La
Chienne (1931) isn’t a Renoir masterpiece.
Critics usually refer to his late 1930s works, such as The Grand Illusion (1938) and The Rules of the Game (1939), when
looking for the film that defines classical French cinema, and they are right
to do so. However, I was reminded this
week by the release of the Sight and
Sound poll, and Roger Ebert’s subsequent response blog, that choosing a
single film as the definitive work of a director’s overall output can be
dangerous. Vertigo (1958), which topped the 2012 S&S list, doesn’t define or encompass Hitchcock. Yes, most of his consistent themes and techniques
are there (as well as some tricks he used only once), but no novice movie fan
is going to get everything Hitch had to offer from that one piece. They may not even like it. Audiences didn’t upon its initial release,
and Hitchcock wasn’t particularly fond of it.
But Vertigo is, without doubt, great.
In the context of Hitchcock’s career, he was at the top of his game.* Ultimately,
I believe it was voted the greatest film ever because it is a great work from a
universally respected director who made many great films. It dethroned Citizen Kane (1941), atop the British magazine’s perch since 1962,
and a movie that has benefitted from two factors unrelated to its production (as
well as numerous creative elements that were).
Kane
was essentially forbidden fruit upon its release; kept when possible from the
public at great costs by its unwilling inspiration, media magnate William
Randolph Hurst. When it was finally available
to a wide audience, the anticipation added to the art. Thus it ascended to glory in the 1962 S&S voting. Perhaps even more alluring is that the film
represents what might have been. After
Hurst’s slander campaign of the picture, Orson Welles was never again given the
creative control that made Kane a
masterpiece. And though he made other
great films, Citizen Kane remains a lone masterpiece from a director who had
seemingly limitless potential. People
often say that ironically Yoko Ono made the Beatles what they were. People simply didn’t want it to end, and they
still don’t (me at least). Perhaps it is
the same with Hurst and Welles. It wouldn’t
be the only irony between them.
All this to say that it is important
to think about films within the context of the times, lives, and careers of
those who made them. In this regard La Chienne is a valuable motion
picture. Renoir’s second sound film, it
was also his second collaboration with Michael Simon, the actor who came to
represent French cinema of the 1930s.
Simon plays Legrand, a lowly clerk and cashier who is mistaken for a
wealthy businessman by the prostitute Lulu.
Legrand comes to care for Lulu, and through deceptions sets her up in an
apartment as his mistress. His shrewish wife
doesn’t seem to notice the money he slyly sneaks to support her, and is happy
that his habit of painting seems to have subsided.
Meanwhile Lulu engages in her own
deceptions. Passing the paintings Legrand
creates at the apartment off as the work of a young American artist, she and
her boyfriend/Pimp Dédé devise a scheme to get rich in the art market. Dédé encourages Lulu’s relationship with
Legrand as it keeps the bills paid, all the while pretending to be her brother. His motivations are self serving as well, as
much of the art profits go toward his gambling debts.
The complications of Legrand’s
relationship with his wife begin to mount until fate intervenes. Her first husband, long assumed dead,
approaches the distressed lecher. He
proposes a change of status, and one of the film’s best scenes concerns the
bargaining these two husbands engage in over their mutual wife. Eventually, without legitimate claim to his
bride, Legrand happily resolves to bow out and take up residence with
Lulu. However, things take a turn for
the worse when he shows up to find her in bed with Dédé.
Like much of Renoir’s work, La Chienne can’t be defined as a simple
comedy or tragedy. Both elements are at
play here. The director has serious
things to say about humanity and society, but he isn’t above making his
audience laugh to make his points evident.
He lays the groundwork with this film for his later tours de force, and
to experience his sense of growing confidence as a director is a reward. The film is gritty, emotional, and at times
playful, and throughout Renoir changes tones deftly. Viewing La
Chienne is viewing a master artist begin to shape his oeuvre.
Language:
French
Runtime:
91 minutes
Available
@Youtube.com
Grade:
2.5 Hats Off
*or
getting there. I prefer Psycho (1960), which he made two years
later when he wanted to go back to low-budget basics.
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