skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Film: La veuve de Saint-Pierre
Year of production: 2000
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Park Circus
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Patrice Leconte
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Daniel Auteuil, Emir Kusturica, Michel Duchaussoy, Philippe Magnan
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France/Canada
Language: French
Review by: Gordon James Knox
La veuve de Saint-Pierre (The Widow Of Saint Pierre) is a period drama set on an isolated archipelago just off the Canadian cost in the days of the Second French Republic. Despite starring two of France’s most revered actors in Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil, the film didn’t exactly set the world alight upon its original 2000 release. A stranger film than might be anticipated, La veuve… contains enough originality and moments of genuine inspiration to steer clear of Merchant Ivory territory and justify this re-release.
In 1849 on the island of Saint-Pierre, fisherman Ariel Neel Auguste is sentenced to death after being found guilty of the murder of the fishing boat Captain, Coupard. Since there is no guillotine on the island, arrangements have to be made to ship one in from the island of Martinique. In the meantime, Neel is placed under the custody of Captain Jean, Captain of the troops in Saint-Pierre.
While spending his days in the cell waiting for the guillotine and executioner, Neel is invited by the Captain’s kindly wife, Pauline, to assist her in her garden. Soon a growing bond develops between Neel and Pauline, watched over approvingly by her trusting husband, as she teaches him to read and allows him the freedom to perform odd jobs around the island.
Less pleased with Neel’s rehabilitation and integration into the community of Saint-Pierre is the island’s governing elite. Anxious to push ahead with the execution as a means of asserting their authority and maintain their privileged status, they are only too aware of the increasing popularity of the man they condemned to death. Their fears are soon realised as the islanders voice their opposition and make it clear they will in no way assist in Neel’s execution.
Finally, the guillotine arrives, shortly followed by a destitute immigrant who the authorities pressure into accepting the role of executioner. Tensions soon come to a head, and when the Captain makes it clear to the island governor that he will refuse orders to shoot on the crowds in the event of a riot over Neel’s execution, the governor writes to Paris accusing him of sedition. It is not long before Jean’s life also hangs in the balance…
The original French title of the film loses something in translation. ‘La veuve’ does indeed mean ‘widow’ in French, but it is also 19th century slang for the guillotine, similar to the American slang of ‘widowmaker’. Thus, the ‘veuve’ of the title refers both to the execution device which has to be shipped onto the island as well as to the eventual fate of Pauline. A certain element of miscommunication carries over into the film: a period piece which attempts to act simultaneously as an indictment of capital punishment, as well as a portrayal of the lengths people will go to for love and their ideals, it doesn’t always come together in a convincing manner. If it was not for the fact the film was based on actual events preserved in court records, the story itself would seem scarcely believable.
Some of the film’s shortcomings may be explained by Patrice Leconte only assuming the role of director at the 11th hour (the original director, Alain Corneau, dropped out of the project just four months before shooting was due to start). Leconte has been quite open in admitting his main motive in accepting the project was the opportunity to work with Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil. Two of the brightest stars in French cinema, their performances are the main reasons to catch the film.
Only last year, Gerard Depardieu caused something of a stir in French film circles by launching a scathing attack on the acting abilities of Binoche, the darling of French cinema. Her performance here is unlikely to change the opinion of Depardieu, but it is another example of why many consider Binoche the finest actress of her generation. She gives yet another excellent, accomplished performance; everything below the surface, in stolen sideward glances, in slight but telling gestures. Resolutely unspectacular, so naturalistic and subtle that you don’t realise how much she is actually communicating until afterwards. It appears simple, only because Binoche’s talent makes it appear so effortless.
Autuiel’s performance is equally fine, and even more low-key, so carefully contained that, at times he appears almost unhinged. And perhaps there is something in this. The theme of sexual desire verging on obsession was explored by the director in his earlier Monsieur Hire, Le Mari de la coiffeuse and Le Parfum d'Yvonne, and it’s definitely at work here. One society lady, noting the way the Captain watches his wife, remarks to her companion, “He devours his lady with his eyes.” These society ladies often provide astute observations, a generally reliable chorus to the action of the story (an example of the film’s subtle unconventionality). The companion responds to that comment with the claim that their own husbands would be similarly attentive should their wives take up a handsome burly protégé for themselves. The juxtaposition of a scene where Pauline teaches Neel to read, their growing attraction to one another quite palpable, with a particularly impassioned love scene between the Captain and his wife seems to confirm this. Is the rehabilitation of Neel simply a form of foreplay, unconscious or not, for the couple; a testing of their love? Is this the significance of Pauline’s sensuous red dresses, the dark carmine so conspicuous among the washed out greys and subdue hues of the cinematography: a dangerous game both are playing that will eventually result in the shedding of blood?
