I miserabili

Hugo's novel is my bible. I remember, while I was reading the books in the course of over one year (in small portions mostly, but not rarely I had to sacrifice an entire night), one of the three volumes has been always in a striking distance to me: near my pillow, riding pillion, on my school desk or in my backpack on trips and sleep-overs. Simply put, the story was my home for that one year, Jean Valjean one of my closest friends and Cosette my own child. That's now about 10 years ago and I still return to it every once in a while, pick randomly chapters to read and still am drawn to Hugo's uniquely beautiful and powerful language (i.e. the chapter where he describes the battle of Waterloo is probably the single best piece of literature I've ever read). So, although, I love the book so much, I never dared to touch any screen adaptation, and there are plenty out there, because I did not want to ruin my imaginations of Les misérables I had in my mind for more than 10 years now. I finally did last week and what can I say? Actually, I don't want to spout too much, to run into danger to talk things to death, but it's an amazing, amazing experience when you see those pictures that were engraved in your head for a long time, now alive, in front of your eyes instead of behind. Of course, a book is, I guess, always more stimulating than its adaptation (are there actually any examples to disprove?), and Bernard's is no exception. In fact, this one is as close to the essence of literature as the medium can get. Everything that can be great about movies comes together here, and in the end, Les misérables is the first film I immediately felt home (which is mostly due to the previous history I have with the story), and when a filmmaker achieves exactly this with his very own methods, like a writer does with his/hers, the outcome is nothing less than, yes, cinematic perfection.

Generally considered the best, most complete version of Victor Hugo's novel ever produced, I think I'm finally convinced that I just don't like this story all that much. Oh, don't get me wrong, it has its share of remarkable moments, and, all in all, it's quite a good film. The thing I've noticed with the various adaptations I've seen of it is that I'm with it up until Cosette grows up, then I kind of check out. Almost all the best parts of the story happen in the first half. This version is divided into three feature length films. The first one is by far the best, covering up to the point Fantine dies and Jean Valjean escapes to go rescue Cosette. This hits all the most important themes, particularly the horrible way society treats the destitute. The second section, entitled "The Thenardiers," after the innkeepers who have enslaved Cosette, is great at the start. Charles Dullin is amazing as Thenardier, and Gaby Triquet is so damned adorable as the child Cosette. Cosette as a teenager is fairly uninteresting, and her love interest, Marius, is a completely dull character. The third part covers the revolution portion of the novel, and, frankly, outside of Gavroche (wonderfully played by Emile Genevois), I just don't care about any of it. Jean Valjean is almost superfluous until the final act (the finale here is definitely quite moving). Harry Baur is an amazing Jean Valjean (he also plays Champmathieu, the man wrongly accused of being Valjean in the first part). Charles Vanel is fine as Javert, but the character is kind of dull in this version. Bernard's direction is frequently outstanding and the cinematography is excellent.

This version of "Les Miserables" is very much the best I've ever seen.

I've read the book, and the author Victor Hugo has a certain kind of great, rolling oceanic rhythm, where he starts to set up a scene, appears to wander around adding elements, then slowly brings people and events to a staggering, shuddering climax two- or three hundred pages later. And he manages it several times in the one book. It's a remarkable technique, and no other film version of Les Mis that I've seen manages to capture that feeling of majestic, gigantic tension and release the way this one does.

Now, I've only seen the three-hour version of the Depardieu/Dayan version, not the original six-hour, which I've never been able to track down in a version with English subtitles.

But I've seen just about every other version, and they all have a disjointed sense of pace and continuity that comes from jamming a huge novel into a Cuisinart and filming the pages that survive.

For overall achievement, this one takes the prize. Individual scenes have been done more effectively in other versions, but for capturing the feeling of actually having read the book, this movie is the best.

Other versions have gone deeper into the dirt and filth of Old Paris; much of this film was shot on backlot streets where even the dirt is clean, like a Sam Goldwyn picture. Director Raymond Bernard is also a little too fond of tilting the camera for dramatic effect, but you get used to it quickly, and some of the German Expressionist lighting is very effective.

