Land Without Bread (Las Hurdes) 1933 *1/2

This 1933 documentary by Luis Bunuel is strange, but not unwatchable. Filmed in a poor region of Spain known as Las Hurdes Altas, this documentary presents the dire conditions faced by the region’s inhabitants through a surrealist lens. Hence, why I found this movie disturbingly strange at times. I just don’t know how one can effectively use surrealism to document the true hardships of a people without violating the documentarian’s unspoken code of neutrality—perhaps Michal Moore is a fan of Bunuel?

The English title of this film is Land Without Bread because bread was nowhere to be found in Las Hurdes—it had to be brought in as a luxury item. Tucked away in a mountainous region, Las Hurdes Altas has poor soil that yields very few crops. The one foodstuff they have an abundance of is honey, and even this isn’t very good—unless, of course, you want to smear a sickly jackass with it and watch bees swarm.

Like in most Bunuel films, the Catholic Church is portrayed as decadent and unmoved by the plight of the poor. Using one of his favorite cinematic tools, juxtaposition, Bunuel goes from depicting malnourished, impoverished people to showcasing the lushness of an abandoned convent.

As a completely isolated region, Las Hurdes Altas suffers from not only bodily starvation but intellectual starvation as well. There are no arts to speak of, and the people practice inbreeding, which in turn contributes to a number of mentally challenged and handicapped people. As I watched Bunuel’s portrayal of these people, I kept asking myself if he could find them why hadn’t the 20th century somehow nudged itself into this horrible place? I suppose that was Bunuel’s point: no one cared if they lived in almost medieval conditions.

I often find it difficult to believe that Bunuel came from a wealthy background. He has an almost searing hatred of everything bourgeois and traditional. In addition, his depiction of his homeland (Spain) is often extremely vitriolic. This, no doubt, contributed to his expatriation under Franco.

Under a half an hour long, Las Hurdes is a disturbing look at a people and region that time forgot. Through shocking images, such as decapitated chickens and countless shots of filth and disease, Bunuel forces his viewer to see, in his words, “hell on earth”.

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Zero for Conduct (Zero De Conduite) 1933 *1/2

I am not a big fan of surrealism and this 1933 French film is pretty darn surreal.

Under 45-minutes long, this Jean Vigo film was based on his own childhood experiences in a French boarding school. Vigo examines the struggle between freedom and authority. He uses his own unique style of poetic realism to create an allegory about the way the lower rungs of society view those who hold all the power. It must have been a thinly veiled allegory, because it was quickly banned in France.

The storyline of this film about school children revolting against their teachers plays a secondary role to the visual elements presented by Vigo. At times it can be difficult to determine what is truly taking place. The children have a number of internal thoughts that are presented as happening in the external. It sometimes takes a moment to realize that what has happened is a farce. For example, when the children have their big “revolution” on the school roof and throw garbage and cans at alumnae at an alumni ceremony, it takes you a second to realize that the alumnae are just dressed up dummies—literally.

The most famous image from Zero De Conduite is the slow-motion pillow fight. With feathers slowly floating through the air, the children eerily march as though they are an army caught in a snowstorm. I must admit, this innovative shot makes this film almost bearable—almost.

Not nearly as bad as other surreal “classics”, such as Bunuel’s An Andalusian Dog and The Age of Gold(1930), Zero De Conduite just isn’t the type of film I enjoy. However, Vigo did make one surrealist film that I do like, L’Atalante (1934). Although Vigo only completed four short films before he died from blood poisoning at age 29, his work was highly influential on the French New Wave. Some critics believe that Francois Truffaut’s 400 Blows was a direct descendant of Zero De Conduite.

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The Bitch (La chienne) 1931 **

This controversial 1931 French drama was director Jean Renoir’s first sound film. Filmed primarily on location in Renoir’s hometown of Montmartre, this film finally brought Renoir the recognition he was denied as a silent film director. Stark and unrelenting (and, oh, so French), this film showcases both Renoir’s visual and spatial acuity, as well as his ability to avoid oversentimentality while unflinchingly staring at human baseness. This film was the beginning of the style that is most associated with Renoir: poetic realism.

