Making Waves[1] with French Cinema (The 400 Blows and Le Circle Rouge)

Sydney Lumet’s first chapter in Making Movies was titled “The Director:  The Best Job in the World.”  He begins describing his workplace or rehearsal hall—a former ballroom for the Ukrainian National Home.   It is not the most inviting place, and it is the least place where one would expect creativity. He admits “I don’t know why I feel like this, but rehearsal halls should always be a little grungy” (Lumet 4).

My workplace is not grungy. It is a classroom. It is inviting. And it is the best job in the world. I am enveloped in a dark room along with young spectators. They have a strange look on their faces when I say “I’m going to through you in the fire.” Sometimes, I am not sure whether they are listening, and I would say the most outrageous statement such as throwing them into the fire just to check. Towards the end of the year, I knew for sure they were listening, especially when they talk about the films and directors that engaged them the most.

To take a film course, especially in high school, is baptism by fire. (Some admitted that they have never heard of the name Hitchcock.)   The canon or “classics” are fading off into the distant. Therefore, in Film Criticism and Theory, I want students to be exposed to directors that I know for sure they will never seek out—Melville, Clément, Bergman, Truffaut, Malle, Fellini, Olmi—to name a few. When it comes to creating a film list, I carefully select films that will best exemplify the theory as well as its respective modes of thinking and/or critical rhetoric (i.e., the language expressions used to critique a film within a specific theoretic lens.) Therefore, when it comes to theory, I have the following learning continuum in mind while simultaneously pairing the theories with the “right” films:

• Technical
• Technical and conceptual
• Technical, conceptual, and thematic

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Every year, I am in a quandary when it comes to deciding what films to teach, since I want them to get the best of both worlds: the understanding of theory and the acquisition of film literacy (especially when it comes to the canon and arthouse cinema.)

Last year, the films from Criterion Collection (especially the international films) were the favorite films amongst my 2015 students. This is why I created a list of international films for this website.  As Film Criticism and Theory wrapped up its second year, the French films made the biggest impact on my students’ cinematic studies. Purple Noon [archetypal theory (the Dionysos archetype)], 400 Blows (genre theory), Le Circle Rouge (genre theory), and Au Revoir Les Enfants (ideology) were among the favorites. They were this year’s films that will burn in their memory. A student admitted that he spent his spring break watching French films because he enjoyed the French films we studied in class.

As mentioned in my other posts[2], cinema is intellectually inviting to all disciplines—but with selected films. Its legitimatization as an academic discipline for both the cinematic and language arts (at the very least) continues to astound me. Something dynamic happens when a community of spectators comes together to think about film. In Pauline Kael’s preface to For Keeps, she talks about her “hyper-intelligent” readers whom she felt were out to get her (but in a good way) when they read her film reviews.[3] They were eager to call her out when she has forgotten about an aspect of the film or failed to fully explore a specific part in a film. However, such relationship with her readers spurred a more enhanced and thought-provoking spectatorship. From this, film criticism transcended the movie going experience. It created a discourse community that went beyond the mere decision whether to watch the film.

Similarly, learning goes both ways between instructor and students. This is why I love what I do. In a classroom community of spectators, I was definitely open to my students’ discoveries. For instance, in the Coen brothers’ Fargo a student pointed out Frances McDormand’s disciplinarian attitude towards the killer she caught at the end of the film. During the car ride en route to jail, she admonishes him for killing his partner plus others “for a little bit of money.” Her tone was like a mother wagging a “no, no, no” finger at her five-year-old son. Although the people of Fargo may appear to be harmless, idiosyncratic simpletons, there is an underlying evil that also pollutes the cold, stark weather. Because they appear benign on the surface, it makes the gravity of their crime more disturbing. In Fargo, we constantly have to expect the unexpected. I would not have given this scene a second thought without my student’s commentary.

 Why French Cinema?

French cinema is not “fast.”  It is not as gritty as the neorealists. It is not grim and cynical as the noirs or fatalistic as eastern cinema. For the most part, French cinema is cool, atmospheric, stylish and philosophically provocative. Indeed, they are credited to creating one of the greatest movements in cinema, the French New Wave. And what followed after the “waves” were films that also brought more attention to French cinema. Among them were French crime films—another genre students felt deeply engaged in due to its unique examination of the antihero.

