Five by Sautet: The Things of Life

Pierre Bérard is putting the “crisis” back into the midlife crisis. We are talking shattered windshields and twisted metal here. Not surprisingly, he will be carried away from the car crash, leaving behind a fateful letter and some profoundly unfinished business behind in Les Choses de la Vie or The Things of Life, which screens as part of Rialto Pictures’ program of five DCP-restored films by the late, great Claude Sautet, opening today in New York (series trailer here).

Sautet is largely remembered for his extraordinarily sensitive human dramas, but he could also stage an impressive car crash. Initially, it is not clear how bad it is for Bérard, but there will at least be sufficient time for his life to flash before his eyes. Out of courtesy to the audience, Bérard skips his short pants years, focusing on his relationship issues with his mistress Hélène Haltig that came to a head in recent days.

In this case, mistress is a slightly misleading term. Although the architect is still married to his wife Catherine, it is largely a business relationship that allows them both to carry-on rather openly with their respective lovers. It is so French, it is hard to understand why he agrees to formally leave Madame Bérard for Mademoiselle Haltig, a young, beautiful expatriate translator. In fact, Bérard starts to wonder that himself when Haltig’s jealousy erupts. All this leads to quite the bloody intersection, both physically and emotionally.

If this all sounds familiar, hopefully it is because you saw it when it was released in 1970. On the other hand, if you are getting flashbacks of Intersection, Mark Rydell’s American remake starring Richard Gere and Sharon Stone, try your best to forget it. The film is obviously built around a strong conceit, but in Sautet’s hands it never feels forced or programmatic. Yet, he exploits the feeling of inevitability for all its worth, giving us butterflies whenever Bérard steps into his sporty Alfa Romeo.

The trio of Sautet, his frequent leading lady Romy Schneider, and his regular score composer Philippe Sarde were a francophone art house dream team, joining forces on several films, including Max et les Ferailleurs and César and Rosalie, also represented in Rialto’s Sautet package. Michel Piccoli would certainly be no stranger to any of the three. Much like his disillusioned screenwriter in Godard’s Contempt, Piccoli radiates industrial strength world weariness, but in a way that feels mature rather than self-indulgent. Frankly, the unfaithful and indecisive Bérard could have easily come across like a fickle jerk, but Piccoli conveys all the older man’s guilt and uncertainty, making him understandable and maybe even sympathetic (especially if you’re French).

Piccoli and Schneider develop convincingly complicated chemistry as Bérard and Haltig. She is a sophisticated presence and she definitely connects in some emotionally resonant scenes down the stretch, but the translator is conspicuously subordinate to the architect in Things’ narrative.

Things is a tragedy that is not afraid to be tragic—and rightly so. Sautet and Piccoli had enough middle-age seasoning to relate to the characters and themes, as well as the experience and instincts to avoid melodramatic excesses. Sad in a wry and rewarding way, The Things of Life opens today (6/12) in New York, at the Lincoln Plaza, along with four other restored Sautet films.

You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet: Resnais Multiply Adapts Anouilh

Can a play from the 1940’s, based on classical mythology, still speak to contemporary audiences?  Alain Resnais will answer in the affirmative.  As a consummate cinematic game-player, he naturally stacks the deck, casting a who’s who of French thespians in his meta-adaptation of Jean Anouilh’s Eurydice.  Regardless, the star-crossed love still resonates in You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Orpheus and Eurydice supply the back bone of YASNY, but the framing device incorporates Anouilh’s Cher Antoine ou l’amour Rate.  Playing themselves, the leading lights of French stage and screen are summoned to a memorial for their dear departed friend, playwright Antoine d’Anthac.  As part of the ceremony, they are to watch a video of his/Anouilh’s Eurydice, to determine whether the avant-garde revival is worth staging.  It is a work they are all familiar with, having each appeared in previous productions.  Watching the screen, they get caught up in the story and their own memories and begin to act out Eurydice in concert with the recorded rehearsal.

Cast members overlap and echo each other, but Resnais always maintains the integrity of Eurydice’s storyline.  It all sounds very post-modern, but it is really a case of the narrative overpowering its meta-conceits rather than being defined by them.

