Una partida de campo

My prep school could hardly be described as being particularly sophisticated or advanced regarding the arts but at some point I benefited from a projected showing of Renoir's Une Partie de Campagne and the beautiful, romantic, sentimental and sad imagery and story got under my skin and has remained there ever since. I probably saw it when I was nine years old and I am now thirty five. I haven't seen it since but I can still see moments and sequences clearly in my minds eye. Certainly a child is a blank canvas and liable to be more influenced by something than an adult - I am just glad that amongst all the rubbish I was exposed to, someone thought fit to show something this beautiful to me at that moment.

Although "A Day In The Country" is a lovely, lyrical film I was disappointed to learn that it was never completed. Indeed, there is a gaping hole toward the end of the film which, if finished, could have answered some plot questions. And so, we must draw our own conclusions and try to fill in blanks. As you would expect, it mars the final product.

As is, it is a snippet of life fleshed out by the master director Renoir. Human feeling seems to be his strong point, humanity in all its strengths, shortcomings and foibles as illustrated by his depiction of a family picnic in the country. We are eavesdropping on them, almost. I wish he could have finished it.

The family of a Parisian shop-owner (André Gabriello) spends a day in the country. The daughter (Sylvia Bataille) falls in love with a man (Georges D'Arnoux) at the inn, where they spend the day.

This simple film, less than 45 minutes long, is now available thanks to Criterion. Who can say no to Jean Renoir in the 1930s? So many of us are preoccupied with American comedies of the era, we forget that other countries exist. And this one at a time that France was just about to be invaded by Germany!

Although her career spanned over 20 years, this would turn out to be Sylvia Bataille's most memorable role. Renoir never finished filming due to weather problems, but producer Pierre Braunberger turned the material into a release in 1946, ten years after it was shot. Braunberger was right to release the film.

A 40 minute fragment of an unfinished movie which Truffaut describes as a cinematic short story, about a picnic in the country.

Renoir movies are always idyllic visually - like beautiful cinematic paintings, but Partie de Campagne is particularly idyllic. For some reason Renoir really wanted us to feel that we were in the country. This is his most visceral movie: he really takes you into the landscape in a way he does not usually do. Usually we merely sit back and admire it - here we are shown some gorgeous images of rain on the stream from the view of a boat on the water. The bottom half of the frame is virtually in the water we're so close to the action.

My favourite parts of Renoir movies are when he goes out on location (which he did quite a bit) and shoots wonderful scenes in nature. Here we have forty minutes of pure natural beauty (with a group of characters added for colour). I'm not sure that if Renoir continued with this project it would have retained enough interest over a two hour length - most likely its merely the central episode of a movie. Like Kubrick, Renoir made his movies up from several big, beautiful chunks. This applies most to Grand Illusion, so perhaps this sequence would never have been intended to supply enough dramatic interest for an entire story, but for lovers of Renoir, here are some of the most beautiful things he ever filmed. If you've never seen a Renoir film, the first experience is always the best, and it might be spoiling you if you start with this one, but it would be a beautiful introduction to him.

Partie de campagne (Jean Renoir, 1936) is one of the great unfinished films. Usually such projects exist in tantalising snippets because a director snuffed it before realising his vision, or failed to get a movie off the ground due to short-sighted financiers. In this case, Renoir quit because it kept raining. Admittedly it rained for much of a six-week shoot, but even so... Happily, the 40-minute Partie de campagne doesn't seem unfinished, with an intriguingly-paced three-act structure that works just fine and a heady summer atmosphere that stands as perhaps the most inspired example of its director's quiet lyricism. It's an often breathtaking pastoral film, creating a fully-realised rural world a la Tol'able David and Louisiana Story into which to throw our protagonists.

Sylvia Bataille is Henriette, a Parisian girl who decamps to the countryside for the weekend with her parents, her grandmother and her fiancé. There, she and her mother (Jane Marken) encounter a prospective-family-man-cum-intense-romantic and his caddish mate, who sweep them off their feet and onto a pair of rowing boats. But this is 19th century France, and the ties that bind won't slacken just because someone's fallen in love.

The film is gentle, entertaining and sometimes very funny, benefiting from superb performances by Bataille, Marken and young romeos Georges D'Arnoux and Jacques B. Brunius, a luscious musical score composed for its 1946 release and Renoir's effortless, transcendent handling of the material. Its coda is absolutely heartbreaking: the perfect wrap-up for a film that's shot through with unshakeable conviction and a tangible love of the countryside. Renoir's fondness for Bataille's expressive, elfin face is just as obvious - he would return to it later the same year in his fascinating serio-comic polemic Le crime de Monsieur Lange. A set piece here that sees her guilelessly embrace the pleasures of a swing is slight but somehow unforgettable. Elsewhere, Renoir's script matches the exalted treatment, encompassing as it does themes of nostalgia, teary joy and the essence of being.

But Partie de campagne does have one - perhaps major - flaw, so bizarre as to be unintelligible. That's the presentation of the father and the fiancé, Anatole, as music hall imbeciles. The younger is particularly ridiculous, resembling a young Stan Laurel as he repeatedly squawks and wobbles his bottom lip. For that matter, the dad looks not unlike Oliver Hardy. Really odd. Perhaps Renoir, adapting Guy de Maupassant's novel, is making a satiric point about the unredeemable unsuitability of the young couple, or the ineptitude of Parisians cast adrift several miles from the big city, but it's a directorial decision that's never really justified.

Still, that's the only gripe about this amazing piece of work, which largely hums with brilliance and ultimately stands shoulder-to-shoulder with La grande illusion as the director's greatest achievement.

Trivia note: That's Renoir himself as the restaurateur, Poulain.