Léon Morin Prêtre

Léon Morin Prêtre (1961) was one of the most truly intriguing films I've seen, yet. This is no noir-gangster saga, but it remains quintessentially Melville. The drastic lighting, the focus on solitude, the minimalism... With that said, there were a few techniques and approaches that were very unique to this film: the dissolve to black editing, the manner that he uses this strong female lead, the pointed use of religion, and child actors are among a few things I haven't seen in another Melville work.

The audacious decision (and maybe a bit sacrilegious) to take Jean Paul Belmondo (Léon Morin) and dress him as a priest panned out beautifully: his reserve, and steely emotion was perfect for the role. On the other hand, to make Emmanuelle Riva (Barny) a young, lusty, atheist, widow who ends up converting under the young priest's tutelage was even more daring.

As Morin and Barny begin their relationship, on strictly ecclesiastical terms, we see the sparks flying: and the attempts to suffocate them. Profound and specific theo-philosophical issues are addressed by the two characters. Barny is a sworn atheist who states, "Religion is the opiate of the masses!" Surprisingly, Father Morin has opinions of his own, though he admits and affirms to only having one Shepard, Christ. For a while, the two agree to disagree and seem to enjoy each others company. The visits that continue seem to act as a form of distraction from the devastating war that is unfolding all around them. At one point, we watch in the reflection of a business window as some jews are brutally rounded up and thrown into the back of a van. Deaths hit close to home, people change identities, Barny even baptizes her child who is half jewish to protect her. Even further, it was indeed because of the war that this unlikely companionship even happened...

The most profound scene, in my opinion, comes when Morin visits Barny at home to find her chopping some wood. The priest, who has a 'free priest's pass' to just handle the reluctant woman, forces the hatchet from her hands and cuts the rest of the wood for her. She watches patiently, and somewhat, longingly. Having an able bodied male in the home chopping at the wood seems to take its effect on Barny, because shortly afterwards she makes a fatal mistake. She asks the priest, "If you were a protestant priest would you marry me? I need to know, would you have me as your wife?!" Morin, hatchet still in hand, chops into the cutting stump with fury and storms out of the house. The scene is devastating: its over.

The film does not end there, but I can't promise you a less depressing finish. The end leaves the viewer asking themselves, "why?" Inevitably, one wants to start pointing fingers--can't watch this one and walk away without brooding.

le Doulos

Went and saw Le Doulos (1962) last night--one of Melville's finest film-noirs. I was thoroughly impressed: the black and white cinematography, the fog and shadows, the costumes, and smokey bars all contributed to a dark but engrossing mis-en-scène. The serpentine plot (mixed in with intense sixties-style gangster slang) challanged my ability to compeletly follow what was happening, but the film managed to keep me on the edge of my seat. I attribute that in large part to Jean Paul Belmondo's masterful approach to his character, the ambiguous, creepy, but oh-so-smooth Silien. On the other hand, the relentless action doesn't let you lose interest; something new and important is always unfolding. Although, you don't necessarily know where the action is all leading to, for some reason you feel answers are always around the corner. In this way the audience is ensnared until the very bitter end.

The mood of the whole film is reminiscent of a relentless nightmare: just as in a bad dream, fate seems to be in control of its damned actors. Even as Silien offers the only "positive" conclusion to the film with his last spoken words, "In this business, you either die with nothing or you get out early with a little something in your pocket," you know its not possible. Something still has to go wrong.

Le Doulos has easily slipped into one of my favorite noirs, and gangster/ crime sagas.

La Cinémathèque & Melville

I signed up for a "Libre Pass" at the Cinématèque Française today after work. It is essentially a monthly pass, costing ten euro a month, that allows you to enter all screenings, exhibits, workshops, etc. freely. Seeing as I want to enter a Master's program in film next year, I figured I needed some intensive regular study.
The Cinémathèque was designed by Frank Gehry (Disney Music Hall in L.A.) and definitely carries his conspicuous fingerprint. It seems like the perfect building for France's main cinema library.
I immediately took advantage of the pass and went to see one of Jean-Pierre Melville's more unpolished films, L'aîné des Ferchaux (Magnet of Doom, 1963). The film stock itself had clearly taken some abuse over the years; the first few minutes suffered from severe cepia-damage and there was heavy scratching throughout. Nonetheless, the photography, the mise-en-scène, and guerilla-style documentary style that laces the course of the film, produces some stunning footage.
The film stars Jean-Paul Belmondo (Michel), as a failed amateur boxer, who desperately seeks employment from a brash, rich, and shady banker played by Charles Vanel (M. Ferchaux). The later ends up hiring Michel as a secretary, confidence man, and travel companion as M. Ferchaux flees from the law in France into the depths of the America's southern bayou. Though Melville's delivery was a bit clumsy and underdeveloped the film was extremely rich in ideas, experimentation, aesthetics, foreshadowing, and so forth. Unfortunately, the plot is stretched too thin and the film tends to drag a bit as soon as it picks itself up again. Add the rigid American non-actors, the choppy editing, and numerous plot impossibilities and the movie just falls short of a honed, chef d'oeuvre.
In spite of its faults, there's a lot to appreciate: Melville's sampling New Orleans nightlife with a camera shooting from the open car of a moving vehicle, the documentary style of his footage of empty highway stretches, slick diners, smoky bars and neon motel signs, small parts of a puzzle that in clicking together form a different kind of Americana. One seen through the eyes of a European not necessarily fascinated with what he sees. If the boxer's fixation on Frank Sinatra, the son of Italian immigrants much like himself, symbolizes the magic quality of the New World, a motley assortment of thieving hitchhikers, soldiers spouting racial slurs and opportunist, murderous bar owners reveals the seedy underbelly of the American Dream. Furthermore, lovers of the director will note the plot's minimalism, the sparse, intimate dialogues as typical Melvillesque themes in-vitro.
I'm not about to say the film is under-rated, but I thoroughly enjoyed seeing it on the big screen.