Cine-Simenon: The Last Train

Women, children, and the well-to-do sit up front.  Prostitutes, ruffians, and the socially marginalized hunker down in the cattle cars bringing up the rear.  Of course, they were Georges Simenon’s kind of people and they turn out to be more fun to travel with in Pierre Granier-Deferre’s The Last Train, an adaptation of Simenon’s tragic romance set amid WWII evacuation chaos, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

Julien Maroyeur is a shy radio repairman in a sleepy French village on the Belgian border. His out-of-his-league wife is probably the only notable thing about him. Given her very pregnant state, they are reluctant to leave home, but news of the advancing German army convinces them.  The nuns find a place for Madame Maroyeur and their young daughter in a respectable compartment, but he will be stuck in the back of the train.  However, along with the dregs of society, he will share his car with the mysterious Anna. 

Initially, the beautiful woman says very little.  The knuckleheads seem to think her accent sounds German, but she seems more anxious than anyone to avoid the National Socialists.  Effectively segregated from his family, Maroyeur takes a protective interest in the woman that quickly evolves into something far deeper.

Considering Simenon’s controversial wartime years, The Train is a bit of an oddity in his oeuvre.  Nonetheless, it is wholly fitting Granier-Deferre, the Simenon specialist, would be represented in Cine-Simenon.  Incorporating archival WWII newsreel footage into the film, he keeps viewers fully cognizant of the wider geopolitical horrors throughout what is admittedly at times a rather melodramatic story.

Indeed, Granier-Deferre vividly captures the strange nature of the flight.  With everyone losing sight of previous responsibilities, it becomes almost a madcap vacation, punctuated by moments of abject terror.  Tellingly Maroyeur himself admits they have all “lost perspective.”

Last Train might have an odd tonal shift here or there, but it is hard to go too far wrong with Jean-Louis Trintignant and Romy Schneider as the not-so secret lovers.  Their chemistry is quite convincing, because it is clearly rooted in their respective characters’ personalities.  The quiet moments shared by the screen legends have affectionate warmth beyond mere erotic heat.

Much like Man on the Eiffel Tower, there are some less than optimal dubbed prints of Last Train in circulation, so it is worth noting AFA will screen it in its original French with English subtitles.  Despite the often jarring editing, it is a good, solid film, offering a unique perspective on the French civilian war experience.  Anchored by the haunting Schneider, The Last Train is recommended for French film connoisseurs when it screens this Tuesday (8/20) and Wednesday (8/21) at Anthology Film Archives. 

Cine-Simenon: Betty

Betty is blue. How did she get so down-and-out?  That would be a condition many of Georges Simenon’s characters found themselves in. During the course of what is more of a psychological inquiry than a criminal investigation, viewers will learn the truth about the mysterious woman via flashbacks in Claude Chabrol’s Betty, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

It is fitting Betty Etamble found her way into The Hole.  The aptly named restaurant caters to lost souls and misfits.  Evidently, the rabbit is also delicious.  Observing the woman drinking herself into oblivion with a companion arguably even less stable than herself, Laure Levaucher takes Etamble under her wing.  Ensconcing her in an adjoining room at the Versailles Trianon, her home away from home, Levaucher slowly coaxes a confessional account out of Betty.

It is fair to say Etamble has made her share of mistakes, but she is rather self-aware of her compulsions and their origins in her childhood.  However, the stifling nature of her former life hardly helped matters.  In fact, there is probably plenty of blame to go around.  The nature of Levaucher’s interest in Etamble and vice versa is rather less clear.  In fact, Etamble’s intentions throughout are decidedly murky.

Overdue for his own New York retrospective, Chabrol was an uncannily subtle filmmaker, who excelled at hinting of dark doings just beyond our field of vision.  The deceptively simple Betty was definitely in his power zone, privileging character and mood over narrative.  The film’s essence is supposed to come to viewers through a slow dawning process rather than a sudden flash of revelation.  Mostly it works, but that necessarily means Betty is a purposeful slow burner.

Patrons of French cinema will also understand why Betty promises greatness as a post-divorce collaboration between Chabrol and his ex-wife and frequent muse, Stéphane Audran, whose warm elegance as Levaucher stands in marked contrast to the severe chill of the film’s characters and milieu. 

The film is sort of a family affair, starring Marie Trignant, the ill-fated daughter of Audran’s first husband, Jean-Louis, in the title role.  Sadly, her sensationalized and unnatural death reads like fodder for a Simenon novel.  She is eerily convincing indulging in self-destructive hedonism and reckless gamesmanship.  Oddly though, Chabrol consistently undercuts her as a femme fatale figure, presenting her in a deliberately unappealing (albeit frequently nude) manner.  More often than not, her Etamble is booze-addled and inarticulate, looking disheveled with conspicuous raccoon rings encircling her eyes.