This ambiguity makes for interesting viewing, but it does tend to clash with the fatalistic nature of the film and the way it plays out as pure tragedy in the classical tradition. While some may find the ambiguity and shades of grey enthralling, others may see confusion and a lack of focus in the presentation of the film’s main message and themes, compounded by the filmmaker’s predilection for offering up questions rather than answers. The relationship between the Captain and his wife is successful (mainly due to the nuanced performances of Autuiel and Binoche), but the character of Neel is less convincing. Since the director focuses mainly on his rehabilitation, there is little effort given to explain the inexplicable murder at the beginning of the film. “They aren’t punishing the man they sentenced,” Pauline proclaims. The only problem is what we see on screen doesn’t quite back this up. Neel does not really change, since we know little about him prior to his imprisonment; he is essentially portrayed as a gentle giant, essentially good, even saint-like, forever putting the needs of others before his own (even at the risk of his own life). None of this is the fault of Emir Kusturica (better known as a director in his own right, he is quietly impressive in his acting debut), but can be attributed to significant gaps in the initial development of his character. A more interesting question raised by the film but never truly explored is that of the capability of ‘good’ people to commit ‘evil’ acts. The same themes of crime and punishment, rehabilitation, redemption and responsibility touched upon in Le veuve were explored with far greater sensitivity and thoughtfulness in Tim Robbin’s Dead Man Walking. In its desire to hammer home its anti-capital punishment stance, La veuve sacrifices psychology and crucially its overall impact.
La veuve de Saint-Pierre is a good film, although far from a great one. It’s handsomely shot, with fine set design and costumes, and excellent performances from two of France’s greatest actors. Ultimately, though, it’s let down by some muddied thinking and a lack of substantial depth behind its ideas. An intriguing, if somewhat frustrating film.
![]()
Film: Le Bossu
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 124 mins
Director: Philippe de Broca
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Fabrice Luchini, Vincent Perez, Marie Gillain, Yann Collette
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: France
An adaptation of Paul Feval’s 19th century historical novel, Phillippe de Broca directed the 1997 French film version of Le Bossu (The Hunchback). A lavish and handsome production, Le Bossu (released in some English speaking countries under the title On Guard) provides much in the way of buckle and swash; mixing real historical elements from its early 18th century setting in France with added drama and adventurous derring-do thrown in.
Forming a friendship with the famous French swordsman the Duke of Nevers (Vincent Perez), Lagardere (Daniel Auteuil) follows his friend and sword fighting mentor as the Duke travels to remote countryside to marry the mother of his infant daughter Aurore (Marie Gillain). However, Nevers’ dastardly cousin Gonzague (Fabrice Luchini) stands to lose his inheritance of the Duke’s fortunes with the discovery of Aurore’s birth, and ruthlessly orders the killing of the Duke and his entire wedding party.
Gonzague takes Nevers’ devastated would-be wife as his own, and lands the killing blade stroke to Nevers when he is not looking. Yet, unbeknownst to Gonzague (who assumes the pair drowned), Lagardere survives the onslaught of the henchmen and saves Aurore from harm. Before Gonzague gets away from the scene, Lagardere manages to brand his hand with a mark from his blade, so that he may recognise the perpetrator of his master’s downfall. As he lies near death, the Duke of Nevers requests vengeance by Lagardere on his behalf, no matter how long it may take him to achieve.
With sixteen passing years, Lagardere has brought up Aurore and passes on the legendary secret of the ‘Nevers Attack’ sword thrust. Concealed within a travelling troupe, Lagardere and Aurore live peacefully until the devious Gonzague discovers that they are still alive, and sends his scarred main henchman Peyrolles (Yann Collette) to hunt them down. Yet the wily Lagardere has a trick up his sleeve to finally gain vengeance for his friend the Duke, gaining Gonzague’s confidence in his guise as a hunchbacked financier, with the aim to reclaim the Duke’s estate in the name of the rightful heiress Aurore…
A major part of the success (in addition to some of the excess) of director Phillippe de Broca’s Le Bossu lies in the sumptuous period styling of the film, with a shine on the screen and bright colours of the Duke’s splendour shot by cinematographer Jean-Francois Robin (along with costume design by Christian Gasc) feeling wonderfully evocative of Enlightenment era France. This backdrop adds to the sense of peril and adventure in the film, as well as adding an almost mythical fairytale-esque glow to the events and swashbuckling proceedings.
Daniel Auteuil gives a stirring performance as the heroic Lagardere, who is following in the footsteps of Vincent Perez’s ridiculously charismatic Duke of Nevers. Le Bossu’s numerous sword fighting scenes, featuring multiple onscreen characters, are certainly extremely well choreographed, where the style of the legendary ‘Nevers Attack’ is a suitably heroic movement with gruesome visual consequences.