The birth of the New Waves, which happened around the 1950s, was timely. Traces of the German Occupation and World War II were still in effect, making the recovery challenging, especially in the French film industry, which was ravaged by war, leaving the studios financially destitute. To speed the recovery, the French film industry wanted to compete with Hollywood. Because of this, content was sacrificed, since the studios decided to imitate the Hollywood “fluff” with the intent that it will be able to compete with major Hollywood films. Producers—not directors—were given the power to decide what type of films to create. Directors were primarily used as technical consultants or technicians who enslaved themselves to the demands of commercial filmmaking as opposed to progressive and free-thinking film artists (Ezra 158). The purpose of the Hollywood-like films is to create a form of escape from the past—in spite of the fact the memory of World War II and the German Occupation continued to emotionally plague the French. The French New Wave directors wanted to deal with the situation head-on with dark, brooding themes.

What made the French New Wave films so provocative and alluring is its refusal to create films that dismiss the harsh realities precipitated by World War II. This brought forth a new type of approach to filmmaking that distinguished it from big studio productions that only wanted to emulate the Hollywood “style.” On the other hand, directors of the French New Wave defied polished narratives techniques that were ubiquitous in the American studio films and/or bigger productions. With a smaller budget, the directors made use of their limited filmmaking tools and created films with unknown actors, jump cuts, on location shooting, and hand held shots. Not only were these techniques considered a rebellion against the typical conventions of filmmaking, they also became identifiably French New Wave, which garnered attention from other directors. This new approach to filmmaking led to a subculture of directors known as auteurs. The term auteur and auteur theory assert that the director is the sole artist of the film work where his signature and artistic style reflect his personal visionary stamp on his work. Auteur eventually became a significant part of the lexicon for film criticism.

Needless to say, the movement was a breath of fresh air—both in form as well as content. For instance, the French were no stranger to the philosophy of existentialism—as its literary zenith began after the Second World War and credited to writers like Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus (which we also read and studied in Film Criticism and Theory), Simone deBeauvoir—to name a few. Its philosophy became a part of popular culture dogma as existential themes made its way into French cinema. Because France was still in a state of post-war malaise, they rejected political and social idealism and such pessimism was eventually pushed to the forefront amid the French New Wave movement.

 Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959)

Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows became the quintessential French New Wave because it spoke to the mass audience.   I can attest to this on a personal level. My French teacher in high school showed us the first half of the film and then refrained from showing the second. When we asked him why he decided he did not finish the film, he thought we were bored with the film. This obviously was not the case, as I distinctly remember the black and white images of a young boy being spun around in an amusement park ride and being slapped by his parent in front of school authorities.

The timelessness of the film’s themes of alienation and displacement while explicitly criticizing and exposing the absurdity and disappointments of marital, familial, occupational, and educational institutions continues to resonate in audiences today.  It consists of an affront to life’s socially prescribed conventions as it chronicles a young schoolboy’s life, Antoine Doinel (Jeanne-Pierre Léaud), who is having trouble finding his place in the world. Both parents are too busy with their own lives to provide him a more consistent upbringing. To make matters worse education becomes a hostile world. Adults (especially as authority figures) are ineffectual. They are far from understanding the pangs of growing up. As a result, Antoine continues to get into trouble. He lies about the death of his mother in order to create an excuse for being absent from school. He steals a typewriter from an office only to be duped by an adult when Antoine tries to sell it to him. He runs away from home in hopes to prove he is a man. When he skips school to go to an amusement park, the camera catches an unforgettable point-of-view-shot of Antoine’s dizzying glimpse of the world while he is on a merry-go-round-like ride that spins him around. This becomes symbolic of his life spinning out of control.

To young spectators of the 21^st century where divorce is still rampant, the nuclear family is a rarity, loneliness continues to be exacerbated by technology and social media, alienation becomes the only way to protect oneself from a befuddled and hostile world, reality television is false realism, Facebook is “fake” book, the mundane and the trivial become a last resort to passing time, and political dissension continues to plague the world, The 400 Blows becomes the voice of the disconcerted youth. Since the New Wave directors were young as well, born around the 1930s, it is not a surprise that their themes brought upon a camaraderie between youth and artist, especially during the New Wave’s hey day. It is also not a surprise the film still speaks to young spectators today.