Betty represents the road less taken in film noir, focusing on the intimacy of betrayal instead of a traditional crime story.  The mood remains the same, but the pace is decidedly more languid.  Recommended for fans of Chabrol and Simenon’s “roman durs,” Betty screens tonight (8/13), Friday (8/16), and Saturday (8/17) at the Anthology Film Archives, as part of their Cine-Simenon series.

Cine-Simenon: The Bottom of the Bottle

After the war, Georges Simenon whiled away some pleasant days in Nogales, Arizona. Presumably, he appreciated the charms of bordertown life.  It also became the setting of a somewhat un-Simenon-like tale of fraternal dysfunction. The spirits will flow in Henry Hathaway’s adaptation of The Bottom of the Bottle, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

It rarely rains on the ranchland outside Nogales, but when it does, the Santa Cruz floods, cutting them off from the rest of the world.  For Paul “P.M.” Martin and his fellow landowners, this means it is time for their traditional floating house parties.  However, the sudden appearance of his brother Donald puts a damper on his mood. While they never really got along, the whole escaped convict thing particularly irks the status conscious P.M. 

Of course, nobody knows about the black sheep sibling he will introduce to his wife Nora and their friends as Eric Bell.  With the river running high, the Martin brothers will just have to bluff their way through until Donald can slip across to his waiting family.  Unfortunately, the younger Martin brother is a recovering alcoholic, under severe stress, about to attend his first rainy season party, which will be all about getting pie-faced hammered.

This is an odd film, but it is a big film, rather dazzlingly shot in Cinemascope by Lee Garmes.  It starts out as a desert noir, segueing into Lost Weekend, marital strife melodrama, and finally shifts into a modern day western, as the highway patrol posse saddles up, chasing the fugitive Martin into the hills.

Granted, Bottle is not a classic classic, but it is rather strange it is not programmed more frequently.  It would certainly make an interesting double bill with Touch of Evil, the classic bordertown noir directed by Joseph Cotten’s old comrade, Orson Welles.  Sort of conceived as a follow-up to Hathaway’s Niagara, also starring Cotten, Bottle is nowhere near as gripping as those two films.  Still, it has Dragnet’s Harry Morgan as a kindly barkeep, who plays Ellington’s “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” during the morning hours.

There are flashes of mordant wit throughout Bottle (the doorbell that rings “How Dry I am” might have been the work of an acerbic stagehand, but it still counts) and Hathaway makes the most of his southwestern locations.  He shrewdly manages to shoehorn in one amazingly cinematic mission church as often as possible.  Indeed, this is a finely crafted production, particularly the Martin’s richly appointed ranch house, which makes the Southfork look like a welfare hotel.  Speaking of Dallas, Jack Davis (a.k.a. Jock Ewing) turns up in a minor role as a member of the Martin’s boozy social circle.  Nonetheless, Bottle’s depiction of the local Hispanic population (probably considered broadmindedly sympathetic at the time) is pretty cringy for contemporary viewers.

Cotten has the right look and presence for P.M. Martin, even if his ascot-looking bandanas are a wardrobe mistake.  Van Johnson also stretches his chops quite notably as the sad sack brother.  Surprisingly though, it is Ruth Roman who really stands out as the assertive but family-oriented Nora Martin, who is rather impressive holding P.M.’s feet to the fire. It is a smarter character and performance than one expect in what is essentially a “helper” role.

So Bottle might not be a good film, per se, but it is entertaining in its way.  A late product of the old school studio system, it demonstrates both the merits and drawbacks of the era, cramming enough interesting stuff into a misconceived vehicle to maintain viewers’ attention the all the way through.  It is definitely the ringer of AFA’s Cine-Simenon, but it still makes sense to include it, because when else could they show it.  Those intrigued should definitely check it out when it screens tomorrow (8/13), Wednesday (8/15), and Sunday (8/18) at Anthology Film Archives.

Cine-Simenon: The Man Who Watched Trains Go By

Those Frenchies are always trying to corrupt their guileless provincial European neighbors.  Georges Simenon certainly would have known.  Technically, he was Belgian, but he was an expert on Parisian fast living.  One timid Dutch clerk gets his own crash course in Harold French’s The Man Who Watched Trains Go By (a.k.a. Paris Express), which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

Kees Popinga was born to be a bookkeeper.  Quiet and detail-oriented, he spends his weekly night out at the chess club, where his boss, Julius de Koster is also a member.  His only eccentricity is a passion for trains, whose timetable he has memorized.  One day, Inspector Lucas visits his firm from Paris as part of a mysterious investigation.  It seems to involve the beautiful French woman Popinga happened to spy de Koster affectionately seeing off at the train station.

