I have read with interest the reviews of this movie and am indebted to their authors for the unusual perspectives and personal insights that they expressed. I agree with most that this is a finely crafted work, beautifully photographed, extremely evocative of the era and never dull. Catherine Deneuve is breathtaking, Depardieu has boyish charm and Heinz Bennent is a revelation.
All of that is not sufficient to make a great movie, even though many of the images are memorable. The problem is that the film does not deliver what it promises. Having built up slowly in tenseness, having exposed the deadly problem of collaboration with the Nazis, having stimulated the viewer's concern over the fate of the Steiner couple, the director then chooses to turn the whole thing on its head and give us a surprise ending of sorts that (for me anyway) was highly unsatisfactory. This surprise is actually triple, since each of the three protagonists does something unexpected and out of character, or at least at variance with the way we have been led to perceive the character.
Lucas cannot accept capitulating to the enemy, nor can he envisage the loss of his theater, but he seems to accept with masochistic resignation, if not downright generosity, the adultery committed by his wife.
Marion is depicted as a woman sincerely concerned with her husband's well- being and assiduously protective of him. Even if she feels an illicit attraction, there is no reason for yielding as she does to temptation. This cheapens her character beyond redemption. Couples separated during the war frequently sought consolation, but Marion and Lucas are together.
Bernard is apparently bi-polar. He collaborates (though we don't know why), then does an about-face and joins the Resistance! We don't know why he does that either. Is the grass greener on the side of patriotism?
To reward his inconstant wife and her unreliable leading man Lucas displays magnanimity beyond the call of duty by writing a play about the affair. In the final scene triumphant Marion gets BOTH men and a hit play to boot. People of Jewish faith may regard this as a slight, since the Jewish director becomes the servant of his own wife and her once pro-Nazi boyfriend. I'm sure the director did not mean it this way, but frankly, I don't know what he meant, except that adultery has no dire consequences; in any case a hit play is the best revenge.
Are we supposed to understand this to be a comment on art imitating life or on theater as catharsis or on human beings coping with unbearable adversity? It would be fair to say that it is all that. Most of all it's about the show going on at all costs. The characters in this film are all subservient to the Greater Good, namely Theater.
But the film lacks a moral core because the director cannot bring himself to moralize. So he resorts to showing people not as flawed, but as detached from scruples and lacking in any self-judgment that would result in guilt feelings. This contrasts strikingly with the films of Eric Rohmer in which the characters all experience an inner struggle and a constant need to analyze their own actions.
One could say that the absence of an inner struggle is the salient feature of the film, resulting in a final product that is visually stunning but so detached emotionally that its message, such as it is, is inconsequential.
All of that is not sufficient to make a great movie, even though many of the images are memorable. The problem is that the film does not deliver what it promises. Having built up slowly in tenseness, having exposed the deadly problem of collaboration with the Nazis, having stimulated the viewer's concern over the fate of the Steiner couple, the director then chooses to turn the whole thing on its head and give us a surprise ending of sorts that (for me anyway) was highly unsatisfactory. This surprise is actually triple, since each of the three protagonists does something unexpected and out of character, or at least at variance with the way we have been led to perceive the character.
Lucas cannot accept capitulating to the enemy, nor can he envisage the loss of his theater, but he seems to accept with masochistic resignation, if not downright generosity, the adultery committed by his wife.
Marion is depicted as a woman sincerely concerned with her husband's well- being and assiduously protective of him. Even if she feels an illicit attraction, there is no reason for yielding as she does to temptation. This cheapens her character beyond redemption. Couples separated during the war frequently sought consolation, but Marion and Lucas are together.
Bernard is apparently bi-polar. He collaborates (though we don't know why), then does an about-face and joins the Resistance! We don't know why he does that either. Is the grass greener on the side of patriotism?
To reward his inconstant wife and her unreliable leading man Lucas displays magnanimity beyond the call of duty by writing a play about the affair. In the final scene triumphant Marion gets BOTH men and a hit play to boot. People of Jewish faith may regard this as a slight, since the Jewish director becomes the servant of his own wife and her once pro-Nazi boyfriend. I'm sure the director did not mean it this way, but frankly, I don't know what he meant, except that adultery has no dire consequences; in any case a hit play is the best revenge.
Are we supposed to understand this to be a comment on art imitating life or on theater as catharsis or on human beings coping with unbearable adversity? It would be fair to say that it is all that. Most of all it's about the show going on at all costs. The characters in this film are all subservient to the Greater Good, namely Theater.
But the film lacks a moral core because the director cannot bring himself to moralize. So he resorts to showing people not as flawed, but as detached from scruples and lacking in any self-judgment that would result in guilt feelings. This contrasts strikingly with the films of Eric Rohmer in which the characters all experience an inner struggle and a constant need to analyze their own actions.
One could say that the absence of an inner struggle is the salient feature of the film, resulting in a final product that is visually stunning but so detached emotionally that its message, such as it is, is inconsequential.