Last, what also makes The 400 Blows more compelling is the open-ended narrative at the end of film. It is the atypical rites of passage—not usually attempted in American cinema. Towards the end of the narrative when Antoine runs away again, but this time, from a reform school, he reaches a final destination where he is caught between land and sea, a symbolic representation of past and future respectively. This final destination is an indication of the choices he must make in life. How does he remove himself from the absurdity, the corrosiveness of the socially prescribed conventions that he cannot come into grips with? This failed existential reconciliation makes his character compelling. Antoine was a young leading pioneer to face this existential quandary. As Jim Stark (James Dean of Rebel without a Cause) was the poster boy for the rebellious youth, then Antoine Doinel was the poster boy for the restless youth.   And this is what makes many of the young spectators feel so close to Antoine. Even in an unsettling world today, the future remains an enigma for young adults. Therefore, they must examine their lives closely and be cognizant of who they are and how they are placed in this world. And there is no other film that paves the way to this unforgettable self-exploration but through The 400 Blows.

 Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Circle Rouge (1970)

 What makes a great crime film? When I saw Ocean’s 11 (2001) by Steven Soderberg, a more modern crime film, it was unequivocally anticlimactic. I did not think it was cool, and I definitely was not impressed with the heist—an overdue plot that is badly needed in modern Hollywood. What makes Ocean’s 11 a shameful heist in comparison to Melville’s Le Circle Rouge is its desperate coolness, using Hollywood A-listers (George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Julia Roberts) and smooth scoring in hopes to carry a weak film. As big shot stars, their mere function is to make the film fashionably Hollywood, consequently abandoning the narrative. The entire film was choppy and disjointed and when we were finally led to the heist, I was completely lost. The film indulges on how cool Clooney and Pitt can exchange witty quips. The dialogue eventually became noisy and unnecessary.

But to be fair, the French are indebted to the Americans when it comes to crime films. They studied the genre extensively to an extent where some of the classical influences were apparent.   When I saw Jacques Becker’s Touchez pas au Grisbi (1959) for the first time, I almost forgot I was watching a French film. It possessed the classical American template: the weary and aging gangster (Jean Gabin), the beautiful and untrustworthy femme fatale (Jeanne Moreau), and the corrupt world driven by greed.

But the French has a unique subtle, coolheaded, slick, and unobtrusive style when it comes to telling a great crime story in addition to giving us the opportunity to experience the sophisticated underground world of criminals. Pauline Kael credits the French for their “poetry” (more specifically, their flair for existentialism) in their crime films while embracing the emblematic angst found in American crime cinema, that is, the struggle to maintain idealized values in an urban world (148). For the criminals, life will never be ordinary—a sacrifice that goes along with their choice of occupation. Underground criminals are anonymous (almost invisible) to the world. They prowl through the world in the darkest of nights carrying out an impossible plan and willing to accept whatever consequences. Their purpose carries an unusual sense of sacrifice and martyrdom—and most importantly, a higher sense of existential consciousness.

Our exposure to antiheros stems from the classical Hollywood noir. They are cynical, pessimistic, and world-weary but still get the job done.   And their placement in a French film makes their prototype more distinguished—because they are criminals and not detectives. This is what makes Melville’s Le Circle Rouge exceptional. The antiheroes are very much aware of their fate. Corey (Alain Delon), a mobster who is newly released from jail, Vogel (Gian Maria Volontè) an escaped criminal, and an ex-cop and expert marksmen Jansen (Yves Montand) come together to confront their purpose, their fate, their existence in life while they plan the most elaborate and methodical jewelry heist. The only place they have in the world is the underworld of crime. Corey, upon his release from jail returns to his mobster boss for financial help and realizes his time spent in jail was done in vain—especially after he discovers that his boss has committed the ultimate betrayal, that is, carry on a sordid affair with his girlfriend who supposed to be waiting for him.   Jansen, haunted by horrific hallucinations or “the beast” (i.e., effects of his drug addiction), finds a moment of reprieve by feeling useful again as an expert marksman—but this time for criminals and not for the police force.   Vogel has no future, incarcerated and outside of incarceration. He is well aware that a corrupt and obsessive detective (known for extorting his witnesses) does not play a fair game in chasing him. The detective is not an “[agent] of order” (as Thomas Schatz puts it)[4], but rather a perpetuation of corruption.  His job is only an obsession. There is nothing else left for him in his life. He returns to his flat with a family of cats waiting for him after a long day of work.

