Les portes de la nuit

Making my way through the films of Marcel Carné I come at last to this, which, after just watching Les Enfants du Paradis, can't help but feel somewhat lesser, and indeed the film does feel like less than the sum of its parts. There's some wonderful stretches but for it to work it needed to pull all of the strands of story together in a satisfying way by the end, and it doesn't, it just misses the mark. The pacing also drags in parts, particularly towards the end.

As often with foreign language films from the past, the English subtitles are poorly translated and unclear, making the point and subtext of certain passages hard to follow.

The fabric of the film is glorious, though, with a magical mood and ravishing photography. The premise of fated lovers is very nicely evoked, if not satisfactorily executed. Still very worth checking out though.

This French classic film, LES PORTES DE LA NUIT, is known in English as GATES OF THE NIGHT and sometimes as THE DOORS OF THE NIGHT (which is the translation of the title given in the new subtitles). The film has recently been reissued in France in a remastered form on DVD and Blu-Ray by Pathé, along with English subtitles and some extras. It can easily be ordered from French Amazon. This film is a masterpiece of world cinema, but I had never seen it before. It is entirely set in Paris on one night in July 1945. It is written by Jacques Prévert, and is possibly the most surrealistic of all the films he wrote. He intentionally has written a complex interweaving story involving many characters where the veil between this world and the next can be pierced, and where apparent 'coincidence' reigns supreme, in a heightened form, as a kind of divine synchronicity operating as Fate. Just so that we do not fail to understand, Prévert has written into the script a mysterious vagabond (called in the credits 'le clochard', i.e. 'the vagabond') who is a genuine visitor from the other world, disguised as a beggar. This strange innovation in cinema technique has precedents from Greek and Latin antiquity, of which Prévert was certainly well aware, for in those cultures the common people superstitiously believed that the gods sometimes came to earth disguised as vagabonds and came knocking at the door asking for shelter. One always had to give every vagabond his basic necessities of food and a place to sleep, for the gods were spying on us to see if we kept to the laws of hospitality, and if we dared to turn away a vagabond with contempt, a divine wrath might destroy us in retribution. Indeed, the most famous figure in ancient Greek literature who disguised himself as a vagabond was Homer's hero Odysseus (known in Latin as Ulysses), and although not a god, he was later worshipped as a demi-god on his home island of Ithaca, and I was present when some Greek archaeologists were excavating the remains of the ancient Odysseion, which was his shrine there. These visitations by supernatural or semi-supernatural beings haunted the ancient Greeks, and similar ideas were current in a debased form in Ireland with the elves, in England with the fairies and gnomes, and in Norway with the trolls. For most of human history, 'we were being watched' by the invisible powers. As it says in the American Christmas song about Santa Claus: 'he knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you awake, he knows if you are bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake'. And here in this film the eyes of Fate are upon all the characters in the form of a personage of mysterious mien. He is brilliantly played by a man who had never acted in a film before, Jean Vilar. He is the actual star of the film, and his gaze is perfect and what he says is just as perfect. When people demand to know who he is, he says 'Le Destin' (Destiny, Fortune, or Fate). He keeps trying to warn people of their impending fates, but they never listen to him, and he says to himself more than once: 'They are all the same, they never listen.' This story device actually works, and that is because the film is directed by the genius Marcel Carné. He and Prévert made several famous films together, in what has become known as the 'poetic realism' style. They include one of the greatest films of all time, LES ENFANTS DU PARADIS (1945), as well as JENNY (1936), LE QUAI DES BRUMES (1938), LE JOUR SE LEVE (1939), and LES VISITEURS DU SOIR (1942). This film is the most daring of them all, in having a supernatural character. It was also the last collaboration of the two men. One of the stars of this film is Yves Montand, aged 25, in his second credited film. He delivers a truly superb performance, including many lines of dialogue which a lesser actor could not have pulled off, because they bordered on the incredible. The entire cast are brilliant, the shots, framing, mood, atmosphere and editing are sheer perfection. The cinematography of Philippe Agostini is inspired. He worked with Carné once before, on LE JOUR SE LEVE (1939). The haunting music for this film was composed by the Hungarian Joseph Kosma (real name Kozma). It is played on the harmonica by Jean Vilar, and sung by Nathalie Nattier as well. In French, its lyrics were written by Prévert, and the song is entitled 'Les Feuilles Mortes'. But in English, with lyrics by Johnny Mercer, this film became the famous song 'Autumn Leaves', a number one hit song in America, which must have been recorded either with or without a voice a thousand times over the years and still features in muzak everywhere, and even gave its name to a subsequent Hollywood film with Joan Crawford in 1956. Kosma also wrote the music for two other Carné films, as well as several other famous French classics. The story of this film is multiple, but all is entwined. It is impossible in a brief space to summarize it. There are many supernatural elements linking all the characters together in a single night. Some meet their doom, others are left to sorrow perpetually. Tragedy reigns in this close-up view of the human condition. The hopes, the joys, the regrets, the melancholy, the delights, the disappointments, they are all there. And there are children and young people joyously romping around amidst it all. There is young love, there is old love, there is impossible love. This film is complex, just like Life. It is as divine as its mysterious vagabond. And we are the privileged witnesses of it all.