Legendary French actor Michel Simon (in his first starring role) plays a henpecked bank clerk named Legrand who falls in love with Lulu (Janie Mareze) after rescuing her from a man beating her on the street. What Lulu neglects to tell Legrand is that she’s a prostitute and that the man who was beating her, Dede (Georges Flamant), is her boyfriend/pimp. Married to a complete harpy (Magdeleine Berubet) who controls their finances and won’t allow him to paint in the house, Legrand finds comfort in Lulu’s “innocence” and sweet nature. He sets her up in an apartment that he finances by stealing from both his wife and his work. When this money doesn’t suffice, Dede begins selling Legrand’s paintings under the name Clara Wood to finance his own café and gambling habits. Unaware that the sales of his artwork are financing Lulu’s pimp, Legrand is not angry when he learns that she’s selling his paintings. It is not until Legrand disentangles himself from his wife and shows up unexpectedly to tell Lulu that he’s going to be all hers that he discovers her deceit. In the end, Lulu meets with a tragic end and Dede gets his comeuppance at the hands of an executioner.

Based on a novel by Fouchardiere, this film was banned in the United States for forty years due to its sexual theme, crude language, and unpunished crime. After watching the scene where Lulu’s true nature is revealed to Legrand, I can see why some people were shocked by the film’s content. As Legrand is proclaiming his love for her and forgiving her indiscretions, Lulu sadistically belittles and laughs at him. This sets up the moment where you figure out why the film’s title is La Chienne. Having had enough of her deceit, it declares: “You’re no woman—you’re a bitch!” And, then some unpleasant things happen with a letter opener. It was 1931, so you have to admit that’s pretty daring. While this film wasn’t shown in the United States until 1975, American audiences did get to see a remake of it, Scarlet Street (1945). Directed by Fritz Lang and starring Edward G. Robinson and Joan Bennett, this film was a MUCH more toned down version.

Overall, the story is interesting to watch. Michel Simon does a nice job of playing an unhappy man who comes to life after falling for a much younger woman and then mentally cracks after he realizes it was all an illusion of happiness. Not my favorite Renoir film, but it serves as good example of how his style developed and allowed him to go on to make masterpieces like Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game.

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The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933) **1/2

Although hailed by many film critics as director Frank Capra’s masterpiece , The Bitter Tea of General Yen is not his most popular film—that would be It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). As a matter of fact, most people wouldn’t believe this was a Capra film if they happened upon it after the opening credits. I read somewhere that Variety said this was the best von Sternberg movie von Sternberg never made and was unlike any other Capra film due to its sexuality. Quite simply, this is the most artistic film of Capra’s career. There’s a reason for this: Capra wanted an Academy Award. He believed the only way he could win one was by creating a work of art, and that’s exactly what he intended to create with The Bitter Tea of General Yen. However, Capra forgot it was 1932/33 and made a controversial picture about a taboo relationship between a Chinese warlord and a virginal, white American missionary. Alas, there was no Academy Award (not even one single nomination for the entire film). Still, he only had to wait one more year for his Oscar dream to be realized by It Happened One Night, so don’t be too sad for him.

Far from a commercial success, this film was chosen to open Radio City Music Hall in 1933. Quite a few people were disturbed as they watched Barbara Stanwyck’s character, Megan Davis, fall out of love with her missionary fiancée ( Gavin Gordon) and into love with the tyrannical, Chinese General Yen (Nils Ather). Women’s clubs across the country denounced the film and wanted it pulled from theatres. In typical Stanwyck fashion, Babs thought these people needed to get “over it”.

