Criterion Sunday 335: Ascenseur pour l’échafaud (Elevator to the Gallows, aka Lift to the Scaffold, 1958)

Perhaps this is just a stylish crime film with a sort of lovers-on-the-run theme (even if one pair of lovers are very much stuck), but it seems to be a pure expression of its historical moment. It’s channelling the cool of bebop jazz via its Miles Davis score, looking forward to the nouvelle vague with its location shooting and expressive camerawork, and it is just so indelibly French — there’s something about that extreme close-up of Jeanne Moreau saying “Je t’aime, je t’aime” over the phone that is almost camp in its essential Frenchness, the core of how that entire culture would be refracted through anglophone media for decades to come. It may not excavate any deeper psychological truths, but it expertly captures the nerves of people trying to pull off a plot and getting a bit waylaid, along with the fatalistic comedy that seems to unfold as our protagonist, in his perfectionist desire to ensure that one murder is untraceable, unwittingly gets on the hook for another he’s not responsible for. In the end, it relies on our shared (genre-rooted perhaps) understanding about the efficacy of the police, something I don’t think can be relied upon in the years since, but it looks and sounds amazing even after so many years.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director Louis Malle; Writers Malle and Roger Nimier (based on the novel by Noël Calef); Cinematographer Henri Decaë; Starring Jeanne Moreau, Maurice Ronel, Georges Poujouly, Yori Bertin, Lino Ventura; Length 88 minutes.

Seen at home (Blu-ray), London, Friday 17 July 2020.

Criterion Sunday 318: Jeux interdits (Forbidden Games, 1952)

Nowadays this seems to rather divide the critics I follow, though this was hugely lauded on its release (at least internationally), and so I wonder if this plays differently with parents. It certainly fits into the sort of faux-rustic and hazily sentimentalised vision of traditional values that’s always played well to a certain strain of middlebrow filmgoers, at least when it’s in French (and not everything derided by the New Wave as cinéma du papa was bad, but there hasn’t been any shortage of these kinds of titles in all the years since then). Perhaps I’m just betraying some kind of inner cynicism, but this feels too calculated to be effective. The rough, rude peasantry — whether the poor couple seen right at the start who barely give a thought to the bereaved kid, the farmer family who take in Paulette (quite against their instincts), their bitter rivals in the village — all seem to exist solely to contrast with the innocence of the two children. There are also the bookended titles, further pulling this away into the realm of the cozily fabulistic, though the film’s opening minutes have a simple, vicious intensity that is never quite matched for the rest of the running time. Together the two kids make a little graveyard in a derelict mill to all the dead animals they find, starting with Paulette’s beloved dog, getting themselves into trouble with the local priest as the boy starts grabbing all the crosses he can find. I don’t mean to be too down on it, though, because there’s still plenty to commend it, particularly in terms of the expressive acting of these kids. Let’s just say this isn’t to my taste and leave it at that, because it’s certainly brought plenty of others joy.

CRITERION EXTRAS:

  • The disc presents the alternative opening and ending for the film (all that remains in the finished film is the credits written on the pages of a book), but it explicitly has the two kids living happily, hardly peasants any more, and playing by a big pond, where the boy tells the little girl a story about children very much like them. It’s a framing that puts the horrifying context of the film safely in the past, and it’s surely to the film’s credit that they didn’t end up using these sequences.

FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director René Clément; Writers Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost (based on the novel by François Boyer); Cinematographer Robert Juillard; Starring Brigitte Fossey, Georges Poujouly; Length 86 minutes.

Seen at home (DVD), London, Sunday 17 May 2020.