Pläsier

Happiness, says the narrator at the end, is not a lark. And the film believes it, even though as he speaks the glimpses of children playing with kites and daintily placed chairs on the beach (echoing those set out earlier by Gabin in the back of his cart for the visiting prostitutes) continue to evoke the swirling compositional grace and elegance which mark the film's every moment. Far more unpredictable and radical than most portmanteau films, the highlight is the second story, which at first seems to be about a group of men who get together one night when the local brothel is closed, then follows the whores' trip to the country (with a delightful interlude on the train as they share the compartment with an old peasant couple and a randy salesman); then returns to the brothel - Ophuls' highly liberal camera ultimately pans deliriously around the windows from the outside as the place fills with dance, spilling celebration and delight. The many surprises of that story perfectly evoke the enormous span of human emotional experience; it touches on so many dreams of escape whereas the other two episodes, both much shorter and darker, remind us of the occasional price of such dreams.

Max Ophuls converts three stories by Guy de Maupassant to the screen, and links them via a narration by Peter Ustinov.

Ophuls is one of those directors whose works I admire rather than enjoy. Sometimes I think that's his intention. His taste for formalism, whether it be a Schnitzler play he wishes to film, or his insistence on loading on every camera trick he can think of, as here, seems designed to call for comment by the attentive and cinematic viewer.... one might almost say 'voyeur.'

Perhaps that's Ophuls' intention: to make the audience think they're not watching a story, but spying on reality. Me, when I think it's a great story and great actors, as here, I would use the minimum artistry to tell the story; why paint the beautiful lily or gild refined gold? When the first story begins with a traveling take that lasts minutes, I wonder how much longer it's going to go on, rather than enjoying the event. When he shifts repeatedly to Dutch angles, I wonder what is so odd about the perspective, and when he shoots people in a house through windows, again, I wonder what's the point.

Perhaps it is a longing for the baroque. Or perhaps it's an inferiority complex, to show people who go on about the theater that cinema is an art, too, and anything you can do, we can do better!

Me, my taste is a lot more visceral than Ophuls. He's great, mind you. It's just that I appreciate him with my head and not my heart.

It has been rightly claimed that, between 1945 and 1955, Max Ophuls was the greatest director in the world, crafting a string of dense pearls unmatched before or since. Even 'Le Plaisir', supposedly a minor film in his canon would be a staggering masterpiece in anyone else's.

A triptych of Guy de Maupassant stories, it is also about a trio of Gods. The first two are shown to be limited: Maupassant, author, creator, narrator, speaks to us from the darkness, disembodied, all pervasive ('I could be sitting next to you'), responsible for everything we see - in the last story he crashes down to earth, and is responsible for a suicide attempt; and Ophuls' camera, seemingly weightless, able to navigate space with a freedom unavailable to humans - even it is barred from Madame Tellier's Establishment, forced to peek in from outside. It can reveal the bleak reality behind the prostitutes' gaiety, but is has no access, like the men who exploit them, to their souls.

Or does it? The stunning epiphany at the church, is, after all, on one level just a trick of the camera, or a mere figment of the women's imagination. As we would expect, the camerawork, composition, decor, music and acting are breathtaking and ambiguously nostalgic; what is more remarkable is the magic sense of nature, so rare in Ophuls, and, with the exception of the Archers, King Vidor and Lynne Ramsey, so rare in cinema.

In the early 80's, as a young movie lover, my favorite was "le Plaisir" directed by Max Ophüls. And at that time, it was quite hard to have vidéo cassettes of such masterpieces, I found the cassette and watched "Le Plaisir" so many times showing it to everybody around me, the movie in fact I showed the most. We just loved "La Maison Tellier" with Gabin (so funny as a peasant searching for a love affair with Danièle Darrieux, unforgettable), every scene was perfect. And shot by master Christian Matras. The two other sketches are also great, especially the one with Simone Simon. Thank you Mr Ophüls for that true masterpiece.

Three tales from Guy de Maupassant are presented: The Mask, The Tellier House, and The Model, all of which were published in 'The Necklace and Other Tales' in 2003, and are probably in many other such collections of his short stories. The film adaptation is beautifully shot, includes some fine star power (Simone Simon, Jean Gabin, and Danielle Darrieux), and for the most part faithful to the stories, though there is some unfortunate softening. I have to say, the selection is not the greatest, as the first and last stories are just average works, and they're also both less than eight pages long. Even for an author who is known for being a master of brevity, the translation to the screen for the bookends of this set feels unsatisfyingly not well fleshed out (and the middle story ends up taking about 60 of the overall 97 minutes).

Ostensibly the three were selected to match a theme, which is the pursuit of pleasure. We do see that in these vignettes, and most notably, we see this pursuit ending in being denied. One man wears a mask when he gets older so he can go out dancing with the young girls (but collapses), others brawl because a bordello is closed on a Saturday night, and another desperately tries to get near one of the prostitutes that come out to see his daughter get her first communion. The foibles of men are on full display, and it's all a little pathetic. Perhaps this is nowhere more true than in getting married for reasons that don't relate to temperament or harmony, and suffering a lifetime of coldness as a result, which is the subject of the last tale.

Maupassant was the ultimate realist, not flinching from writing what life and love were really like, and the tone of the film is thus generally consistent with his work. Unfortunately in that middle effort, The Tellier House, there are some alterations. When the prostitutes are in the church in the story, they begin to cry, causing a wave of tears to ripple through the crowd. In the book, it's a sanctimonious and confused priest who believes that's it's a sign of God among them, but Maupassant is clearly making the situation absurd - both for the sentimental weeping and this reaction. In the film, it's the narrator - meant to be Maupassant himself - who draws the divine inference. It throws the tone of the scene off, is noticeably inconsistent with the rest of the story, and is certainly not in line with Maupassant's realism. Excised also is the bawdy song 'Granny,' that Rosa sings in the story, about an elderly lady remembering her past lovers, ruing the loss of her shapely legs and bygone charms, and admitting that she would masturbate alone in bed at 15. Ok, maybe that's not surprising for a film from 1952, even one out of France not subject to the puritanical production Code.

If director Max Ophüls had nailed that middle story, or included a better selection (of which there are many possible options), I would have enjoyed the film more. As it was, though, it's a solid effort and worth watching.