« Seul dans la nuit » (Alone in the Night), recently rediscovered, thanks in particular to its 4K restoration, is a good little whodunit from the immediate post-war period. The movie maker, Christian Stengel, unknown to film historians, is an alert storyteller, skilled technician and good actor's director. He may not be a great stylist, but he knows how to make an effective film that's a pleasure to follow.
The basic situation is hardly original (a C. I. D. Investigation into a ladystrangler), but the way the subject is handled is more so. Without ever losing the thread of the investigation, the director, skilfully illustrating the script by the even more obscure Jacqueline and Yves Boisyvon, mixes genres with a certain ease: detective story (as already mentioned), comedy (thanks to Marc-Gilbert Sauvajon's sharp pen and actors who know how to bring out the best in his lines), musical film (the hero, Jacques Sartory, is a crooner), a documentary aspect on show business on a daily basis (meetings with the artistic team, organization of tours, answers to fan mail on the radio and even - in 1945! - a concert filmed live in an auditorium on television).
Add to this a fine job by cinematographer Christian Matras (especially in the night-time sequences) and, of course, a remarkable cast bringing to life a varied range of characters: (Bernard Blier, still wiry and shy lover), Sophie Desmarets (vivacious, assertive, not at all a trophy wife), Louis Salou (as an eccentric, clinging witness), and so on. Among them, Jacques Morel's little-known talent as an impersonator stands out here, as Fernandel, he's exceptional.
The most dated aspect of this film is Sartory's singing. Jacques Pills (Edith Piaf's future husband), almost in his own role, no longer appeals to today's ears, and the director could (and should) have refrained from filming him cooing a song three times - and in extenso. On the other hand, Pills turns out to be an excellent actor, subtly revealing his state of mind as a public idol whose pedestal suddenly wobbles.
Apart from this minor flaw, the film is constantly entertaining and intriguing. At one point, it does even more and better. I'm referring to the extraordinary sequence of Dalbret (Jean Davy)'s declamation: the man, disfigured after an accident, plays Lorenzaccio in a disused theater. He no longer looks the part, but his passion hasn't left him. It's a moment of profound emotion, not only for the characters played by Blier, Desmarets and Salou, but also for the viewer.
The scene precedes a finale that, while not reaching these heights, is not without its merits. Alone in the night, the petrolhead Thérèse (Sophie Desmarets) shows herself to be more fragile, more ambiguous.
A good quality film. Recommended.
The basic situation is hardly original (a C. I. D. Investigation into a ladystrangler), but the way the subject is handled is more so. Without ever losing the thread of the investigation, the director, skilfully illustrating the script by the even more obscure Jacqueline and Yves Boisyvon, mixes genres with a certain ease: detective story (as already mentioned), comedy (thanks to Marc-Gilbert Sauvajon's sharp pen and actors who know how to bring out the best in his lines), musical film (the hero, Jacques Sartory, is a crooner), a documentary aspect on show business on a daily basis (meetings with the artistic team, organization of tours, answers to fan mail on the radio and even - in 1945! - a concert filmed live in an auditorium on television).
Add to this a fine job by cinematographer Christian Matras (especially in the night-time sequences) and, of course, a remarkable cast bringing to life a varied range of characters: (Bernard Blier, still wiry and shy lover), Sophie Desmarets (vivacious, assertive, not at all a trophy wife), Louis Salou (as an eccentric, clinging witness), and so on. Among them, Jacques Morel's little-known talent as an impersonator stands out here, as Fernandel, he's exceptional.
The most dated aspect of this film is Sartory's singing. Jacques Pills (Edith Piaf's future husband), almost in his own role, no longer appeals to today's ears, and the director could (and should) have refrained from filming him cooing a song three times - and in extenso. On the other hand, Pills turns out to be an excellent actor, subtly revealing his state of mind as a public idol whose pedestal suddenly wobbles.
Apart from this minor flaw, the film is constantly entertaining and intriguing. At one point, it does even more and better. I'm referring to the extraordinary sequence of Dalbret (Jean Davy)'s declamation: the man, disfigured after an accident, plays Lorenzaccio in a disused theater. He no longer looks the part, but his passion hasn't left him. It's a moment of profound emotion, not only for the characters played by Blier, Desmarets and Salou, but also for the viewer.
The scene precedes a finale that, while not reaching these heights, is not without its merits. Alone in the night, the petrolhead Thérèse (Sophie Desmarets) shows herself to be more fragile, more ambiguous.
A good quality film. Recommended.