Confronting the haughty de Koster, Popinga learns he has looted the company in order to abscond with his French lover.  An altercation ensues, spurring the unprepossessing Popinga to take flight.  Assuming one Dutchman with a suitcase full of cash is as good as another, Popinga sets out to find the femme fatale, Michele Rozier.  He is right of course, but not in a happily-ever-after kind of way.  Better understanding the shady characters conspiring against him, Inspector Lucas will scramble to find the naïve Popinga before his mad interlude completely spirals out of control.

Trains might not be the absolutely best noir ever filmed, but it boasts two Phantoms of the Opera: Claude Rains (star of Universal’s 1943 color remake) as Popinga and Herbert Lom (featured in the 1962 Hammer production) as the hypocritical de Koster.  Future international movie star Anouk Aimée also steals all her brief scenes as the alluring Jeanne, a “professional” colleague of Rozier’s.

There is also plenty of Simenon-ness to Trains, particularly the cat-and-mouse game played by Popinga and the Inspector.  Indeed, Lucas is a good copper, balancing cunning and compassion in the Maigret tradition.  The underappreciated Marius Goring is one of Train’s best assets, playing Lucas with considerable intelligence and flair. 

Of course, Rains is perfectly dependable, if not career-defining, as the mild-mannered Popinga.  His convincingly slide from respectability to manic self-destruction recalls some of his early Universal work, like in Edwin Drood.  Frankly, despite her greater screen time and stylish villainy, Märta “the next Ingrid Bergman” Torén’s Rozier is overshadowed by Anouk (as Train simply billed her).

The Man Who Watched Trains Go By is a presentable noir, distinguished by its tragic tone and the decency of its sleuth.  Nicely representing the themes and motifs of Simenon’s “roman durs,” his psychologically complex, non-Maigret novels, it makes a good fit for Anthology’s Cine-Simenon series.  Recommended for fans of Rains and noirs in general, it screens tomorrow (8/12) and Wednesday the 21^st at Anthology Film Archives.

Cine-Simenon: Monsieur Hire

The nebbish sorts often have a hard time of it in Simenon’s work.  The Belgian crime writer took rather perverse delight in up-ending their drab, regimented lives.  Such will be the case for a stand-offish tailor in Patrice Leconte’s Monsieur Hire (trailer here), which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

People do not like Hire, but he does not think much of them either.  His meaningful human contact will largely be confined to two rather out of the ordinary relationships. Alice is the object of his obsession.  As fate would have it, his flat window is perfectly situated to spy on all her intimate moments.  Discovering her peeping tom, Alice starts initiating encounters between them. Something about the awkward Hire just seems to intrigue her.

Unfortunately, when a young woman’s body is discovered, Hire’s neighbors are only too willing to suspect him.  With their encouragement, a world-weary police inspector very publically dogs the shunned tailor, in the tradition of Columbo—and of course Maigret.  However, Leconte’s take on Simenon (co-adapted by Patrick Dewolf) will masterfully undermine viewers’ assumptions.

Hire is anti-social, but it is not his fault.  He was born that way.  Unfortunately, misanthropes like him will always face hostility and discrimination.  Frankly, Leconte’s film is one of the few attempts to empathize with such an unappealing character.  As a result, there is necessarily quite a bit of creepiness and clamminess going on, yet the film is still quite effective as a film noir psychological thriller.

It is rather alarming how perfectly Michel Blanc essays the look and essence of the severely withdrawn Hire.  As restrained and frustrating as the character might be, we still get a vivid sense of all the messiness bottled up inside him.  In contrast, the glacial, cipher-like Sandrine Bonnaire is a somewhat problematic femme fatale.  However, André Wilms has never gotten his proper due for his subtly surprising turn as the Simenon-esque Inspector.

Monsieur Hire is a very dark film, addressing some provocative themes, but there is a humanistic foundation to it all.  Definitely a film for intelligent adult audiences, it is a fitting selection for AFA’s  Cine-Simenon series.  Recommended for fans of film noir and French cinema, it screens tomorrow (8/11) and next Saturday (8/17) at Anthology.

Cine-Simenon: A Man’s Neck

Georges Simenon led a colorful life.  There might have been a few women and some fast living.  After the war, he also faced allegations of collaboration, but his defenders always maintained he was too self-absorbed for such matters.  Harry Baur was one of a multitude of actors to play Simenon’s signature detective, whose wartime experience is tragically above suspicion.  Imprisoned and roughly interrogated after ill-advisedly appearing in an early 1940’s German film, Baur either succumbed to injuries sustained or was helped along the way shortly after his release. His biographic details add further tragic context to Julien Duvivier’s A Man’s Neck, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

Willy Ferrière has a rich aunt, who refuses to die, but a mystery pen-pal offers to help the old dear along for 100,000 francs.  The freelance killer also has a scapegoat lined up to take the fall: the clueless Joseph Heurtin.  Yes, this is the Maigret case Burgess Meredith later adapted as The Man on the Eiffel Tower, but it is simultaneously similar and different in intriguing ways.

