Grand Illusion (La Grande Illusion) 1937 ***

Director Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion (1937) has the distinct honor of being the first foreign-language film nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.  What sets it apart from other war movies about WWI is that there is not a battle to be seen. Instead, it examines the social-psychological world of POW camps—where battlefield enemies become friends, and religion and class take a backseat to survival.  In an outside world composed of chaos and depravity, the prisoners and jailers of the POW camp engage in a concocted world of grand illusion. At its core Grand Illusion is a humanistic film about social class, religion, and duty/honor.

When Lieutenant Maréchal (Jean Gabin) and Captain de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay) are shot down over German territory they become the dinner guests of Captain von Rauffenstein (Erich von Stroheim), the same man who was responsible for their plane going down. As officers, they are treated as honored guests and not enemy combatants—this is von Rauffenstein’s code of honor.  When the Frenchmen are transported to the first of several camps (they like to attempt escapes), they become members of a microcosm of French society. Officers from all walks of life and social class are roomed together—the only things that unite them are their language and nation.  For Renoir, that is enough.

In a European society plagued by blatant anti-Semitism, it is remarkable that Renoir would make one of his principal characters Jewish.  Lieutenant Rosenthal (Marcel Dalio) serves a dual purpose for Renoir. First, Rosenthal is used as the key humanistic figure in Grand Illusion. He is from a wealthy banking family, but he has no pretensions when it comes to his family’s status or riches.  When he receives care packages from home he more than willingly shares his items with everyone. Which goes to the second purpose that Rosenthal serves in the story: an ardent rebuff of Jewish stereotypes and a response to the rabid anti-Semitism taking place in 1937 Nazi Germany (one of the many reasons it was banned there). 

Of all of the relationships in the movie Captain von Rauffenstein and Captain de Boeldieu’s is the most compelling.  For those who do not know, when you see a ‘von’ or a ‘de’ in front of someone’s last name it almost always indicates aristocratic lineage.  Both men are from proud aristocratic families, where men willingly devote their lives to military careers.  They come from a world that above all else complies with duty and honor. To outsiders their behavior might seem haughty and affected, but they know no other way to behave.  Manners and respect must be shown at all times—even to those who are labeled enemies on the battlefield and those who do not belong to their own social class.

The conversations between Rauffenstein and Boeldieu are riveting to watch. These men know that when the illusory polite world of the POW camp ends at the close of the war, so will their refined, aristocratic world. Rauffenstein himself can see this when a common man like Maréchal and a Jew like Rosenthal are recognized as officers just like he and Boeldieu.  Surrounded by those so unlike themselves they seek comfort in one another, which makes Boeldieu’s extreme sacrifice for Rosenthal and Maréchal all the more painful for Rauffenstein. When Renoir has Rauffenstein cut his prized geranium after Boeldieu dies it says more than ten pages of dialogue could ever express.  Just as Citizen Kane (1941) had its Rosebud, Grand Illusion has its geranium.

Stylistically there isn’t an extreme amount to focus on, but that doesn’t take away from the film. Christian Matras cinematography is not what I would describe as breathtaking and there isn’t an overabundance of complex lighting, either.  Still, he employs close-ups to their greatest effect and cleanly comprises his frames.  And, Joseph Kosma’s score does a nice job of setting the melancholic feel of the film. 

Overall, what I most admire about Grand Illusion is the story and the acting. Never before was von Stroheim’s stilted and mannered acting style more called for than in the role of Rauffenstein—for that alone, Renoir should be lauded.  If I have one complaint with the film it is that it goes on about 20-minutes too long.  For me, the movie could have ended after Boeldieu’s death and a closing shot of Rosenthal and Maréchal crossing the Swiss border.  Still, I expect that Renoir was trying to make a statement about the universalism of compassion and love, and so he needed to show that a German woman (Dita Parlo) could give shelter to and eventually fall in love with a Frenchman.  C'est la vie…

The Rules of the Game (La Regle Du Jeu) 1939 **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at The Classic Film & TV Cafe.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Entire books have been devoted to analyzing Jean Renoir's 1939 masterpiece, so it's impossible to do justice to this French classic in a single film review. However, I am constantly surprised by the number of film buffs who haven't seen it, so I feel compelled to promote it--well that, plus it's been a personal favorite since I watched it in college long ago.

Best described as a "comic tragedy," The Rules of the Game focuses on three themes: the relationship between and among the frivilous upper-class and their servants; the complex emotions between men and women; and the boundaries and expectations of society (the "rules of the game").