If these criminals are going to go down, they will go down in style.  This is why the heist becomes the highest point in their lives. They will carry it out even if it means risking their freedom and/or their lives. Melville’s existential anti-heroes are lawbreakers—but honorable ones with unique and admirable moral sensibilities. They are dedicated to each other and they are dedicated to the life they choose to live.

Moreover, Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Circle Rouge is considered a “slow” film. It almost dialogue-free and it has moments of reflective and brooding silence. The narrative syntax works in a unique cause-and-effect style; however, its cause-and-effect momentum is not immediate, that is, its syntactical structure does not rhythmically alternate between “the cause” and “the effect” in order to increase the narrative pace. (There were students who were a bit impatient during the screening of the film, but immediately felt rewarded for their patience once the “effect” takes place.) The exposition (the cause) is long and draw-out. The effect (that is, the shift, movement, or rising action that develops from the exposition) takes into effect approximately one-third into the film. For instance, it takes a while for Corey and Vogel to meet—and when they do, it is by chance, a chance that was meant to be along with the consequences that result from it—hence the title of the film.  This smooth, cool, slow narrative makes its way to a twenty-five minute climax that includes an elaborate, carefully planned jewel heist that is dialogue-free. The ambient sounds—from the sudden unlocking of the jewelry cases to the bar gates opening—are intensified, especially after previously sitting through long moments of silence.   The entire sequence is careful, pithy, rhythmic and meticulous.

Why do some of the young spectators gravitate towards this film in spite of the fact it takes a lot of effort to follow the narrative?   Young spectators are able to be active in filling in the gaps.   Patience is a virtue because it provides the cerebral energy to pull the narrative together.   Thus, as spectators, we, too, are cool, calm, and methodical.   We are invited into the narrative. From this, we are also inside the minds of Corey, Vogel, and Jansen.

And with this invitation, we are okay with the tragic and anticlimactic ending to this film.   Since the start of the film, we know what is in store for these men. They know one wrong turn can be lead to tragic consequence. Taking risks is what the life of crime is all about.   In the broadest of daylight, enveloped by biting cold weather, they are killed in cold blood. To the detectives they are mere criminals, but to us, they are men of honor.  We like reversals.  Good is not always good. Bad is not always bad. We have grown to admire these antiheroes.  In contrast to today’s heroes such as the superheroes that dominate the entertainment industry (an offshoot of the crime genre), they are too dry. We are bored with their superpowers and their panache. Their so-called legend ran its course even in their clichéd attempt to be complex through their ambivalence towards their “greatness.” The hero-worship is already a given because the narrative is laid out for you. Warped by the dictum of Hollywood franchise, their woes are far from being existential. They await an extension of their lives in their subsequent sequel. But not in a crime film like Le Circle Rouge. The reality is compelling—it leaves room where anything is possible including tragic, but honorable consequences.

August 24, 2016

Specifically written for class of 2016 Film Criticism and Theory

 Bibliography

 Thompson, Kristin and David Bordwell, eds. Film History: An Introduction. 2^nd ed. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2003.

Kael, Pauline. For Keeps: 30 Years at the Movies. New York: Penguin Group, 1994.

Lumet, Sydney. Making Movies. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

Nowell-Smith, Geoffrey. Making Waves: New Cinemas of the 1960s. New York: Contiuum International Publishing Group, Inc., 2007.

Ezra, Elizabeth, ed. European Cinema. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.

[1] I credit this title to Geoffrey Nowell-Smith’s (one of my favorite film essayist) 2007 publication Making Waves: New Cinemas of the 1960s. See list of bibliography at the end of this commentary.

[2] “Musings on Cinema Culture Today” and “Film Lists for the Criterion Collection”

[3] From the introduction of Pauline Kael’s For Keeps. Refer to the bibliography towards the end of this commentary.

[4] Schatz, Thomas. Hollywood Genres.   New York: McGraw-Hill Inc., 1981. 114.