La Grande Illusion *****

 

Next up in the reverse countdown of top 25 1930s films, as no 8 Only Angels Have Wings has already been covered, is no 7, which also continues the World War I masterworks series…

by Allan Fish

(France 1937 117m) DVD1/2

Aka. Grand Illusion

Poor geranium

p  Frank Rollmer, Albert Pinkovitch  d  Jean Renoir  w  Jean Renoir, Charles Spaak  ph  Christian Matras, Claude Renoir  ed  Marguerite Renoir, Marthe Huguet  m  Joseph Kosma  m/ly  Vincent Telly, Albert Valsien  art  Eugène Lourie  cos  Decrais

Jean Gabin (Marechal), Erich Von Stroheim (Von Rauffenstein), Pierre Fresnay (Capt.de Boeldieu), Marcel Dalio (Rosenthal), Julien Carette (Cartier), Edouard Dasté (teacher), Dita Parlo (Elsa), Gaston Modot (surveyor),

Based on the experiences of a flyer he knew during the war, Renoir’s La Grande Illusion is unquestionably one of the masterpieces of the silver screen, a film of incredible humanity set during a period of great inhumanity.  In short, it’s probably the greatest anti-war film ever made, a film that cannot help but move people every time they see it. 

            During World War I German flyer Von Rauffenstein accepts some captured French pilots at his squadron prior to their being sent on to POW camps.  He entertains them most civilly, as befits a career officer of the upper classes.  The men then go on to the POW camp where they are involved in a morale-boosting revue and nearly successfully digging out a tunnel, before a transfer to a medieval fortress which is commanded by none other than Von Rauffenstein, who has since suffered a nearly paralysing injury and has been retired to being “a mere policeman.”  Though he again treats them with the utmost civility, his duty is to prevent them escaping; theirs is to escape.

            It’s very difficult to put into words what makes Renoir’s masterpiece so truly awe-inspiring.  Through a combination of authenticity of vision, a perfect script, suitably war-torn settings and a host of fine performances, he conjures up an image of what might be called the last hurrah of the lost generation.  Opposing career officers Von Rauffenstein and Boeldieu, aristocratic enough to speak three languages fluently, meet to discuss the dimming of their society by the war.  The German carries on, spinal injuries and metal skull plates and all, to “give the illusion of serving my country.”  Is this illusion of patriotism the ‘grand illusion’ of the title, or is it rather the illusion of class divide?  Men may be from different classes and nationalities, but they remain men, whether they sing ‘Watch on the Rhine’, ‘La Marseillaise’ or ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ (as they do at one point or another).  Even race and religion do not matter, with Rosenthal the Jew the most generous of the bunch in his feeding of the entire group from his deluxe hampers (chicken, pâte de fois gras, Périgord truffles, etc.).  The atmosphere of war removes class to the point where it no longer matters.  When one of the prisoners observes “man truly is an adaptable animal“, he’s speaking truer than he realises. 

            As for Renoir’s collaborators, though Kosma’s fateful score and the look of the film are memorable, it’s the cast one recalls.  The supports read like a who’s who of French character actors of the day; Julien Carette, Gaston Modot, Marcel Dalio (maybe Harry Baur and Louis Jouvet were out to lunch), with particular praise to Dalio.  Yet it’s the three stars who shine brightest; Gabin is quite superb as the salt of the earth Marechal who comes to love a German woman in the epilogue and learns the true meaning of sacrifice, Fresnay is superbly dry as the aloof but good-hearted Boeldieu who determines to die gloriously rather than die with his class.  But best of all is Von Stroheim, the prototype stick-necked Prussian even before the accident, but who is the most humanistic of all.  For them and for Renoir this is a film to cherish again and again, a film which shows you how the smallest symbolic gesture may be worth a fortune, be it Boeldieu’s white gloves, Von Rauffenstein’s geranium or Marechal’s learning about Lotte’s blaue augen.  In the end, all we can do is drink to Von Stroheim’s toast, “may the earth lie gently on our gallant enemy.”  The age of such gentlemanly warfare is long gone.  One also recalls Mariel Hemingway leaving a message for Woody Allen to watch the film in Manhattan and he didn’t even bother to return her phone call.  Shame on you, Woody!