THE CINEMA "La Femme du Boulanger " anti " The
March of Time." At the Film Society.
JEAN GIONO must undoubtedly be considered among the front ranks of modern French writers, and Marcel Pagnol no doubt
approached the adaptation of one of his finest works with considerable trepidation. But the result is enchanting ; and the poor film critic is once again baffled by the phenomenon of a film which eschews much of the technique and polish of cinema and yet achieves an undeniable greatness. One might, indeed, almost accuse it of being shoddily made. The photo- graphy is certainly no more than competent, and most of the film is shot in mid-shots or long-shots notable for their extreme length and unoriginality of angle or lighting. Where, then, does the enchantment lie?
Firstly, in Giono's story. It is a conception worthy of any art, this tale of a village in Provence—full, as are all properly rustic villages, of scandal and family feuds—to which comes a new baker with a young wife of sinister beauty. This baker bakes a bread of surpassing excellence, and when his wife runs away with a handsome young satyr of a shepherd, the baker's decision that in the circumstances bread is not worth the baking plunges the village into confusion. The local squire organises search parties (members of whom come back merrily drunk, carrying, in lieu of wife, a pair of horns for the baker), and finally the erring pair are located by an
aged fisherman who sees them, in flagrante, among the marshes
nearby. The young shepherd is by now identified with Satan, and only the Cure is deemed fit to reason with him. Then comes one of the finest phantasies of cinema. The Cure, mounted on the back of his hereditary foe, the schoolmaster, travels with tucked-up skirts across the swamps, calling admonishments across the reeds until the guilty shepherd slips like an eel into the water and leaves his lady to her fate. So the baker's wife returns, on a large cart-horse led by the Cure, while the village, discreet behind locked doors, bolsters up the fiction that she has never lied.
It must be conceded that much of the film depends on the dialogue, which it would be impossible to overpraise, and on the quality of the acting, which in every part maintains a standard conceivable only in France today. Of a large cast it would he tedious to evolve a lengthy roster of praise, but
the Baker himself is played by Raimu, and this magnificent actor really deserves an entire article to himself. He makes of his conjugal love, of his overpowering grief at his wife's absence, and of his resulting lapse into outrageous drunken- ness, an epic portrait of man, simple and human; and he gives to Giono's dialogue that poetic translucence which is its just due. When his wife returns he has a meal ready prepared for her; and as they sit at table he evolves an excuse for her—she has, of course, been to visit her mother. But a moment later a black cat—erring wife of the family torn— also returns, and, with ineffable tendrcsse, he addresses to this animal the gentle reproaches (all too gentle) which his wife deserves. This scene is a perfect example of great acting.
It is probable that no review can give a satisfactory explana- tion of this film's beauty ; one can only hope that it will in due course appear on the public screens. For, although much will perforce be missed in translating the dialogue, purely as a human-comedy of a Provencal village it should be accepted by its audiences as a piece of rare magic. Of all films since Vigo's Atalante, it remains most gratefully in the memory ; and by contrast with it one's praises of Quai des Brumes ring retrospectively a little hollow. Nor is it easy to decide whether La Femme du Boulanger, had it been as well made as Quai des Brumes, would have been any better ; for it is one of the peculiarities; of the cinema that a breaking of all the rules sometimes produces (possibly by chance) a masterpiece.
The Film Society also showed the French version of the Father Divine episode made by the March of Time in 1936.
It is a remarkable document. Why the English version was not permitted is another of those mysteries which are by now too out-of-date to bother about. The other March of Time item concerned itself with Voodoo in Harlem, and, though mildly sensational, lacked conviction ; one became suspicious of some of the sequences as having been too obviously staged.
BASIL WRIGHT.
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