The film opens with the arrival of Andre Jurieux, a courageous aviator who has just completed a 23-hour solo flight across the Atlantic. As the public stands ready to hear about his heroic exploits, Andre uses the opportunity to whine that he did it all for a woman who didn't bother to be there and greet him. It doesn't matter to Andre that Christine, the woman in question, is married.

Andre's best friend, Octave (Renoir), has a long-standing friendship with Christine (Nora Gregor). He uses his influence to secure Andre an invitation to La Coliniere, a country estate owned by Christine and her husband Robert (Marcel Dalio). Robert is hesitant to agree at first, but Octave convinces him by agreeing to find a husband for Robert's mistress Geneviève (Mila Parely).

At the country gathering of friends, relationships change amidst an avalanche of mixed messages and misunderstandings. A confused Christine contemplates an affair with a stranger, then confesses her love for Andre before realizing that her friendship with Octave may be much more. Meanwhile, her maid Lisette ignores her husband, the gamekeeper, and flirts with both Octave and a poacher-turned-servant named Marceau. It's a classical French farce on the surface, but it's undercut by a condemnation of the bourgeois and concludes with an unexpected tragedy.


Clearly, Renoir wants to expose the emptiness and thoughtless cruelty of the upper classes, the latter conveyed in the film's most famous scene: a hunting party that slaughters dozens of rabbits and pheasants. As if this sequence (which is difficult to watch) needed more conviction, Renoir forsakes his typical long takes for cramming in 51 shots in less than four minutes. The violence is shocking and the analogy--that the bourgeois are indifferently destroying an unsuspecting society--is all the more potent.

It's no coincidence that the only likable members of Renoir's bourgeois are "outsiders." Several of Robert and Christine's "friends" feel sorry for Christine because she's Austrian. Later, we learn that Robert's father was a "Rosenthal from Frankfort"--meaning that he was Jewish. This allows us to feel empathy for them while still accepting that their vacuous life of luxury is no different from their guests.


In Renoir's world, both upper-class and servant classes understand the conventions of society, even though they break them. Octave stresses to Andre that "society has rules." And one of the house maids, upon learning Christine allowed Andre to sit next to her at dinner, expresses concern because "etiquette is etiquette."

It's ironic that the two most pathetic characters--Andre and Geneviève--are the ones who follow the rules at the risk of their own unhappiness. Andre may come across as a lovestruck fool, but he truly loves Christine and knows what he wants. Likewise, Geneviève understands that she doesn't want to lose Robert, although she confesses that "I don't know if it's love or force of habit." In contrast, Christine, Octave, and Robert struggle with trying to figure out what they really want. In the end, their actions seem foolish and perhaps even tragic, but as Octave explains to Robert at one point: "Everyone has their reasons."


The history of The Rules of the Game is almost as fascinating as the film itself. Two of Renoir's previous two films--La bête humaine and Grand Illusion--were big commercial and critical successes (Illusion even earned an Oscar nomintaion as Best Film...not Best Foreign-Language Film). So, it was a tremendous disappointment when Rules of the Games flopped miserably. Renoir even re-edited the film, trimming its running time from 96 minutes to 81. During World War II, the Nazis destroyed all known negatives. Then, in 1959, a restored 109-minute version of the film was released. Renoir approved this version, although it's important to note that he was not involved in the restoration.

Based on shooting scripts, film historians have compared the 81-minute and 109-minute versions. They contend that the shorter film was a harsher indictment of the upper classes, since it reduced or eliminated scenes that fleshed out the characters of Octave and Robert.

Since 1952, Sight and Sound magazine has done a poll of the 100 Greatest Films every decade. The Rules of the Game entered the 1952 poll as #10 and has been  #2 or #3 in every decade since then. The only film to rank above it: Citizen Kane.

A Day in the Country (Une Partie de Campagne) 1937 **

Well, maybe not an entire day—more like 40 minutes—but time, like age, is a matter of attitude anyway.

This 1936 French short film was directed by Jean Renoir about a year before his The Rules of the Game made him a top tier director. This was supposed to be a full-length film, but Renoir encountered some sort of mental block that led him to leave the film unfinished for ten years. In 1946, he turned the surviving footage into a short film. Full-length or short, as per usual, Renoir employs poetic realism to tell a simple but poignant tale (based on a Guy de Maupassant story) about illicit love and lust.

Again picking on the bourgeoisie, Renoir has a Parisian industrialist (Andre Gabriello) take his family to the country for a Sunday afternoon of mingling with provincial types and communing with nature. Evidently this happens a lot, because two male adventurers, Rodolphe (Jacques Borel) and Henri (Georges D’Arnoux) eagerly await the acquaintance of the industrialist’s daughter Henriette (Sylvia Bataille) and his wife Juliette (Jeanne Marken). What transpires is an interesting study of age and class.