However, despite the Le Bossu’s extravagant stylings and highly enjoyable swordplay, de Broca’s film never feels quite sure of its dramatic intentions, and occasionally crosses into somewhat parodic territory. The performances of the lead actors (whilst played sincerely) come across in a fairly pantomimic fashion, undoubtedly accentuated by the over-the-top (yet no less impressive) period setting. While Auteuil’s performance is gleeful and entertaining, some smaller dramatic moments with Marie Gillain’s Aurore are also somewhat stilted.
Fabrice Luchini is highly engaging as the scheming baddie of the story in a way that is reminiscent of a French language version of Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves. Yet, consequently, the over-the-top elements of the character feel rather pantomimic, and Luchini’s character Gonzague lacks real menace despite his foul deeds and extroverted villainy. For instance, Lagardere is able to infiltrate the inner workings of Gonzague’s operation by using his penchant for hunchbacked servants against him, successfully going under the guise of a hunchback financier. Gonzague’s main henchman Peyrolles (a wonderfully disconcerting Yann Collette) is also blatantly villainous in appearance, serving as the scarred and twisted muscle behind Gonzague’s plots to kill off his nemeses.
Despite these eccentricities, Le Bossu remains consistently enjoyable throughout its two-hour running time. The superb sword fighting set pieces and adventurous scope almost compensate for the film’s misgivings, and allow the viewer to be transported to a time of heroism and rumbustiousness in a significantly heightened crowd-pleasing way.
An entertaining swashbuckling romp, Philippe de Broca’s Le Bossu portrays a painterly view of 18th century France in lavish sets and locations. Daniel Auteuil is a charming rogue in his portrayal of Lagardere (although perhaps Gerard Depardieu was too busy filming Leonardo DiCaprio’s The Man In The Iron Mask to take the role at the time), where Fabrice Luchini and Yann Collette are suitably devious as the villains of the piece. An enjoyable, audacious and fun-filled adventure. DB
Film: Hidden
Release date: 19th June 2006
Certificate: 15
Running time: 113 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Juliette Binoche, Maurice Benichou, Annie Girardot, Bernard Le Coq
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France
Being spied on as we go about our daily lives is virtually impossible to avoid in CCTV-covered cities across the globe, but in Hidden, director Michael Haneke’s 2005 thriller, surveillance is given a far more ominous dimension.
Georges and Anne Laurent are a married upper-middle class couple who enjoy a comfortable, if slightly muted existence in the stylishly understated, book-lined Parisian home they share with their 12-year-old son Pierrot.
Both Georges and Anne have good jobs that they seem to enjoy: Georges is the host of a TV chat show about literature and Anne works for a publisher. They have dinner parties with friends, and tend to the needs of their slightly sullen son, but we see their routine being shattered right at the beginning of the film, when they watch and try to make sense of a video that has been anonymously left at their front door.
The video, shot from an adjacent street, shows them leaving their home on their way to work. Who sent it and why is a mystery, but as further videos and disturbing drawings begin to appear, Georges is forced to look back to his childhood, and an episode from his past that he would have preferred to remain hidden.
At first, Georges is unwilling to share his suspicions about a young Algerian boy who his parents adopted then later sent away, and his relationship with his wife suffers as a result, but as events unfold and edge beyond his control, his past comes messily spilling out, with terrible results…
There is no neat conclusion to the events that unfold in Hidden, and Haneke deliberately avoids providing the audience with a definite answer as to who was responsible for the videos and drawings. Whether this makes him a bold provocateur or a perverse fraud is a matter that has divided many viewers and critics, but what is certain is that Haneke enjoys unsettling audience expectations, and disobeying narrative conventions.
Frustrating, thought-provoking or both, Hidden is not afraid to touch a few raw nerves in its treatment of everything from colonialism and marital fidelity to childhood innocence and guilt. If there was a Hollywood remake of Hidden, and Haneke chose not to direct to it himself (as he did in the case of Funny Games), such topics would no doubt be dealt with in a far less ambiguous, open-ended way, but that is not the case here.
Haneke seems to revel in the insecurity and lack of certainty that plagues his characters, and he makes sure that we, as viewers, share in this unease. At times, you are not even sure whether what you are watching is part of the main body of the film or a section of one of the surveillance tapes. The two blur into one another, and we can’t help but be drawn into this voyeuristic, deeply unsettling world, wanting to see and know more.