Adapted from a story by Grace Zaring Stone, the film takes place in the midst of a civil war in Shanghai. This is an inopportune time to have a destination wedding, but that’s why missionary Megan Davis (Stanwyck) has come to China: to marry her childhood sweetheart and fellow missionary Dr. Robert Strike (Gordon). Whilst trying to rescue orphans, the couple are separated and Megan is knocked unconscious. When she awakens she is the “guest” of General Yen (Ather) on his train car bound for his remote summer palace. General Yen suffers from a multiple personality disorder. He is a complete ruthless bastard to his underlings and enemies, and then a charming gentleman to Megan. The problem for Yen is that Megan sees both sides, which, of course, both terrifies and confuses her. Like all great Stanwyck characters, Megan is spirited and has no reservations about telling Yen he’s a psychopath. This only amuses him and he keeps her around to occasionally distract him from the fact that his own people are trying to destroy him.

The most intriguing elements of the film are Megan’s dream sequence and the poignant final scene between Megan and Yen. In the dream sequence, Megan dreams that a Chinaman/monster breaks into her bedroom (Freud, anyone?). When a masked man wearing Western clothes comes to her rescue, she unmasks him to reveal that it is Yen (who also happens to be at her bedside when she awakens from the dream). Are those 1933 gasps still being heard?

However, I think it was the final scenes between Megan and Yen that caused the most 1933 outrage. Earlier in the film Megan makes a deal with Yen to vouch for his conniving, two-timing mistress Mah-Li (Toshia Mori). If the mistress betrays him again Megan promises to give up her own life. Well, as luck would have it Mah-Li is a total slut and sells Yen out to his enemies, so Megan has to pay the piper his due. But the piper thinks her life is too high a price to pay, especially since he loves her, and he can’t have her shot. Realizing the mistake she has made, Megan gives into her feelings for Yen and decides she must now take Mah-Li’s place. Adorned in full Chinese-styled garb, Megan returns to Yen to wait on him and proclaims that she will never leave him. Ah, but what is the title of this film? The Bitter Tea of General Yen? That’s right 1933 audiences, he has poisoned his own tea, so you don’t have to worry about the white woman living happily ever after with the yellow man. Surely that was some solace to those who were repelled by Megan kissing his hand.

Overall, this is a good film. Shot primarily through filters, Joseph Walker’s cinematography creates a subdued, mystical atmosphere. In addition, both Stanwyck and Ather do superb work with their characters. Ather, especially, does a remarkable job playing the multi-layered Yen. And, Stanwyck is her usual excellent self. Her Megan has just the right mixture of spunk and innocence. Combined, they create one of the oddest and unlikely couples in Hollywood history.

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The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les Parapluies De Cherbourg) 1964 ****

Before her role in director Jacques Demy’s 1964 classic musical, Les Parapluies De Cherbourg, Catherine Deneuve was best known for giving birth to Roger Vadim’s illegitimate son. In a way, this was good preparation for her portrayal of an unmarried, 17-year-old who finds herself pregnant by a boyfriend serving in the Algerian War. Just twenty-years old when this film made her an international star, Deneuve’s melancholic performance was greatly enhanced by an unforgettable Michel Legrand musical score. Nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Foreign Language Film, Best Screenplay, and Best Musical Score, this film won the Golden Palm and the OCIC.

Les Parapluies De Cherbourg is my all-time favorite film. I was in graduate school, studying French history, when a colleague asked what I thought of the French New Wave. This discussion naturally included the French’s love of jazz and films with unhappy endings. This, of course, was a perfect time for my colleague to mention that there was a film that encompassed both of these elements: Les Parapluies De Cherbourg. A lover of musicals since childhood, I jumped at the chance to watch this film once a copy could be procured. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

I suspect I was just as shocked as the audience at the 1964 Cannes Film Festival when I realized that the ENTIRE film is sung (in French, of course)—there is no “traditional” dialogue. Instead, it is a modern day (popular) opera, set primarily to a jazz score. This tends to create a problem for American audiences who overwhelmingly dislike reading subtitles at “normal” speed, let alone at song-lyric speed. About fifteen minutes into watching I turned the subtitles off. My French was passable at the time, so I could mostly keep up with what was being sung.