As it happens, both films also serve as time capsules of Paris, pre- and post-war.  Not surprisingly though, the earlier French film is darker and somewhat franker than the RKO production.  The stories run along parallel lines, but diverge on key points, such as the complicity of Ferrière’s mistress in Duvivier’s film.  Indeed, there is little innocence per se in this distinctly dark crime drama.

Both Baur and Laughton look like world weary civil servants, but the latter could not help playing the part with panache.  He was Charles Laughton, after all.  In contrast, Baur’s Maigret is a down-trodden bureaucrat often at risk of fading into the background, until roused to outrage by the psychotic Radek.  It is a close call, but in a head-to-head match, Laughton probably takes it by a jowl.

Likewise, Meredith’s Heurtin is a truly unique portrait of a man made vulnerable by his acutely anti-social nature.  Alexandre Rignault’s Heurtin also quite effective, but we have seen such simple-minded hulks before and since.  However, Valéry Inkijinoff’s frenzied and lusty Radek is something else entirely. Franchot Tone exceeds expectations in Eiffel Tower, but the Russian Inkijinoff is truly creepy.

In fact, both are very good films.  Duvivier shows an eye for procedural detail, giving viewers an unromanticized look inside the Paris gendarmerie. While more naturalistic and generally jaundiced in his portrayal of human nature, Duvivier also shoehorns in small, elegantly telling moments, as when Maigret and Radek take time out from their verbal sparring to listen to his Chanson-singing neighbor.

Neck is a lean, mean film noir that packs surprising punch. It is a deeply flawed world, but not one in which moral judgments are impossible.  Recommended by itself or in conjunction with Meredith’s Eiffel Tower (showing separately), A Man’s Neck screens this Saturday (8/10) and next Wednesday (8/14) as part of Cine-Simenon, now underway at Anthology Film Archives.

Cine-Simenon: The Man on the Eiffel Tower

Georges Simenon remains one of the best known Belgian writers, but his signature detective, French Police Commissaire Jules Maigret has been played by French, British, Dutch, Italian, Armenian, Czech, Russian, and Japanese actors.  British born Hollywood legend Charles Laughton also picked up Maigret’s trademark pipe for a memorable one-off, The Man on the Eiffel Tower, directed by the Burgess Meredith, which screens as part of Anthology Film Archives new retrospective, Cine-Simenon.

It is post-war Paris, where expat Bill Kirby has a wife, a mistress, a rich but prickly old aunt, and an aversion to work.  After he complains about the old dear’s longevity in a crowded café, a mystery man slips him a note.  His problem can be solved for 100,000 Francs.  He need only mail her key to an anonymous postal drop—and so he does.

For Maigret, the most suspicious aspect of the crime scene is how thoroughly it implicates the Joseph Heurtin. The bespectacled knife-grinder simply does not strike Maigret as a killer.  Playing a hunch, the Inspector allows Heurtin to escape, hoping he will lead the police to the master criminal pulling his strings.  Maigret soon concludes the real murderer is the Czech Johann Radek, a dissolute former medical student.  However, proving it will be a trickier matter.  Thus commences a game of cat and mouse that will indeed take both men to the famous Parisian landmark.

All AFA screenings will be in 35mm, which is good to know, since there are some pretty scruffy prints of Eiffel in circulation.  Evidently, it was one of the few films shot on a certain brand of color stock that has not aged gracefully.  Nonetheless, it is jolly good little suspenser, as well as an evocative time-capsule of post-war Paris.

Frankly, it is a shame Charles Laughton went one-and-done as Maigret, because he fits the part like a comfortably rumpled suit.  It would make a good double feature with his classic performance as the not-quite-as-crafty-as-he-thinks-he-is Sir Wilfrid in Billy Wilder’s Witness for the Prosecution.  In addition to helming with economy and style (reportedly with the occasional assist from his two big name co-stars), Burgess Meredith is effectively squirrely as Heurtin, even foreshadowing hints of Henry Bemis in the classic Twilight Zone episode Time Enough at Last.  Yet, perhaps the greatest revelation is Franchot Tone’s diabolically manic Radek.

Indeed, Laughton’s shrewd persona, Simenon’s clever plotting, and the still impressively dizzying climax promised by the title are hard combination to beat.  An all-around entertaining classic, Eiffel does right by the source novel, which was also the basis for an earlier French adaptation duly included in Cine-Simenon as well.  Highly recommended regardless of the condition of its surviving prints, The Man on the Eiffel Tower screens this Friday (8/9) and Sunday the 18^th at the Anthology Film Archives.