Cais das Sombras

Pauline Kael labeled Marcel Carne's work in the 1930s as the "definite example of sensuous, atmospheric movie making" and it seems that this characteristic emerges most powerfully here.

The opening sequence of PORT OF SHADOWS, thanks to the memorable tracking shot and stylized mise en scene - a typical hallmark of the director, set the tone for the story and provide the feeling to it: we see a road and a man fleeing his past. What preceded and what follows is of no significance, what counts is here and now. Jean (Jean Gabin) is heading for a new haven of his life. He stops at spots which he had not intended to set foot in and meets people who he had not planned to know. Yet, nothing and nobody coincide with the doomed fatality of his situations. Even if there is hope, it is doomed... Yet, in all this hopelessness, the viewer is struck by truly great surprises not likely to be skipped.

COLLABORATIVE EFFORT: The author of the article in Senses of Cinema does not deny the powerful influence of the director on various people of cinema, including Visconti, Reed and Bergman. What, however, seems to be most striking is the fact that PORT OF SHADOWS is simultaneously an individual vision and a common work --- the director's "most coldly formal work," and "the very DNA of French classical film-making" where "a confused soul" and "an obstinate cineaste" (Carne according to Francois Truffaut) makes his "romantic and fatalist mode of address" (Senses of Cinema) particularly clear. It is achieved thanks to great collaborative effort, the director's production designers, composers, actors and cinematographers. But there is one primordial strength that seems to emerge almost throughout the movie, the very product of the period: ATMOSPHERE

STIMULUS ON SENSES: No wonder Frank S Nugent, a New York Times reviewer observed that "there is a bitterness even in its humor." That is best revealed in the supporting character of the painter who says one of the lines that the greatest 'nostalgic prophets of doom' would probably most agree with: "When I paint a tree, I make everybody ill at ease. That's because there is something or someone hidden behind that tree. I paint these things hidden behind things. For me a swimmer has already drowned." That feeling resembles the very essence of provoking cinema we are all much more used to at present. As a result, PORT OF SHADOWS creates a unique atmosphere and is still one of these movies that are forever stamped in viewers' memories.

ITS FOGGY ECHOES: Within the restored DVD version, Ginette Vincendau rightly points that Carne's film is heavily influenced by German Expressonism and serves as a gateway to the noir genre so widespread in American cinema since the 1940s. The obvious echoes of the predecessor are noticeable throughout in the cinematography by Eugen Schueffen and the aspects hidden within the portrayals of characters. Fog is the predominant concept of the movie and serves as a clear allegory of the characters and their lives. Yet, despite all the uncertainty, all the disappointments, all the confusions they experience, it is far in spirit from older Bergman or dramatic Visconti. The idea of loving one's life predominates. Certain predictability in the action (we actually feel from the very start that the protagonist is doomed to fail get on board a ship to Venezuela) does not interrupt this very crucial concept. And the PERFORMANCES?

JEAN GABIN gives a brilliant portrayal of the protagonist, a deserter heading for a more stable life. In his role, what appears pretty obvious is the fact that he is already disillusioned with life in need of some dramatic change. However, there is a certain duality in his character that makes him particularly humane. He is skeptical of true love and yet, never stops searching it. He doubts success in escaping and yet, he does not resign from attempting. Within the context of other male characters that appear in the movie, he is easily to be identified with and quite likable for viewers who are truly not content with some less 'sophisticated' depictions of a human being.

As a centerpiece of his and our attention comes Nelly played memorably by beautiful MICHELE MORGAN. A very pretty and skillful actress makes her 17 year-old character unforgettable (mind you her age must have prompted objections from 'perfectly moral audiences' at the time). A young woman torn apart between two men: one is a miserable villain Zabel (Michel Simon), her stepfather clearly lusting for her, the other is Jean (Jean Gabin). While the growing chemistry between the two occurs to evoke powerfully with excellent closeups and perfect romantic atmosphere, her first conversation with Jean is filled with some excellent lines. Kudos to screenwriter Jacques Prevert! One of their best lines highlights the quintessential concept of sexes' relations: "men and women do not understand one another and yet love one another." Much due to the wonderful collaboration with the camera, Ms Morgan is truly an unforgettable female character. She combines the dramatize of Garbo with eroticism of Dietrich in a performance of her own.

SUPPORTING: Pierre Brasseur does a fine job combining the cruel and ridiculous aspects of Lucien, such a predictable villain of romantic stories who, naturally, spoils everything. A little dog that makes friends with the protagonist is also worth mentioning.

A strength of the movie not to be skipped is its pace. The action really keeps you awake, curious, attentive. Scenes are finely paced and action develops in a right manner. That is something that makes PORT OF SHADOWS stand out among many other films of its period.

PORT OF SHADOWS, no matter if you like its content or not, is a significant production and an interesting glimpse into a true French classic. In spite of being a rendezvous of sorrows, it is a passionate kiss of French Poetic Realism. 8/10

Jean Gabin and Michelle Morgan star in the stylish Marcel Carne film, "Port of Shadows," made in 1938. There is simply no one like Jean Gabin - Hollywood had no idea what to do with him - here he was, this amazing leading man who looked like a character actor. Thankfully, the French knew what they had and kept him busy for 48 years.

Gabin plays Jean, a military deserter who comes into the French port of Le Havre, intending to leave aboard ship for Venezuela. He meets the beautiful Nelly and is adopted by a small dog. Nelly is a real man magnet; she has a boyfriend Maurice, a father figure who is in love with her named Zabel, and Lucien, a hood in love with her. She and Jean fall in love, even though in her heart she knows that he has to leave Le Havre.