Daniel Auteuil (Georges) and Juliette Binoche (Anne) are both exceptional in their roles, each expertly drawing out the nuances in their respective characters. It’s difficult not to sympathise with Georges as his cool facade unravels under the pressure, but, at the same time, you question who the real Georges is, as he begins to show increased aggression and an inability to own up to his past mistakes. Anne, too, elicits conflicting responses in the way she responds to the growing turmoil: at times vulnerable and confused, at others tetchy and self-centred.
Lester Makedonsky’s Pierrot, likeable yet prone to typical preteen sulkiness, is cleverly kept on the margins and we’re never quite sure what he makes of his parents. Does the Eminem poster in his room signal a rejection of parental control, or is he just another well-to-do kid going through growing pains?
There are significant stretches of the film where not a lot really happens, and the tone is one of detachment, as though what is happening to Georges and Anne is more of a rude inconvenience than a crisis in the making, but this only serves to make the film’s shocking moments all the more powerful and emotionally jarring.
The final scene, a static long shot showing pupils leaving a school, is quietly devastating in the way it echoes the earlier surveillance footage and suggests new, profoundly disturbing possibilities. If you don’t watch very carefully, you may miss this final sucker punch, and the full, quietly chilling effect of Hidden may remain exactly that.
Austrian director Michael Haneke has stated that he uses his films to pose questions rather than provide answers, and it is this approach that makes Hidden such a compelling and memorable viewing experience. JG
Film: MR 73
Release date: 3rd May 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Olivier Marchal
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Olivia Bonamy, Phillippe Nahon
Genre: Crime/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: France
Rounding off his loose trilogy of crime thrillers, Olivier Marchal reunites with Daniel Auteuil for a bleak examination of dark hearts and darker souls. Can the filmmakers’ innate humanity and compassion counter a cinematic vision almost wilfully devoid of optimism?
Twenty-five years after apprehending Subra, the most depraved serial killer he had ever encountered, Detective Schneider finds himself on the trail of another fiend who is committing atrocious sexual murders. Unbeknown to him, Subra - now 68 years old - is on the verge of being released from prison, having convinced the parole board of his spiritual redemption. This development is deeply troubling for Justine, the now grown-up daughter of Subra’s last victims, who reaches out to Schneider in an attempt to gain some kind of understanding and closure.
Schneider must battle his demons - internal and external, present and past - as he attempts to put the pieces together before any more murders take place, knowing all the while that inner peace will likely elude him…
Sharing tonal and thematic similarities to recent Euro-breakout The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but significantly less pleased with itself, MR 73 is a quietly gripping dark thriller that quickly recovers after a decidedly clunky opening sequence - a brief bus-siege scene that is as listless as the protagonist, Detective Schneider - a jaded drunkard who is, naturally, something of an investigative savant. Curiously unimaginative in its construction, and oddly static in its execution, the opening feels like a hastily rewritten overture designed purely to function as a memorable intro to our leading man. But after shaking off this early stutter step, and settling down into a deliberately paced, slow-burn narrative split into two initially disconnected halves, MR 73 proceeds with a novelistic attention to character and nuance that is as rewarding as it is troubling.
By juxtaposing a present day investigation into a sexual serial killer with more emotional fare involving young Justine and her inability to overcome the trauma of seeing her parents savagely murdered, the film makes up in low-key intrigue what it lacks in narrative momentum, especially in the first half. This is a thriller less concerned with ‘who did it’ than it is with lifting the veil off its players, and letting an audience gaze upon tortured souls, twisted minds and helplessly dark hearts. Its narrative may not prompt the audience to guess along with the investigators, but it is uncompromising in its refusal to spare them any emotional gut punch as the story unfolds.
Holding it all together is the phenomenal Daniel Auteuil, whose Detective Schneider is as magnetic as he is pitiful, Marchal’s leading man somehow managing to present every ‘haunted ’tec’ cliché in the script, with an engrossing humanity that makes the character seem fresh. It is a towering performance that dominates the film, and if the supporting cast doesn’t quite match him in the innate watchability stakes, Marchal’s commitment to a stark realism leaves each role teeming with conviction.
The darkness of the characters is matched by the saturated palette of the cinematography, the director’s keen eye picking out the bleakness of the cityscape, with admirable resistance to ‘seedy’. The Marseille streets, even in daylight, are no more inviting than Subra’s prison cell, and it’s to the filmmakers’ credit that its look and tone is not overwhelming for an audience. The humanity to the characters ultimately staves off any invasion of ‘jaded’ or ‘defeatist’ into the tone, making the time spent with troubled and troubling people wholly worthwhile.
A harsh, uncompromising French thriller that skimps neither on gore nor nihilism. This is dark-hearted filmmaking, but even at the end of his loosely connected ’police trilogy’, Olivier Marchal can still find new spins on old staples. The key is in the characters. JN
