One of the nice things about doing a challenge like this is I get to expose myself to different films I have, for one reason or another, never really seen before. I may have the Fill-in Filmography poster hanging in my office, but it’s more dumb luck than anything else when I fill in an oval there. At least with a pre-set list, I can somewhat force myself to track down certain films and not just rely on pure happenstance to find them while looking for something to watch some night. Take Children of Paradise for example. I knew nothing about this film before aside from the title. It is on my poster, but beyond that, I couldn’t really say anything about it. Why should it be? It’s a three hour French film from the 1940s. It’s not exactly something that comes up much in casual conversation. Even with something like A Separation, I do remember the awards season buzz when it came out. Children of Paradise is way before my time.
Besides, I had to see this one to believe it, so to speak.
To start, much of what I might assume is somewhat misconstrued without at least some knowledge on the setting and time period. Children of Paradise is set during the July Monarchy of French King Louis Phillipe I, where, despite the name, the king in question ruled for about 18 years. The time is marked by expansionism abroad, the rise of the bourgeoise, and a number of other things I’m not overly qualified to speak about after skimming a Wikipedia article. Suffice to say, the film’s overall look is probably close to what a lot of people picture when they picture 19th century Paris. Much of the action is situated around the “Boulevard of Crime,” the nickname given to a street in Paris where two of the main theaters were set. The name actually had more to do with the content of the shows there rather than the crime level on that stretch of roadway. It actually wasn’t any more or less dangerous than any other part of Paris. And as for the “Children of Paradise” themselves, that is in reference to the balcony inside the Théâtre des Funambules, AKA the Theater of the Tightrope Walkers, where much of the action takes place. The children of paradise, therefore, would be the poor folks who couldn’t afford a better ticket but came to the theater anyway for the pantomime shows since the Funambules was actually forbidden to have actors on-stage talking. Talking was for another theater, the nearby Grand Theater.
So, that all checks out. This film is not all that religious, and it is essentially about four men all vying for the affections of a minor actress named Garance (Arletty). As it stands, all four of these men are based on actual historic figures from this time period, but as near as I can make out, Garance is entirely fictional. Indeed, the last of the four men to show up is also fairly fictional, but he at least was based on a real person. Garance is a woman, considered a stunning beauty, who at the start of the film is essentially part of a sideshow act where interested patrons can come in and see her naked. What the barker outside fails to point out is she is sitting in a barrel full of water from the shoulders down, and it does not appear as if there is much to see.
And this seems as good a place as any to say this: speaking for myself, I didn’t think Garance was all that beautiful. She’s by no means unattractive, but the point stands. I’ll chalk it up to the fact that Hollywood has fed me a steady diet of what the standard for beauty is, and Garance just isn’t it. If I had to pick a beautiful actress from the 1940s, I’d probably go with Ingrid Bergman in 1942’s Casablanca. And there’s a good reason for that: Bergman was 27 in 1942. Arletty was about twenty years older when Children of Paradise came out in 1945. That sort of fact makes me think about how often I have probably seen an actress in her mid-forties cast as a female object of desire for multiple men. There’s talk that Children of Paradise is also basically the French version of Gone with the Wind, and I can see where that one might be coming from too. Likewise, Vivien Leigh was about 26 when that film came out. There may also be some differences between American and French standards of beauty, but ultimately, whether it is a matter of personal taste or cultural standards, I honestly thought second female lead María Casares as perpetual runner-up Nathalie was prettier.
Now there, is a part of me that assumes that the casting of Arletty was done in part because, as a product of the poor part of town, she probably hasn’t had the easiest life, did what she had to in order to survive, and it shows a bit. It could also be a sign that Garance is older and perhaps more experienced in matters of the heart. I don’t know. And for what it is worth, Arletty’s performance is perfect for the role, so I won’t be saying anything more about this aspect. I should probably be amazed this film got made at all. After all, production began in 1943 in Occupied France and continued on through the Allies coming through and liberating the country. Natural conditions damaged the set, the Germans put down standards for what could and couldn’t be done, and the only reason this film is divided into two parts is because of distribution factors, meaning anyone who watched the whole thing in one sitting like I did will, when they get to Part 2, see the opening credits play all over again.