Legendary French songwriter Michel Legrand, with the aid of Demy and others, wrote a musical soundtrack/script that is at times playful, romantic, and haunting. The most famous song is the title song, “Les Parapluies De Cherbourg” (more commonly known in English as “I Will Wait for You”). The instrumental version, which closes the film in heart-wrenching fashion (you will never forget it once you experience it), is brilliant all by itself. Then, when you set effortless lyrics to the score, it is a phenomenal love song. The closing pass of the song (finished off with a rousing violin-drenched crescendo) is:

Ils se sont séparés sur le quai d'un gare

Ils se sont éloignés dans un dernier regard

Oh je t'aim' ne me quitte pas

Loosely translated, from French to English:

They separated on the platform of a station

They moved away in one last look

Oh I love you does not leave me

The best recorded version of this song is by the Greek diva-extraordinaire Nana Mouskouri. Often imitated but never surpassed by countless covers (by such artists as Tony Bennett and Carlo Berardinucci), it is a timeless song that even after 45+ years doesn’t sound dated. In addition to this gem there are other seamless songs that carry the film along to its eventual devastating conclusion.

Another startling element of the film is the way Demy uses color to carry the story. Cherbourg is an often rainy and dreary port city in Normandy, so the bright blues, oranges, pinks, reds, and yellows that Demy uses in the clothing and overall set design is far from a realistic portrait of the title city. Yet, the virtual Technicolor world that he creates, with bright swatches of color, serves as a co-conspirator in the film. For example, in the beginning of the film everything jumps with color, which corresponds to the happy state of young lovers Genevieve (Deneuve) and Guy (Nino Castelnuovo). In a way the bright pastels serve as blinders—the young, impetuous lovers are surrounded by bright, clear color, but they can’t truly see what lies ahead. However, by the end of the film, when the now irrevocably parted lovers meet by chance one snowy night, there is a notable absence of color. Agnes Varda, Demy’s wife (and a director in her own right) has said that Demy’s use of color was aimed at portraying the violence and the cruelty of the story.

For those who like to see happy endings, there is no crueler ending than what you are given in this film. I have often contemplated why the ending is so emotionally jarring. I think it has a lot to do with the youthful exuberance shown by Genevieve and Guy, who are so much in love at the start of the film. It is a pure and innocent love, which in any other film would have come off as sickeningly saccharin. Then, your heart absolutely breaks at the famous train scene where Guy goes off to Algeria with a teary-eyed Genevieve on the train platform. But that’s okay, because the movie is only half over and you know they are going to get married and have a child named Francoise as soon as he returns—right? After all, she did sing she would wait for him! Oh, but she finds out she’s pregnant and Guy doesn’t write and the next thing you know she’s marrying that wealthy jewel smuggler (Marc Michel) from Lola (another Demy musical, from 1961) who you felt so bad for when his romantic hopes were crushed by that slut Anouk Aimee! Yet, still somewhere in your mind is the thought that Guy will come home and save Genevieve from a loveless marriage and all will be right in Cherbourg. But, alas, that’s not what happens.

Instead, you learn the bittersweet lessons that love does not always conquer all and that not everyone (especially you the viewer) gets a happy ending. Instead, people settle. Genevieve settles for wealth and security; Guy settles for companionship and loyalty. The one small detail that the viewer can take solace in is the unforgettable final scene, where by revealing the names of their respective children, both named Francoise, the couple are somehow still connected—even if they are living different lives they need only say the name of their child and some semblance of what once was pure love remains: “Oh I love you does not leave me.”

This movie made Deneuve a star. Her Genevieve was innocence personified. Called upon to display every emotion, from love to despair, she transforms a naïve, love-struck teenager into a resigned, world-weary woman who accepts that life isn’t always fair. Of course, Roman Polanski and Luis Bunuel couldn’t wait to tarnish that innocence, but that’s a story for another day.

 

This article was nominated for a 2011 CIMBA in the category of Best Film Review (Musical or Comedy). The CIMBA is the CMBA's award for excellence in classic movie blogging.

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