I went to a great deal of trouble to purchase "Viper in the Fist" for one reason only. I'm a great fan of Philippe de Broca. To my astonishment, this wonderful movie far surpassed my expectations. I was aware, of course, from the credits that the screenplay was based on an autobiographical novel concerning three young boys who had a particularly cruel mother. This viper-in-the-midst made Cinderella's stepmother seem like a fairy princess. I have never in all my life seen such a cruel woman. She was really vicious. Not only did she assault her children physically, but she hired other people (particularly a vicious priest) to assault them as well. She would even injure herself and then falsely claim she was actually injured by one of the boys. In a really terrifying scene, she took the boys to a hideous prison and threatened to have them incarcerated. But that was the least of her cruel measures. The ways and means by which she would undermine the young boys psychologically and belittle them were absolutely hair-raising.
Anyway, here is the really incredible thing. Gradually, very gradually, due entirely to the magnificent performance of Catherine Frot who plays the chillingly vicious, cold-hearted woman, we begin to feel an empathy for her. Everyone hates her, naturally (except for her somewhat feeble-hearted husband, plus a succession of stupid, worldly-minded priests drawn from a book in which the original author's anti-Catholic bias is all too apparent). As I say, due entirely to Frot's performance, although she doesn't relax in her viciousness one iota – in fact she gets worse as the film progresses – I began to feel sorry for her. I cried when she died. Frot's characterization is certainly the greatest piece of acting I've ever seen on the screen – or stage either.
Perhaps I should not have been surprised that this magnificent movie copped so many unfavorable reviews. Just about all the angry comments stemmed from either the changes that director Philippe de Broca and producer Olga Vincent made in their screenplay or the more charitable or less scathing interpretation of Madame Hervé-Bazin by the remarkably skillful Catherine Frot. Most of these critics compared this film unfavorably with the 1970 TV version, made with Bazin's approval. But these critics all seem to miss the point. De Brocca is not seeking comparisons. He is simply using the novel as a point of departure for an engrossing movie, pervaded with the fascinating (if terrifying) atmosphere, the viewpoints and long-extinct class distinctions, which were all bound up in the sights and sounds of the 1920s. An auteur should be judged by what he puts on the screen, not for his fidelity (or otherwise) to his source material.
Anyway, here is the really incredible thing. Gradually, very gradually, due entirely to the magnificent performance of Catherine Frot who plays the chillingly vicious, cold-hearted woman, we begin to feel an empathy for her. Everyone hates her, naturally (except for her somewhat feeble-hearted husband, plus a succession of stupid, worldly-minded priests drawn from a book in which the original author's anti-Catholic bias is all too apparent). As I say, due entirely to Frot's performance, although she doesn't relax in her viciousness one iota – in fact she gets worse as the film progresses – I began to feel sorry for her. I cried when she died. Frot's characterization is certainly the greatest piece of acting I've ever seen on the screen – or stage either.
Perhaps I should not have been surprised that this magnificent movie copped so many unfavorable reviews. Just about all the angry comments stemmed from either the changes that director Philippe de Broca and producer Olga Vincent made in their screenplay or the more charitable or less scathing interpretation of Madame Hervé-Bazin by the remarkably skillful Catherine Frot. Most of these critics compared this film unfavorably with the 1970 TV version, made with Bazin's approval. But these critics all seem to miss the point. De Brocca is not seeking comparisons. He is simply using the novel as a point of departure for an engrossing movie, pervaded with the fascinating (if terrifying) atmosphere, the viewpoints and long-extinct class distinctions, which were all bound up in the sights and sounds of the 1920s. An auteur should be judged by what he puts on the screen, not for his fidelity (or otherwise) to his source material.