Une si jolie petite plage

It seems be the lead character of this bitter film. A film about past. Remembering the play by Albert Camus. All seems a blank confession. A man. A place. The tension. And an ally . And the rain . Far by every escape.

The film begins splendidly, with Gerard Philipe arriving by bus to an out-of-the-way and out-of-season seaside town where it always rains and the beach is always empty. He checks into the little inn there claiming to be a student looking for some peace and quiet for his nerves, but clearly he has a big secret he is hiding, and an elderly resident of the inn seems to recognize him, too.

All this is established admirably, and the mystery and atmosphere it generates is first rate. Unfortunately, once we start to learn more of his story, the mystery falls away and the rest of the film is just interminable shots of Philipe wandering around in the rain and occasionally crying for no reason we can see. None of the other characters have any depth or believability to them, and many of their actions don't seem to make sense. Random generic statements about orphans throughout bog the story down and never add up to anything clear or meaningful. One gets the feeling the creators didn't get any further than the premise before starting making the film and then just gave up putting any more work into keeping the ball rolling.

So the second half of the film is undeniably a failure, but up till that point it's really very good indeed, and a great example of the kind of film noir that only the French could make.

His sensitive performance as Prince Myshkin in L'IDIOT (1946) had brought international attention, and his performance in THE DEVIL IN THE FLESH (1947) made him a star; with his next two films, LE CHARTREUSE DE PARME (1948) and UNE SI JOLIE PETITE PLAGE (1949), Gerard Philipe's position as the premier leading man of French cinema in the post-war period was assured.

Just as PEPE LE MOKO, QUAI DES BRUMES, LA BETE HUMAINE and LE JOUR SE LEVE had established the Jean Gabin persona in the 1930s (what Andre Bazin had termed "the tragic destiny"), so these four films established the Philipe persona, the sensitive young man overwhelmed by destiny. In UNE SI JOLIE PETITE PLAGE, the small seaside resort out-of-season, with its fog, its desolation, and its ramshackle buildings, is a perfect setting for this story of lost souls seeking connection and (possible) redemption. Madeleine Robinson, as the young woman working at the inn, is Philipe's counterpart: a sullen girl battered by circumstances who nevertheless is touched by the fragility of the young man. The fact that, on a realistic level, Gerard Philipe does not project the hardened facade of a criminal is rather the point: the point of a star persona. In this case, Philipe's projection of an intensely isolated, even alienated, psyche which defined the existential dilemma that was being defined by writers such as Sartre and Camus in the post-war epoch, was really enshrined in this movie.

Philipe would prove to be a more versatile actor than initially assumed; his humor, his athletic vigor, and his exuberance can be seen in movies like FANFAN LA TULIPE and POT-BOUILLE. But UNE SI JOLIE PETITE PLAGE shows Philipe at the apex of his portrayals of tortured youth, a prototype for such stars as Montgomery Clift and James Dean.

Desolate, melancholy feelings pervade this film, set in a small beach town in the off-season, with rain pouring down incessantly. A man arrives in the middle of the night appearing to want a respite to calm his nerves, but gradually we discover there's more to him than that. There may be no better image for trying to process childhood trauma than walking off into the distance on a deserted beach in the rain, and I loved the artistry with which Yves Allégret told this story. There is a theme of being preyed upon sexually, obviously with the war orphans, but also in the servant in the inn when she describes her time as a miner in Belgium. Meanwhile, the bourgeoise skate by without a care in the world, captured brilliantly in that final shot on the beach which pulls back from them rapidly. If you're wondering how they got that without the camera truck leaving tracks in the sand, look carefully at the small waves in the distance, going out instead of in.

The text we read at the beginning indicates the direction of the film; we are asked to sympathize with and not to condemn the orphans and abandoned children brought up in state-run facilities. We are told that these children often grew up to become the "elite" of society. The Gabin character in Carne's Le jour se leve also grew up on the "assistance publique," but he is a fighter for justice, unlike the passive, tormented Pierre. Yves Allegret has filmed Gerard Philipe as a sort of Christ-figure walking through the muddy streets of this third-rate resort town. There is a scene with Madeleine Robinson cuddling Philipe that is very much like the Pieta.

Jean Servais as the slimy Fred has some effective scenes; he reminds us of Jules Berry driving Gabin to murder in Le jour. If the script had focussed more on the conflict between Pierre, the killer of the club singer and Fred, the dead woman's old boyfriend, instead of devoting reams of script pages to the social and political aspects of homeless children (no matter how moving their plight may be) the noir tradition would have been much better served.

I'll finish by praising the actors: Servais is great, Jane Marken as the proprietress of the hotel is a model of petit-bourgeois intolerance, Carette's salesman is boring and right. Only Gerard Philipe fails to give a rounded performance because the script won't let him.