Quand tu liras cette lettre

Enjoyably melded here are two staples of 1940s cinema, the melodrama and the noir.

Not particularly complex, the characters are either good or evil. Max (Philippe Lemaire) and all the people he mixes with, even the unfortunate rich Irène (Yvonne Sanson) who he robs and murders, are bad. While the Voise family of big sister Thérèse (Juliette Gréco), little sister Denise (Irène Galter), and the grandparents are all virtuous.

Noir elements include dream logic, fateful encounters, a high sexual charge, dramatic irony, mixed motives, violence and death. Low life individuals hustle each other in the underworld of Cannes, shot in expressionist photography full of symbolism to evocative music.

There is even an inverted femme fatale in Thérèse. Though leaving her convent on the sudden death of her parents to take over the family shop and look after Denise, she is still a nun at heart. Max, forcibly engaged to Denise after raping her, sees the fierce black-clad Thérèse as a much greater prize. She, all woman despite her outward ferocity, cannot help being susceptible to his immense charm (the two actors were lovers in real life) but sublimates her feelings into a desire to save his lost soul. In a highly emblematic scene, when Max is burning some shop rubbish in the courtyard at night, her clothes catch fire and he smothers the flames by rolling her on the ground, baring her midriff. That, however, is as close as he ever gets to rolling her around with even less on.

A powerful story, full of atmosphere, told with twists and tension and well worth the 100 minutes to watch.

It's kind of wild to see this after I've been exposed (mostly second hand but still) to the world of *Korean melodramas for TV (wonder where they got these from) since this story, frankly, has many ingredients right from the start as our heroine Therese is orphaned (that's one) after a truck kills her parents (truck of doom!), leaving her to care for her sister viz their grandparents, who work at the family book store.

Meanwhile, there's a scummy amateur boxer thief who preys on a (slightly) older rich woman at the hotel where he hanging around (and gets in on tips of who to fleece from a young bellhop dips**t), and for a half hour in this story it doesn't seem like these two worlds will intertwine... until chance has him ride by the younger sister Denise and is taken with her and must have her and... well, it leads to her writing the letter with that title.

There is so much melodrama pudding mix in this movie that there's always the chance it'll get stuck to the proverbial bowl and not be able to get out again. What Melville has going for him is that Max, as played by Philippe Lemaire with this towering confidence, is the sort of sociopath who has somehow convinced himself that he can get by through life through his persistence and that a woman will never say no to him.

The thing is too, when we are first introduced to him it's in this scenario - as other men watch and kind of laugh and, you know what, we sort of do as well - and he doesn't seem like anything except an eager guy... but that is always the trap by and for these sexual predators, of which Max is on top of being a habitual liar and thief. There is a comment there for us as well as how these jerks tend to not only slide by through society but are rarely (if ever) punished criminally. What works so well is he is contrast with Therese, Juliette Greco (oh yeah from Cocteau's Orpheus), who is solid as a rock and is unwavering, but carrying a metric ton of pain and sadness and all this religious burden on her... and is not only a threat to Max, she is potentially his next conquest (or is it real love this time? Don't fall for it, audience!)

In other words, Melville has a batch of juicy pot-boiler stuff to play with here, not to mention (I think) his first time dipping his feet into a crime story involving robbery, which is Max's side hustle, and there's a perfect set piece where he sneaks into the one rich lady's hotel room at night, she catches him, and then he melts into her arms (just splendid, amazingly tawdry, no notes). He also has an ending that is sort of brilliant as this existential tragedy, even though it feels closer to a kind of poetic justice (good rule of thumb- don't run after a train if you are... on the complete other side of the station), and yet he never forgets to make Max and Therese painfully and awkwardly human.

I do think Denise is left by the wayside and after her letter and attempted suicide her character is under-written, and I would've liked more of the grandparents the couple of times we see them. But this is the exact length it needs to be for this sort of half Film Noir and half pulpy piece of melodrama, something that could be creeping up to the line of the earlier era of French poetic realism but there's a nastier undercurrent to the existential problems that Max brings on himself and everyone around him. This is all to say that not only is this underrated for the director, it just plays as an entertaining crime-soaked character study regardless of who directed it - and it's a great way to close out seeing his body of work on a very good one.

Max Trivet is a garage mechanic, boxer, thief and local gigolo. When his seduction of a young shop girl turns to rape, the girl's sister Thérèse, an ex-nun, plans her revenge. However, it appears that even the austere Thérèse may not be immune to his charms...

Many of the iconic Melville elements are present already in this early film: the big American cars, the scenes with night club dancers rehearsing their act, the long raincoat and hat which Max wears... The plot is more melodramatic than we would expect from the director's later work, but Melville complicates this with ambiguities that add considerably to the interest of the story: Max is portrayed as cruel and cynical, yet also sympathetic; while Thérèse, played by the singer Juliette Greco, is so cold and impassive it is hard to guess, even at the end of the film, what her feelings and intentions have been towards Max.

The use of music is very interesting in this movie, each of the main characters being given not just their own theme but their own instrument: an accordion for Max, a church organ for Thérèse, a harpsichord for her sister Denise, and a piano for the married woman whom Max seduces. There is some striking cinematography, too, notably in the scene on the beach at night, with Thérèse and Max appearing as silhouettes against the turbulent sea.

Well, okay, there's no singing and dancing, but look at what it does have: the Riviera, fast cars, luxury hotels, prizefighting, a gigolo-thief, symbolism, irony, rape, and nuns. Therese, the would-be nun, is snatched from the convent at nearly the last minute and returned to a world which, warmly bourgeois on the surface, is in fact teeming with villainy and obsession. When the criminal's obsession with money collides with Therese's obsession with divine justice, the screen practically combusts. (There is, as well, a scene in which fire is used to represent the mortal dangers of both carelessness and passion.)

Juliette Greco, young and gorgeous, has cheekbones that just don't stop. She vividly personifies the forces of God and nature that leave terrible destruction in their wake. A terrific powerhouse of a movie.

Novitiate Juliette Gréco is summoned from the nunnery when her parents are killed in a car crash. If she does not return to the stationery store and run it, her sister, Irene Galter will go to the grandparents' farm and the store will be sold. So she bows her head and accepts this as the will of G*d, or at least the scenarist. At the same time, Philippe Lemaire, mechanic, boxer, seducer of anything with hair longer than his, and budding socioopath, begins carrying on an affair with rich Yvonne Sanson, looking forward to enjoying her employment back in Brussels. He kills her by accident, trying to slaughter his accomplice, but the judge can't talk himself into having him arrested. No need! Here comes Miss Gréco, telling him that since he raped Miss Galter, who tried to commit suicide but failed, he is going to propose to her in front of their grandparents, and if ever she even suspects he doesn't love her, here's the gun to prove her sister does. And of course, he confesses he's actually in love with Miss Gréco, and insists she's in love with him, because reasons.

Got that? I was at the end of the movie and still didn't know who felt what about whom. Director Jean-Pierre Melville has Miss Gréco as frozen-faced as someone who's just had a botox injection. It's beautifully shot on the Riviera, and Miss Sanson drives an enormous Cadillac one-seat convertible, courtesy of what we are told is a psychopathic husband. Could Melville, working from some one else's script for whatever reason he had (money?) just hate everyone because he's too cool for all this?

Maybe. But then, someone would have to act sincere.