Of course, it is hard to go wrong with YASNY’s cast.  While Resnais has three sets of Orpheus and Eurydice at his disposal, he clearly favors Pierre Arditi and Sabine Azéma (two of his longtime collaborators), with good reason.  Watching this couple on the late side of middle age portraying the doomed young lovers is eerily moving.  Their experienced faces seem to amplify the tragedy rather than distract from it.  Nonetheless, Anne Consigny’s Eurydice is exquisitely brittle and dignified, overshadowing the aloof Lambert Wilson.

Former Bond villain Mathieu Amalric exudes a deliciously Mephistophelean vibe while maintaining the moral ambiguity of Monsieur Henri, death’s avatar, a role he mostly has to himself.  Michel Piccoli nicely anchors the film with his warm gravitas, ostensibly revisiting the role of Orpheus’s father, while leading the cheering section within the elite audience.  In addition to playing d’Anthac with eccentric flair, Denis Podalydès (from the Comédie Française) was recruited to direct the hipster Eurydice video segments, further complicating notions of what the film is and who is its author.  It is Anouilh’s Eurydice, as well as d’Anthac’s, but it is also partially Cher Antoine, mostly reconceived by Resnais, but also shaped by Podalydès.

The key point is it is all good.  With its cast members handing off their batons like relay runners, YASNY’s affection for the theater’s passion and artifice becomes infectious.  Featuring music by X-Files composer Mark Snow and Eric Gautier’s richly noir-ish cinematography, it is an unusually elegant film.  Cerebral yet strangely poignant, the highly recommended You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet opens this Friday (6/7) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Sautet at FSLC: Max et les Ferrailleurs

Most Americans would consider it entrapment.  One unyielding Parisian Detective would say it is just “pas de chance.”  He is determined to catch his man red-handed, so if he has to help matters along, then so be it.  However, things do not go strictly according to plan in Claude Sautet’s Max et les Ferrailleurs, which starts its premiere American theatrical run this Friday in conjunction with the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s The Things of Life: Claude Sautet retrospective.

Max has issues, but money is not one of them.  Like a French Milton Hardcastle, the well-heeled crusader was once a judge, but became a cop after he was forced to free too many criminals on technicalities.  His obsession with iron-clad proof stems from this experience.  It has not been working out well lately though.   This will indeed be bad luck for Abel Maresco, a petty lowlife and onetime comrade-in-arms with Max, who has the misfortune of crossing the copper’s path. 

Maresco is on the lowest rung of the criminal ladder.  He is a junkman, who literally lives of the metal and junked cars castoff by serious crooks.  Basically deciding he looks guilty, the anti-hero plants the suggestion that it is time for Maresco and his crew to pull a real job.  To nurture this seed, he starts visiting Maresco’s streetwalking girlfriend Lily, in the guise of Felix, a neighborhood branch banker who regularly receives large deposits from the wholesale meat market.

Ferrailleurs is a fascinating film in Sautet’s canon, because it incorporates elements of both his early noirs (like the briskly entertaining Dictator’s Guns) and his late period intimate character studies.  Beginning in media res, and proceeding to tour through the dodgy corners of Nantes, it observes most of the noir conventions.  Indeed, Max is certainly one cold fish of an anti-hero.  Yet, the scenes of the emotional distant older man developing an ambiguous relationship with a younger, more passionate woman prefigures several of his career defining masterworks, such as Un Coeur en Hiver and Nelly and Monsieur Arnaud.

Frankly, it is downright bizarre it took so long for Ferrailleurs to get a proper American release, given the combination of Sautet and its stars, Michel Piccoli and Romy Schneider.  The title is an obvious suspect, usually translated as Max and the Junkmen, unfortunately suggesting a Francophone Sanford & Son.  Nonetheless, it is anything but.  In fact, it represents one of Schneider’s sultriest turns, giving her the opportunity to rock some Klute-like threads—again, all very noir worthy.  She also plays off Piccoli’s ultra-reserved protagonist quite effectively.   His Max is a bit of a cipher, but he clearly suggests a tightly wound man about to snap. 

Though it ends in a rather shocking (but oddly logical) place, Ferrailleurs is ultimately quite satisfying.  While its characters are thoroughly compromised, it serves as a sharply delineated morality play, featuring a funky soundtrack from the great Philippe Sarde.  Must viewing for Schneider fans and Sautet appreciators, Max et les Ferrailleurs opens this Friday (8/10) at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center, in tandem with the FSLC’s continuing The Thing of Life: Claude Sautet retrospective.