O Silêncio do Mar

Le silence de la mer (1949) is a French movie scripted and directed by Jean-Pierre Melville. This is an unusual film about the French Resistance. It's based on a story by a Resistance fighter whose code name was Vercors.

You would expect a movie about the French Resistance to be filled with clandestine raids and destruction of railroad tracks. This isn't that movie. The Resistance in this case is silence. When the German army occupied France, army officers were often billeted in private homes.

A German officer is billeted in the home of an uncle (Jean-Marie Robain) and his niece (Nicole Stéphane). Their method of resistance is to act as if the officer is invisible. They refuse to acknowledge his presence. The officer speaks French well, but they do not answer or even look up when he speaks.

That is the plot. You'll have to see the movie to learn how it turns out in the end. Even when the German officer speaks, he's quiet and respectful. This is probably the quietest non-silent film I've ever seen.

It's always written that Melville himself was in the Resistance. However, as far as I can tell, he escaped from France and joined the Free French Army, which wasn't the same thing. He participated in the war as a soldier in Italy. The author Vercors actually was in the Resistance, and wrote the story while fighting the Germans in France.

Like Citizen Kane, this movie had an effect on many films that followed it. Melville was a pioneer. He was never formally trained in cinema. His belief was that he had seen enough movies to know how to make them. And he made this movie in a way that produced impressive results.

Melville worked a generation before the auteurs of the French New Wave. However the New Wave directors respected and copied what he did. He's been called the godfather of the New Wave.

Melville made this movie on a shoestring budget, with scraps of film and no special lighting. His crew fit into a van--director, cinematographer, sound technician, and the three leading actors.

This movie worked well on the small screen. (We bought the Criterion Collection DVD, which included specials that revealed more about Melville and his style of filmmaking.)

It's hard to rate Le silence de la mer, because it's so different from other movies--even French movies about the Resistance. The film has a strong IMDb rating of 7.6, which I think is correct. I rated it 8.

I am surprised that this movie is so little known (I must confess I did not know much about it either when I first went to see it). I think it is one of the best movies made in Europe in the first years after the WW2. It is quiet and simple, but very powerful at the same time. Without any killing or death in it, this film shows the absurdness and tragedy of war better than any other I have seen. At the same time, for me this was a very good insight in the spirit of French resistance. But above all, it is about a collapse of dreams, a conflict between one's conscience and ideology, and a realisation of how senseless human feelings, aspirations and the whole existence is made by the war. Very deep and impressive. I felt like crying at the end.

The first movie of one of the best and most influential directors of all time and it's already a wonderful achievement; even more impressive for the restrictions of the budget and a story that mostly happens in a single room with a constant monologue. The power of the storytelling of Melville, both in his adaptation of the famous clandestine novel (release during the Nazi occupation of France) and especially in a very solid, quiet and surprisingly mature direction, makes for an unforgettable trip, where you can't take your eyes from the screen. And the moving ending, with one of the most powerful shots in his filmography is as impressive today as the first time.

Jean-Pierre Melville was born Jean-Pierre Grumbach and took the nom-de-guerre Melville during his time with the French Occupation against Nazi rule during World War II. With the war ended, he struck out to become a filmmaker, being rejected by the actual French studios, and went independent, adapting the underground French novel by Jean Bruller as his first film, without Bruller's permission. The film is a very still film, but I sense intense anger and even hatred just below the surface.

The film tells the story of three people. Uncle (Jean-Marie Robain), Niece (Nicole Stephane), and Werner von Ebrennac (Howard Vernon). Uncle and Niece live quiet lives in the early days of the Second World War in a German occupied French town. One day, two German troops arrive with boxes for their lieutenant, Ebrennac, who is going to stay in their upper room. The film is a one-way dialogue between Ebrennac, who comes down to the sitting room every night to speak to his two landlords. He speaks of his love of France, stemming from his father's experiences during World War I, of his love of French literature, of his affection for French winters. He holds up French literature to a great extent, listing the great French writers off the top of his head and struggling to find similar numbers from other cultures, even his own. Germany, though, has the superior musicians.