Winter in Paris, 1944. The occupying Germans have fled, Vichy disbanded but the war still rages on and shortages exist. Jean Diego (Yves Montand) exits at the Barbes Rochechouart metro station to deliver bad news to the wife of a friend. It turns out the news is erroneous, however and the wake turns into a celebration as Diego and the family go out to dinner where he finds himself entranced by a woman (Natalie Nathier) he views from the window of the restaurant. She wants out of her marriage and the pair meet later by coincidence. Meanwhile a jealous husband (Pierre Brasseur) searches for her.

Released in 1946, wounds still fresh from the occupation Gates of the Night is more than just a tragic romance but also a recent reminder of the collaboration and betrayal of fellow Frenchman during that period as well as those who benefited from the calamity. Director Marcel Carne shows no sympathy for these exploiters as they attempt to re-write their recent history. Pierre Brasseur, Serge Reggiani and especially Saturnin Fabre convey their complicity denial with unctuous conviction.

Carne and screenwriter add a touch of fantasy with a homeless character believing he is destiny in human form and while it rattles the verismo of the picture it provides additional ambiguity and interest.

Shot in typical graceful Carne style, (with cinematographer, Phillipe Agostini providing some stunning night canvases) the romance (with its "Autmn Leaves" background music) tends to be rather mawkish. Carne also chooses to jump from the film's climactic moment to another almost as pressing only to distract from both.

Romance removed Gates of Night must have engendered a good deal of emotion and soul searching to a French audience and the very recent memory of its occupation.

This isn't exactly bad. It is not a spoiler to reveal that the ending is not a good one, as it is written in many synopses already and openly criticized for its dark depiction of France collaboration with the enemy, it's "realism", and the prioritization of realism over feel-good.

The Criterion Collection writes, "A dreamily beautiful vision of a wintry, nocturnal Paris shortly after the city's postwar liberation. It's there that a former member of the French underground Resistance has an encounter with destiny as he meets a long-lost comrade, villains of the war, a prophetic tramp, and a beautiful woman who will draw him into an inexorable tragedy."

It sounds dreamily beautiful, sure. And it does have its charm- a hazy, film-noir intrigue, with a masterfully created ambience that easily lures in the audience. All the more disappointing then, to leave the theater having been initially captivated by what turns out to be a lackluster story with an unfulfilling conclusion!

Allegorical, or maybe better labeled as an anti-fairy tale, there are several different side stories. Fortunately, these are done quite well, with the characters- including family members and old friends thought to be dead, a gypsy, a homeless man identifying as "Destiny", a neighbor with more than a dozen children, a subway vendor with a daughter that sells croissants out of a briefcase, the friend's son that befriends our protagonist and even takes him to his secret hideout where he looks over a cat- being sketched out with such aptitude from Carné that audiences are quickly enamored. Unfortunately, the anecdotal nature means they can go as quickly as they come- like several couples and strangers on the streets that make their entrance in a single scene or shot, never to be heard from again.

So this ends in tragedy. Great, realism should be appreciated as much as fairy tales. But does almost every character need to be drunk, mopey, or visually mentally disturbed? It is almost as if the entire film has been immersed in a "woe-is-me" fog. Then it ends with the fog not exactly lifting, but sorta evaporating because it has done its duty.

Alas, kudos are still due for an atmospherically delicious film noir, and who can dislike the soundtrack, including an introduction to the popular song "Autumn Leaves" (French: Les feuilles mortes)?

Paris in December of 1945: Liberation, but the war goes on and people scramble to live in a frozen world. Yves Montand takes the metro to tell a friend's wife that he died six months earlier, only to find his friend there. They celebrate, they talk, we are introduced to the usual cast of eccentrics in Marcel Carne's small slice of magical realism and Montand meets the most beautiful girl in the world, Nathalie Nattier, and her traitorous brother, Serge Reggiani.

The cast of supporting characters is up to Carne's usual standards, including Jean Vilard as a tramp who thinks he's destiny, Pierre Brasseur as Miss Nattier's despised husband, Saturnin Fabre -- whom I first encountered in a Max Linder short from 35 years earlier -- as a grasping local junk dealer..... but why go on? Almost everyone is fine, except for the three actors at the center of this movie: Montand, Nattier and Reggiani, all of whom simply don't measure up.

Perhaps this is because the Montand and Nattier roles were originally written for Jean Gabin and Marlene Dietrich; when they dropped out, the roles had to be recast and the results were... unfortunate. Neither actor could project the world-weary gravitas required, and the entire movie, which might have been magnificent, is merely very good, carried by the supporting cast. Yet it makes one wish for the movie done right.