On the one hand, you have Juliette and Rodolphe. He is witty and outright blatant about his intentions, while she is keenly aware of the situation and quite happy to be the object of his affection for this one afternoon. To her, it is a nice day in the country with a man who is the total opposite of her husband. Plus, she can have her lustful afternoon adventure and return to her Parisian lifestyle without any regret. On the opposite hand, you have Henriette and Henri.  She is betrothed to the idiotic Anatole (Paul Temps), but has a romantic streak that leads her into the arms of a poor man. While Juliette and Rodolphe are quite content with their fun ending at the end of the day, Henriette and Henri have the soul-crushing knowledge that what could have been a deep, abiding love for the rest of their lives must come to an end with the setting sun.

When I watched this film I remembered what I had read in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book about the ending. Adrian Martin writes, “So what started, in Henriette’s words, as ‘a sort of vague desire’ that calls forth both the beauty and harshness of nature, ends badly, as the ‘years pass, with Sundays as melancholy as Monday.’” While it is a short film, it conveys a powerful message about class expectations and the stupidity of youth. Renoir knowingly uses a beautiful setting to tell us a very a harsh-ending story. 

Just 40 minutes long, and usually found on YouTube, A Day in the Country (Une Partie de Campagne) is a good introduction of Renoir’s style and manner of storytelling.

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.

Boudu Saved From Drowning (1932) **

Are you someone who saw Down and Out in Beverly Hills back in 1986 (attired in some form of stone-washed denim or Lycra skirt) and thought it was hilarious? Yet, somehow, today if someone were to mention it you would say it was terrible and that contrary to what others might say, you never crimped your hair or made the mistake of thinking hair mousse was edible. Oh, the inescapable 80s.

Down and Out in Beverly Hills was a remake of this 1932 French black comedy directed by Jean Renoir and starring the irreverently funny Michel Simon as Boudu. Based on a play by René Fauchois, the story follows Boudu, a dirty, shaggy bum, who is saved from drowning himself in the Seine by bourgeois Parisian bookseller Edouard Lestingois (Charles Granval). The Lestingois family decides to adopt Boudu and make him a “respectable” member of society. They takes him into their home and he (and we) learn just how respectable middle-class Parisian society is!

It would seem that the respectable Edouard is a gentleman. He has a family, a business, and a maid (Séverine Lerczinska), who also happens to be his mistress. At first, his prim and proper wife (Marcelle Hainia) is disgusted by Boudu’s hygiene and poor table manners. Yet, over time she becomes strangely attracted to Boudu (after a haircut) and they have an affair. Meanwhile, Edouard can’t understand why Boudu isn’t more grateful to him for saving him and giving him a chance at respectability. Instead, what he finds is ingratitude from a man who just keeps asking him for more of everything: clothes, food, and money (as well as his wife). What’s comic about Edouard’s bewilderment is that Boudu has become just like him and, in a way, is unhappy. Another humorous turn happens when Boudu finds lottery tickets in one of the jackets Edouard gives him. When he shows them to Edouard the bookseller tells him to keep one for himself. This turns out to be a one-hundred thousand franc winner. With his newfound wealth Boudu is now respectable and marries the maid. Yet, at their wedding party something strange happens. While riding a skiff down the Seine, Boudu reaches down for a water lily and causes the skiff to overturn. While the wedding party swims to the banks, Boudu lets the current carry him away from them. He happily returns to his old, carefree life. In the end, he is saved from drowning in bourgeois respectability.

This film was not released in the United Stated until 1967, but when it got here it became an art house staple. What attracts most to this film is its biting criticism of middle class respectability. It was so scathing that it was banned in France only after a few days in release. Today it seems ridiculous that such a film could get banned, but evidently middle class Parisians couldn’t handle the truth of what they were really like.

Michel Simon is a comic genius as the unkempt Boudu. My favorite scene is when instead of spitting on the floor because he was told it was rude, he spits in a copy of Balzac's Physiology of Marriage. You need only know that the sub-title was Petty Troubles of Married Life to get the joke. Throughout the film Simon displays his adeptness at physical comedy and his perfect comic timing.

One of the things I most remember about the film is how Renoir shot the scenes at the Lestingois’ home and business. Most of the shots are very tight and the set is over-cluttered, which gives these scenes a claustrophobic feel. No doubt, Renoir was making a statement with this approach. And when you contrast the interior scenes to the exterior ones, which are airy and full-framed, you see an entirely different world.

Biting and irreverent, this is a black comedy worth watching.