This is the only version I've seen that shows the actual revolution Hugo describes with sympathy and patience, and the character of Marius gains terrifically from it. By contrast, the attitude towards revolution is nervous and dismissive in the 1935 March/Boleslawski version, as Hollywood was run by Republicans in those days, and Marius inevitably comes off like a twerp. Not here.

Also, the class distinctions among the characters are etched far more clearly than in other adaptations. Today's egalitarian impulses usually tend to bland out such niceties, but our contemporary demands for comfort with these interactions are ignored in this movie from 1933.

Harry Baur as Valjean is a dramatic giant, a stocky, massive bunch of nerve endings. He is from the same school as Emil Jannings, but fortunately never plumbs the depths of Jannings' abysmal, moist self-pity. It should also be noted that Baur is better here than in Abel Gance's film about Beethoven. Some of the actors surrounding him in Les Mis are a bit obvious, but OTOH this has the best Gavroche, period.

Charles Vanel is the only Inspector Javert you are likely to see who was not affected by Charles Laughton's remarkable portrayal of the character, as that was not to be filmed until two years afterward. Laughton's Javert was so intense that it unbalanced that picture, so that the film wound up being about his agony, not Jean Valjean's, which is wrong.

Charles Vanel's Javert appears to be offhand, methodical, restrained, banal; unlike Laughton, he has no speech about why he does what he does, and he gets very few closeups. There is next to no exploration of his interior life, if any, and his death is handled very differently from what we have come to expect.

Past the initial surprise, I think that is one point of the film, that Javert is not a flamboyant, obsessive madman. Vanel's Javert is not a twitchy rogue cop like Anthony Perkins or a reptilian boogeyman like John Malkovich; this film is not a Homeric one-on-one duel to the death like "The Fugitive." Here, Javert symbolizes a government of anonymous and casual brutality. He is a willing cog in a machine that metes out rigid punishment and has no mechanism for tempering justice with mercy. This approach will definitely provoke you to thought, which you can't say about most movies.

Anyway, forget the star-studded comic book adaptations that are the norm for this title, and curl up with a good book. This one is on two DVDs, takes around five hours to watch, and you'll never regret it.

This film is, beyond any comparison, the most perfect version of Victor Hugo's timeless classic - BAR NONE! I've only seen this version once at a UCLA French film retrospective, but I was absolutely floored. If you ever get a chance to see this movie, do not miss it! Harry Baur's performance as Jean Valjean is magnificent. I'd love to see this one again. I wish it was available in any form DVD, VHS ... anything.

TFO (la Télévision Française en Ontario), the French Ontario TV channel has started showing the complete version of this 5 hours and 15 minutes piece (3 x 1 hour and 47 minutes) in three parts, on three consecutive Sundays, starting yesterday. This is a major event as this film is almost never shown, is not available on DVD and is usually cut down, when shown at all, to three hours. It is an amazing accomplishment for 1934 because of the following elements: the mobility of the camera, the sound effects, the music by Arthur Honegger, the witty, almost literary, visual ellipses, the interpretation of Baur and Vanel, the editing and eerie expressionistic camera angles, and the production values in general (sets and costumes cannot be topped). The only drawback of the TV showing is that the film is cropped vertically (the old "tops of the heads are missing" syndrome), which comes from cropping a 1.30:1 narrow ratio early-talkie film onto a 1.37:1 TV screen without pillar-boxing. It's still worth the watch. Needless to say: This is long overdue on DVD!

Historical note: The creepy night scene where Cosette is sent, despite her fears, to fetch water a long way from home at the request of her heartless keepers, is a direct inspiration for Walt Disney's Snow White's panicky flight through the forest scene of three years later (1937).

May 2008 update: As most of you probably know, the whole film is now available on DVD from Criterion's Eclipse series in Region 1.