El cuervo

It is one of films who offers so manz impressive gifts to its audience than is difficult to choice one more significant.

First, it is a war film, courageaous in profound sense, offering the precise message, defining an ordinarz realitzz not easz to be accepted or recognized.

It is one of great works of Clouzot , in which not the author of letters ( the mistery is less obscure than you suppose ) but the revelation, in precise manner, of basic, fundamental truths represents the main virtue.

It is the film, in same measure, defined by brilliant performances and by clear, precise verdict about essence of human nature.

Made during the Nazi occupation of France, this little film is truly a gem, and it is a pity that, at the time, its authors and some actors were so badly treated within their own country at the expense of accusations of collaboration with the invaders, and of having made a film that allegedly speaks ill of the French people. This is not what is at stake here, the film could be perfectly set in any part of Europe or even in the USA and would not rigorously lose anything with this change.

Everything takes place in a small isolated village where, out of nowhere, a lot of anonymous defamatory letters begin to appear, signed by a figure who calls himself "The Crow". These letters go on to divulge the secrets and sins of the targeted persons, that kind of thing that we prefer that nobody knows about us. However, the main target turns out to be a doctor from the local hospital, accused of performing abortions and having love affairs with several women in the village. So far, nothing special... but one of the recipients of the letters committed suicide because of it, giving rise to a police investigation.

The film has a lot of qualities, even though it's not perfect. I felt that it starts very abruptly, does not introduce the environment or the situation, and ends in much the same way: it is only in the final moments that we finally know who wrote the letters. In the best noir style, nothing is as it seems and there is no one innocent. We even suspect children.

The cast is very good and does a very competent job, skillfully directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot. Pierre Fresnay is a charismatic protagonist with a good presence and Ginette Leclerc is magnificent, intense and deliciously not naive. Pierre Larquey also does a really good job here, full of personality and intensity. Micheline Francey is an equally good addition, but her role didn't strike me as all that impressive.

Technically, it's an excellent film noir, with very good cinematography and a deft use of light and sets. There are no visual gimmicks here, the film relies heavily on camerawork and there are some really amazing scenes, like when you see through a keyhole. There is also no soundtrack, but the sound effects and sound are good.

There's a scribe with claws who's writing to the town, to people in high office, to bring them down, takes the name of Le Corbeau, that's a crow if you don't know, leaves them squawking, screeching, crying, full of woe. The target seems to be Rémy Germain, a doctor who may offer, abortion (he doesn't), but there's others with secrets, who may have closets of regrets, and dark wings are used, to take a flame, and fan.

A wonderful piece of filmmaking that takes you around the houses and rouses your suspicions on just about all the characters, before twisting and turning, snaking and worming to its devious finale. Great performances, great story, all from one of the greatest directors.

Someone unknown sends a series of slanderous letters to various people in a small French town, the motive apparently being to drive a local medical doctor out. The letters are signed: "The Raven".

On the face of it, the story is a kind of whodunit. Who is the Raven, and what motivates him or her? That's the mystery. There's no shortage of suspects, including the very doctor who supposedly is being hounded.

But the film, released during the dregs of the Nazi regime in Germany, contains relevant political subtext and themes, not the least of which is the idea that someone, anyone, can be an informer. Knowing a town's dirty little secrets, the rumors, people's weaknesses and vices can be deadly in the hands of someone with a penchant for writing, and a desire to tell all. What the raven writes is to some extent true. And the truth turns the townsfolk against each other.

The raven, as an anonymous entity, functions as a whistle blower, a snitch, a spy, a secret agent, a kind of Deep Throat. Thematically, the film is dark and subversive.

The film's B&W lighting is noirish and effective. I especially liked the sequence where a naked light bulb hanging down from the ceiling gets swung back and forth, like a pendulum, as two characters converse about moral pendulums of right and wrong, sanity and insanity, light and darkness. Where does one begin and the other end, asks a character.

Although "The Raven" gets off to a slow start, the plot and the thematic import do pick up. Two-thirds in, the film curves deep, both as a whodunit and in its cinematic statement on the issues germane to whistle blowing and informing.

Even the children in Henri-Georges Clouzot's Le Corbeau (The Raven) are sneaky and malicious. No doubt they reflect their upbringing in the stifling French village of St. Robin, where a series of poison-pen letters – signed The Raven – has galvanized the populace into a spree of spying, whispering and finger-pointing. Most of the letters accuse an aloof doctor (Pierre Fresnay) of occupying illicit beds and of performing illegal operations – relieving women of burdens they're unwilling to bear.

The accusations aren't entirely fanciful – Fresnay has cheerless affairs going with the young wife (Micheline Francey) of a sententious, much older doctor (Pierre Larquey) and with the town pump (Ginette Leclerc), a smoldering seductress who's both lame and a hypochondriac. But the evil epistles disgorge more than enough malice to go around, alluding to dirty little secrets that touch just about everybody in this Gallic Peyton Place.

When one of the letters causes the suicide of a young man dying of liver cancer, another slips out of a wreath on his casket during his funeral procession, and yet another flutters from the rafters of the church during the requiem mass. The search for the anonymous writer reaches the point of hysteria – what else does the unseen assassin know, and who will be the next victim? Alone among the townsfolk, the mother (Sylvie) of the suicide seems resigned and resolute....

Clouzot has been called the French Hitchcock, but when Le Corbeau hit the screens in 1943 – released by a German production company during the Nazi occupation of France – he wasn't welcomed as warmly as the mischievous but harmless cherub across the Atlantic. its mordantly unflattering portrait of the French bourgeoisie was shunned as little short of treasonous. To be sure, Le Corbeau, like most of Clouzot's work (Diabolique, The Wages of Fear) seems to take Shakespeare's misanthropic Timon of Athens as inspiration for its outlook on humanity; it's certainly no tourist brochure for the French provinces.

When Otto Preminger remade the movie in 1951 as The 13th Letter (setting it in the Province of Québec, and starring Michael Rennie, Linda Darnell, Charles Boyer and Constance Smith), he had to pull back from the nastier material – the routine, glum adultery, the rumors of abortions – and apply rosier tints to the characters. None of that sentimental nonsense for Clouzot, who unrepentantly hewed to his malevolent vision right to the bitter end.