But man, the final product is like nothing I might have expected. The opening scene shows a crowded city street during a Carnival season. There are people milling about in period costume, horse-drawn wagons, different small scale circus acts ranging from strong men to tightrope walkers to dancing girls to a trained monkey. And, again, this film was made in the middle of World War II, partially in Occupied France. Was this particular scene shot during the occupation? Or the final scene showing a similar Carnival? I have no idea, but regardless, there are a lot of extras hanging around doing their own thing in a way that doesn’t look like, say, the grand choreography of Gone with the Wind where, as I watch, yeah, the milling crowds around those old plantation homes may have a lot of people doing a lot of things, but it doesn’t look quite so natural to me as it does, well, here.
It isn’t long into this that Garance appears, drawing the eye of the first of her on-screen suitors before going off to meet a second (someone she already knows), and then the third pops up to keep her out of trouble. These men are, in order of appearance, womanizing wannabe stage of the stage, the actor Frédérick Lemaître (Pierre Brasseur); the criminal and aspiring writer, but a man who wants to be something of a rebel, Pierre-François Lacenaire (Marcel Herrand); and finally, the mime Baptiste Deburau (Jean-Louis Barrault), who uses his miming skills to get Garance out of trouble after Lacenaire steals a man’s pocket watch, an action that sees her taking the blame until Baptiste can give his eyewitness testimony while greatly amusing the crowd. While all three of these men show interest in Garance, it’s pretty clear that Baptiste is the only one who genuinely loves her. Lemaître immediately tries out the same pick-up lines on another woman once Garance gracefully turns him down. Lacenaire’s actions always seem to get Garance in more trouble, and he never really expresses affection for anything aside for liberation and rebellion from…something. Baptiste has his own issues–his father thinks pretty poorly of Baptiste’s miming abilities until his son hits it big, and young Nathalie is as in love with Baptiste as he is with Garance–but he’s the only one who genuinely loves Garance as something more than a pretty thing to keep around.
And then a fourth man, Count Édouard de Montray (Louis Salou), enters the scene about halfway through, himself in love with Garance, and offering to let her stay in his home as his mistress, hoping she will love him as much as he loves her. This comes after a period when Garance had been Lemaître’s mistress, a moment that happened in part because Baptiste was too shy to act on his feelings fast enough. The only reason Garance accepts his offer is to avoid arrest and conviction for one of Lacenaire’s crimes, a crime she had no involvement with, and which follows a pattern that shows her repeatedly taking the fall for his criminal activities. The Count further shows signs of jealousy, the sort that will have him challenge the innocent Lemaître to a duel, one that will never be met because the Count is stabbed to death by a destiny-seeking Lacernaire. Plus, it does seem (to me at least) like the Count is trying to buy Garance’s love. No, the only one whose love for Garance is pure is Baptiste, and the feelings are mutual.
So why don’t they get together?
That, in essence, is the tragedy of Children of Paradise. Several years pass between Part 1 and Part 2, and during that time, Garance and the Count have been living together comfortably while Lemaître and Baptiste both saw their respective careers really take off. But Baptiste also married Nathalie, and the couple have children. Sure, Baptiste is still pining for Garance, and Nathalie even somewhat gets that in Part 1, pointing out that neither of them asked to be in love with any particular person. It just somehow worked out that way. Nathalie doesn’t even seem to be particularly angry when she finds Garance and Baptiste together in a small room after a night together, in part because as much as Garance may claim to have been in love with Baptiste the past six years or so, there’s a difference between pining from afar and actually living with a person day in and day out. That’s her claim, and she isn’t wrong. Symbolically, as Garance rides off to prevent the duel between Lemaître and the Count–unaware as she is that the Count is already dead–it is the Carnival crowd that ultimately separates her from Baptiste as he struggles to catch up. Lemaître won’t mind not riding off with Garance. He’s a womanizer who has already moved on. Lacernaire won’t care either. He’s more interested in his own destiny. The Count is dead. It’s just societal interests and the people themselves keeping these two apart. And there’s something refreshingly mundane about that.
I mean, sure. Baptiste could find Garance later. But he’s still a married man (whose own young son told Garance how beautiful she is) while Garance is back on the street after most likely losing the roof over her head. These are not insignificant obstacles, and given how many cinematic romances end with the couple beating the odds, here’s a romance that ends because, well, it somewhat had to. How often have I seen that?
Then again, it fits in with the general look of a film that opens with a large, chaotic Carnival, the likes of which I don’t think I have seen all that often. And to think this was produced in the middle of a war…
NEXT: I’m going from a European film made during World War II in the midst of political upheaval to a European film made decades after the fact but about that political upheaval. Be back soon for the 1970 Italian film The Conformist.
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