What Ebrennac sees the war as is a melding of two great cultures. This manifests in a simmering affection he has for Niece. She's a reasonably attractive woman, and he looks at her like something of a conquest, though he never even tries to get her to respond to anything he says. He never touches her. He never proposes anything directly to her. It seems as though he finds their union inevitable, and he has no need to push things. They will naturally come together in time.

Through all of this, neither Uncle nor Niece says a thing to him. The film is narrated by Uncle, who explains little details, gives the specifics of his inner life, and helps fill in the picture of his steadily growing admiration for this German officer. Ebrennac is on a charm offensive, and it works. He stops wearing his military uniform in front of them, going up the back stairs when he comes back from his daily duties, changing into civilian clothes, and coming down the front stairs into the sitting room to speak for a few minutes on the wonders of France before retreating back to his own room. The internal monologue by Uncle is almost all we know of the steadily eroding wall between them except for one scene where Ebrennac plays the piano, and, with Ebrennac's back turned, Uncle and Niece watch on.

Ebrennac gets sent to Paris to visit one of his school friends who has risen faster and higher in the German command structure, and he's thrilled. He gets to go to the cultural center of France, to view the monuments and art of a culture he has long held in high regard, but the visit turns bad. Ebrennac's delusions of a post-war order where France and Germany are held up equally are dashed by the truth, told to him by his friend and other German officers, that any word of equity between the two cultures is a lie, that the goal is to oppress the people and suppress the culture of France in favor of Germany.

When he returns, he is crestfallen and admits everything to Uncle and Niece before telling them that he has put in a transfer to fight at the front. It is his sadness and resolve to no longer participate in the lie that finally breaks down the barriers with Uncle verbally allowing him into the room for the first time and Niece saying goodbye, the first word out of her mouth the entire film.

The quietness of the film is what gives it its power, I think. It's mostly set in a single room, but it never feels confined, breaking away for views of the outside of the small town and of Paris, and that concentrated view in the room creates a microcosm of the fight over hearts and minds of the French people. When the film started, I thought it was going to be a film about how there were no good Germans. Ebrennac is a man, though. A genuine man with real affection for France who was as lied to as the French people were. His inherent love of France that never falters is what bridges the divide between him and Uncle and Niece, and his inability to maintain the lie anymore, to throw himself into the meat grinder of war instead of keeping up the fiction, is what makes them finally see him as human.

There's great anger in this film, but there's also sadness. It's an intensely nationalistic film, all but waving the French blue, white, and red while screaming La Marseilles at the top of its lungs. The defense of France, its land, its villages, its cities, its culture, is what animates the film's subtext, and the idea of squashing it becomes the emotional core of the film. The idea that Melville's French identity was being intentionally wiped out angered him. When the Allies defeated Germany, Melville used his first film to express his rage at the effort, and it's all the more impressive because the film is so quiet and small and effective all at once.

This is a very good introduction to the cinematic world for Melville.

"It is a noble thing for a soldier to disobey a criminal order."

The condition the main characters find themselves in seems on one hand absurd and existential, and on the other, to reveal such a timeless and menacing aspect of all war - the desire for one nation to essentially eliminate another. For most of the film, a German officer talks to a Frenchman and his niece about his life, his taste in the arts, and professes his admiration for French culture, all while they sit in stony silence, trapped in their own living room, but passively resisting his overtures to connect with them on a human level. His eyes are eventually opened to his country's plans and what they are really doing though. The novel the film was based on was written in occupied France and published secretly in 1942, which is a marvel on its own to think about.

The film by no means forgives the Nazis (and even includes a Treblinka reference the novel didn't have to emphasize that the Holocaust was known by at least some German officers), but it also shows that decent men exist in any enemy. In this terrible situation, it thus sets up fascinating questions: Should the Frenchman and his daughter engage with this man? Should he attempt to disobey his orders? Or does war simply crush those possibilities out of existence? That scene where the officer sees the monuments in Paris extolling the military triumphs of the past, for leaders and causes which ran their course and faded into oblivion, is brilliant. One sees the courage of the Resistance in these two quiet people in their home, the appeal to humanity under extraordinary circumstances, and the cruelty and senselessness of it all.