These French films out-noir American film noirs, and this is a stylish, dark film filled with sadness, with a depressing ambiance throughout. If you were miserable when you started watching it, you'll be a mess when it's over. What I've gone through for Gabin - he was in so many dark, depressing films! If you're a fan of film noir (and/or Gabin), this is for you.

...lascivious, resentful old storekeepers, effete "toughs", thieving winos, crestfallen, impecunious artists and other downtrodden types. Like Duvivier's incomparable "Pepe Le Moko", "Port Of Shadows" is shrouded in mist. The fog here, however, doesn't evoke a sensual surrealism, but envelopes everything with a graven pallor and dampness. Indeed, everything here screams asphyxiation- Gabin is INCREDIBLE as a well-intentioned Byronic figure embittered by the realities and absurdities of war, whose near-consummate weltschmerz is offered salvation...until inescapable tragedy strikes. As a tragic poet of the cinema, I believe Carne was nearly unrivalled in the Golden Age of French film.

The thick veils of smog give the amplify the film's preoccupation with solitude and opacity- dialogue here is often barbed, strained and bitter, the world-weary cynicism of the characters betraying their immense suffering. Principles are a luxury in an age of disenchantment- the proprietor of Panama's is impassive towards the suicide of his resident Werther (his existentialist exclamation "What's the use?" accenting the futility of suicide- far from offering a reprieve from superfluity, it merely confirms it) while loyalty amongst Leguardier's posse is dispelled briskly after his humiliation. Superfluity is the order of the day- "The world is better off with one less good-for-nothing"..."He needs an identity...I can give him mine.". Each character is acutely aware of his own gratuitousness, and each of them tries desperately to cobble together a raison d'etre in the face of nothingness. When these collapse, as in the case of Michel, Zabal and Leguardier, they are driven to murder or suicide.

As with Les Enfants Du Paradis, Carne's forte lies in sculpting exquisitely intricate characters- the sheer HUMANITY of this movie warrants multiple viewings. Michel Simon's grotesque, graceless Zabal is brilliantly rendered- scorned doubly for his money and his cosmetic deficiencies, Zabal's resignation to a cruel fate (soul-corroding loneliness and a burgeoning moral ugliness) culminates in a death as clumsy and maladroit as his demeanor. His reverence for beauty, as exhibited in his adoration of Nelly and religious hymns, is severely at odds with his environs.

Leguardier, petty hoodlum, imitates American gangster archetypes gleaned from film and hardboiled novels, but his seemingly cocksure swagger is a poor facade for his suffocating ennui and moral cowardliness. Nelly, forbearing and forlorn, is prey to reveries of love, fantasies that promise fulfilment until the film's heartrending conclusion. Looming ominously in the background of the movie are questions on the purpose of art in this grim epoch- the characters on display are all victims of quixotic myths: of war, patriotism, love, crime, masculinity. The incongruities between these fables and cruel reality, the hideous gulf between romance and fact, these are perhaps the saddest truths the film yields.

The ending, seen in this light, is bittersweet- Jean, the tragic character par excellence who has said Yes to all that is absurd and obscene in his life, relinquishes all illusions about the impermanence of all things, including love. Nelly and Jean have achieved true communion, true intercourse, if even for an ephemeral moment. His death is a noble one, an affirmation and acceptance of transience. This is the happiest conclusion that Carne can offer, and even in the film's unrelenting fatalism there is fortitude and life-affirming courage. Camus would've given the thumbs up! In the absurd quandary of life, there is room for sentiment and fraternity, as long as we accept its temporal nature. In Proustian fashion, memory renews all things, so let us embalm these precious moments!

I took a class in French Poetic Realism and Italian Neorealism this past Fall in which I saw many of the best films I will ever see. The third film we watched in the class was Jean Vigo's L'Atalante, which is just about the most gorgeous experience in film viewing I have ever experienced. I left the building in a cloud of euphoria, and I have never stopped thinking about it. One week later, we watched Le Quai des Brumes (Port of Shadows). It affected me greatly in the opposite direction of L'Atalante. It made me lonely and grief-stricken. That is in no way a criticism; for the most part, any film that transforms my emotions, whether for the better or the worse, is a great film.

Le Quai des brumes is about a man played by the great Jean Gabin (the star of La Grande Illusion) who has deserted the army (a fact that is never mentioned specifically, since the French censors refused to let the filmmakers portray such an immoral deed). Everyone who he finds around him is morally corrupt. He finally befriends a dog, the most loyal of all animals, and then Nelly, a young woman who is being torn apart by her gangster suitor, Lucien, and her foster-father Zabel (played by L'Atalante's own Michel Simon).

The whole film falls into unavoidable and quite grueling violence. It is so depressing that the French director Jean Renoir (of La Grande Illusion and Rules of the Game) accused it of being Fascist. Those who know the film know this quotation, and have pondered it for the longest time. It does make perfect sense however. Hope leaves quickly after it is seen, and it is hard to get rid of. It fascistically knocks you down. 10/10

Was there ever a better example of Poetic Realism (no, but one just as good, Le Jour Se Leve, from the same stable)than this, crafted exquisitely by the onlie begetters of the genre, Jacques Prevert - Marcel Carne. All the ingredients are present and accounted for; low-key lighting, atmos - perm any two from drizzle, sleet, cobbles, out-of-season resorts - and two doomed lovers who come together for one Mayfly moment in the sun before it all ends in tears to the distant sound of hammers striking firing pins and the heady, pungent aroma of cordite. Did anyone, with the possible exception of Bogie, do bruised tough better than Jean Gabin and pre-Audrey Hepburn were there ever so expressive eyes as Michele Morgan brought to the party. The Prevert-Carne team were on top of their game in this one which still holds up sixty years on. Purists may quibble that 'brumes' translates as mist rather than shadows but without a shadow of a doubt this is classic fare.