a complete misunderstanding of the story, it is not because of her beauty they love her, but because she makes them laugh, she brings them to that other world which theater creates. For aren't we all made of the same stuff dreams are made of, as the great Will once wrote?... If you haven't seen this film, don't wait if you get a chance to watch it. In France, where I live, it's not available in DVD yet, but since it recently came out in the US, and in Japan, I am looking forward to soon finding it here.

"La Carozza D'Oro" is the only Italian film made by Jean Renoir. As Renoir recognized later, his main collaborator in the making of the film was Antonio Vivaldi in a form of his music that director used to hear while writing the script which is based on a stage play by Prosper Merimee. Vivaldi's music is also extensively used throughout the film.

The story is about the group of Italian actors that move to XVIIIth century Spanish South America. Anna Magnani gives a superb performance as a main star of the group - Camilla, whose main passion in life is theater. She finds herself in the center of attention of the three man: a toreador Ramon (Riccardo Rioli), a Vice King Ferdinand (Duncan Lamont) and a young adventurous officer Felipe (Paul Campbell) facing the tough choice in making a decision: whom to choose?

A funny theatrical comedy of life from great French director Jean Renoir, with superb acting and wonderful music from Antonio Vivaldi. 8/10

To this reviewer's reckoning, one has to inure the fact that French auteur Jean Renoir's latter track record smacks of resting on his tremendous laurels, THE GOLDEN COACH, the first of his post-Hollywood musical comedies trilogy, will be followed by FRENCH CANCAN (1955) and ELENA AND HER MEN (1956), headlines Anna Magnani as the pillar of an Italian Commedia dell'arte troupe, setting its foot in a 18th century colonial Peru.

Ms. Magnani is Camilla, whose romantic embroilment with 3 different male suitors: Ferdinand (Lamont), the Spanish viceroy, Ramon (Rioli), an indigenous toreador and her longtime Italian beau Felipe (Campbell), will be immediately thrown into a whirlpool of romp and pomp, with the titular golden coach as a token of love from the noble viceroy, which can be put into practical use to save his pending deposition if Camilla feels up to do it.

First things first, amped up by Vivaldi's repertoire, gingered up by Magnani and her troupe shrouded in sheer Technicolor splendor and variegated costumes, not to mention the deadpan aristocratic panoply and comic skits impromptu, THE GOLDEN COACH is so eye-pleasing and ear-soothing that, for one second, one might assume it is a masterpiece in the making, to certain extent, that expectation is partially validated by Renoir's effortless facility to beautifully refine the stodgy with freewheeling ease and the Midas touch, a compassionate, pyrotechnic Magnani, who defies any moral obligation and jaundiced ageism to attest that for a woman in the mellow years, her Camilla is second to none in commanding her own life path and expressing her own feelings, and she has many options at hand: retreating to a simpler, quieter life with Felipe, becoming a celebrity couple among locals with Ramon, aiding with Fedinand in his silk-stocking intrigues, or just resuming her stock role of Columbina with the troupe, it is her call and hers only.

A Cinecittà production bursts into its full-blown lavishness of its visual complexion and texture, THE GOLDEN COACH is a vintage farce hampered by its folly-driven staginess and erstwhile flippancy, unwieldy in its glittering sheen but still a very different kettle of fish from any other vanity projects, for one thing, Renoir is quite au fait with men's sophomoric foibles and a believer in a woman's elemental beneficence.