A truly underrated gem if ever there was one, J'Accuse, which comes from now renowned film-maker Abel Gance, is a striking, powerful and deeply moving wartime drama that packs punches, dances with the roses and howls at the moon all in the course of 160 minutes. Now known for works that came in the decade following the first World War, Gance establishes himself here in 1919 as a director willing to learn from his peers and do one better. Indeed, audiences at the time were more than firmly on his side. "Your name in England is, at present, more famous than Griffith's", an anecdote that rings true after watching J'Accuse in its most readily complete form available today thanks to the brilliant work in collaboration by Flicker Alley, Turner Classic Movies and Lobster Films in doing a terrific job restoring the film to its rightful, stylised beauty on DVD and Blu-Ray.
Set, produced and featuring actual footage shot on battlefields of World War I, Gance's seminal work here strives to do many things at once and while there are plenty who will argue he tries too much (or at least doesn't leave enough on the cutting room floor), I argue that with a few minor exceptions, J'Accuse is successful in its quest to marry poetry with war and terror with beauty, with a horizon that never seems to show itself. Sure, it's certainly guilty of being a bit overly-lofty at times. And yes, cutting back and forth between the film's two heavily-contrasted plots can be jarring, but I hardly think this was out of step with Gance's intentions. The film's theme essentially boils down to the blind getting in the way of each other and those lucky enough to have eyes thinking it best to ignore said unfortunates in order to get on with their own problems or indulgences in peace. By applying the juxtaposition of a serene, idyllic French countryside love-triangle against the harsh, cold grasp of war and death, the director sets up his idea, carries it forward and succeeds in bringing it to a very affecting close.
I would be amiss in failing to mention two other key players in J'Accuse's success however, and those are cinematographer Léonce-Henri Burel and the Robert Israel Orchestra who were commissioned for the restoration's soundtrack. Burel takes Gance's direction and runs with it. The battlefields are gloomy and frightening, the French countryside bright and warm to the eyes. Furthermore, whether it was under Burel's direction or not is unclear but, the film's various intertitle designs and abstract live-action imagery (the most striking perhaps occurring early on when family members prepare to leave their loved ones) make a profound emotional impact and showcase tonal photography techniques and styles not even Griffith had dreamed up yet, much of which is still utilised today in movies favouring mood and atmosphere. Lastly, the Robert Israel Orchestra punctuate Burel's photography with melancholic sweeping piano keys and piercing, wounded strings to round out one of the finest and most striking examples of silent-era cinema at its best.
Set, produced and featuring actual footage shot on battlefields of World War I, Gance's seminal work here strives to do many things at once and while there are plenty who will argue he tries too much (or at least doesn't leave enough on the cutting room floor), I argue that with a few minor exceptions, J'Accuse is successful in its quest to marry poetry with war and terror with beauty, with a horizon that never seems to show itself. Sure, it's certainly guilty of being a bit overly-lofty at times. And yes, cutting back and forth between the film's two heavily-contrasted plots can be jarring, but I hardly think this was out of step with Gance's intentions. The film's theme essentially boils down to the blind getting in the way of each other and those lucky enough to have eyes thinking it best to ignore said unfortunates in order to get on with their own problems or indulgences in peace. By applying the juxtaposition of a serene, idyllic French countryside love-triangle against the harsh, cold grasp of war and death, the director sets up his idea, carries it forward and succeeds in bringing it to a very affecting close.
I would be amiss in failing to mention two other key players in J'Accuse's success however, and those are cinematographer Léonce-Henri Burel and the Robert Israel Orchestra who were commissioned for the restoration's soundtrack. Burel takes Gance's direction and runs with it. The battlefields are gloomy and frightening, the French countryside bright and warm to the eyes. Furthermore, whether it was under Burel's direction or not is unclear but, the film's various intertitle designs and abstract live-action imagery (the most striking perhaps occurring early on when family members prepare to leave their loved ones) make a profound emotional impact and showcase tonal photography techniques and styles not even Griffith had dreamed up yet, much of which is still utilised today in movies favouring mood and atmosphere. Lastly, the Robert Israel Orchestra punctuate Burel's photography with melancholic sweeping piano keys and piercing, wounded strings to round out one of the finest and most striking examples of silent-era cinema at its best.