User Reviews

The crimes of the Peyrebeille inn, in the Ardèche District, by the owners, the Martin couple and their servant Fétiche, horrified 1830 France, therefore earning the inn itself the nickname "auberge rouge", the "red inn".

This famous, horrific serial-killing case, taking place in an isolated and lugubrious inn, in that deserted part of France, was too tempting not to make it into a film.

The genius of Claude Autan-Lara is to triple it with both a Social and a religious critic ; and to put the icing on the cake, he chose Fernandel, then the undisputed French comical character, for the first role, the role of the monk...Yet one cannot find a darker comedy, and that is probably the greatest charm of the film itself.

Summary : in their isolated inn, during a winter snowstorm, the Martins just killed their uptenth victim, a poor barrel organ player, but his pet monkey managed to escape ; at the same time, a monk and a novice ready moving to their convent walk painstakingly in the snow, hoping to find a hospitable home in the way, just as the stagecoach to Privas, carrying eight people including the own daughter of the Martins, is forced to make a stop at the inn for a night.

The scenario would be all to familiar if it weren't for the fact that Mrs Martin is determined to confess herself to the monk ; but she does so only at the condition that the monk won't repeat a word she'll tell him, under the holy secret of confess.

From that moment, the film turns to an oppressive closed-doors drama, stuffed with tragic-comical situations, twists and turns, as poor Fernandel is torn between his duty to save his Christian brethren, and his duty not to reveal in any way the horrible truth, and the fate, not only of the stagecoach passengers, but most probably of his novice and himself.

It is said that Fernandel, who never refused any film but was a devout catholic, was so shaken by the film that he never spoke again to Autan-lara and gratefully took the role of Don Camillo, the good-doing Italian vicar, as a sort of expiation.

And it's true that everything has been put in place in this film to make it ambiguous, thick, oppressive despite all of its comical aspects...And that's what makes it a must-see!

A remake, some 56 years after this one, is now in Post Production with a screenplay by Christian Clavier - who also plays the host played here by Carette - and co-starring Gerard Jugnot and Josie Balasko. This trio were, of course, founder members of Splendid and all have several tasty writer-director-actor credits on their cvs. In other words none of them are exactly chopped liver but then neither were Fernandel, Julien Carette and Francoise Rosay and the Autant-Lara version also had something the new version can only dream of; Yves Montand singing the plot over the opening and closing credits - something 'borrowed' by High Noon the following year. Autant-Lara was noted for his satiric stance on the Church and he doesn't disappoint here, encouraging writers Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost to include touches like the chestnut grille that stands in as a confessional 'screen' when hostess Francoise Rosay is moved to reveal to Fernandel's monk how she and her husband, Carette, ritually poison the soup they serve to guests at their remote inn, and then, once the victims expire, rob them. This sets up neatly the central dilemma; how can Fernandel save the current guests without betraying the secrets of the Confessional (this could well be where Hitchcock got the idea for 'I Confess'). This is French cinema at its best, which is saying something. The scene where the murderers are just about to dig a grave for their latest victim when they spot Fernandel approaching and quickly convert stiff to snowman was way ahead of its time half a century ago. There's been quite a lot of talk about the atmosphere on the set between the two Johnny-One-Names Fernandel and Carette (Carette vacillated, as did Dalio, between billing as Carette and Julien Carette/Marcel Dalio) with Fernandel, rightly or wrongly, feeling hard done by at the hands of Autant-Lara to whom he allegedly never spoke again, but after half a century surely we can forget that and just delight in a minor masterpiece.