Reviews

Following his early New Wave successes the career of director Claude Chabrol suffered a temporary eclipse but he miraculously returned to form with 'Les Biches' and the even more superior 'Helene cycle' in which Stéphane Audran plays Helene in variations on the theme of marital infidelity leading to murder.

Chabrol said that rather than making a whodunnit he wanted the audience to know who the murderer is 'so that we can consider his personality.' Under the microscope here is the fascinating specimen of Charles Desvallées whose complacent, ordered existence is unbalanced when learning that his prize possession is cheating on him. Michel Bouquet, for whom the part has been written, is utterly mesmerising and the scene in which he is given proof of his wife's infidelity is film acting at its very best as he succeeds in displaying the anguish of betrayal by doing the absolute minimum.

As Victor the attractive Maurice Ronet is perfectly cast and his murder is all the more dramatic for its suddenness and spontaneity.

Not every director is fortunate enough to find a 'muse' but the director's wife, the talented and sensual Stéphane Audran fulfils that function in no uncertain terms.

Critics at the time noted Chabrol's stylistic advancement and a more detached attitude towards his subjects. This low-key but powerful film is a first class psychological thriller in which, once again, the bourgeosie becomes Chabrol's favourite punch-bag.

Generally considered to be the first film of the New Wave although Agnes Varda's 'Le Pointe Courte' had appeared three years earlier, this is a far cry from the baroque, stylistic excesses of Claude Chabrol's 'Cahiers' contemporaries. It is indeed more akin to Italian neo-realism and Henri Decae's low contrast, natural lighting emphasises the unutterable dreariness of Sardent, a backwater where the director had spent the war years.

The linchpin of the piece is the dichotomy between the Serge of the title who is anything but 'beau' and the cultivated Francois. In keeping with Chabrol's Catholicism he has Francois determined to help his hapless friend but his bourgeois self-delusion merely serves to widen the gulf.

The performances of Jean-Claude Brialy and Gérard Blain are exceptional as they were to be in this director's companion piece 'Les Cousins' which represents the other side of the coin whilst the nineteen year old Bernadette Lafont who had earlier appeared with Blain in Truffaut's 'Les Mistons', utilises her primal sexuality to the utmost as Marie. Excellent support from Claude Cerval as an ineffectual priest, Michele Méritz as Serge's long-suffering wife and Edmond Beauchamp as a drunken lecher who may or may not be Marie's father. New Wave films were known for their little 'in-jokes' and Chabrol makes a brief appearance as does his assistant director Philippe de Broca who answers to the name Jacques Rivette!

This is an exceptional directorial debut by any standards and although a little rough around the edges, has at its centre real 'heart', an element one does not readily associate with his subsequent works, despite their technical polish.

In 1940 one of Germany's finest directors and its most popular actor combined to make a delightful piece entitled 'Clothes make the man' and teamed up again sixteen years later with this adaptation of Carl Zuckmayer's satire on the dangers of militarism which had been previously filmed twice by Richard Oswald. Although the milieus are totally different, both films have a not dissimilar theme, dealing as they do with how one's social standing and how one is viewed are determined by the way one is costumed.

Both films are essentially vehicles for the immensely talented and much-loved Heinz Ruehmann whose persona encourages the viewer's sympathies. Although greatly admired by Hitler and co., he had cleverly managed to appear neutral whilst his influence enabled his ravishing wife Hertha Feiler to star in films despite her grandmother being Jewish. Both he and director Helmut Kautner somehow succeeded in remaining apolitical.

This latter film takes a satirical swipe at both the military mentality and the Prussian cult of the uniform whilst the visual juxtapostions of the military elite and the hoi polloi are well realised. Quite a few buffoons on display of course with a particularly fine performance by Martin Held whilst Hannelore Schroth as his wife does her best in a thankless role. It is not without its serious moments and Ruehmann's plea as the hapless Wilhelm Voigt for humanity over rules touches the heart.

It is a faithful adaptation with excellent production values and would have delighted Ruehmann devotees whose presence guaranteed a healthy box office but for this viewer at any rate the director seems, unusually for him, to have played it safe on this occasion and not taken any chances which results in the film somehow lacking the requisite bite.

What it does in no uncertain terms is to call to mind Peter Ustinov's observation: "The Army is the final repository of the fool."

This and 'La Vie est a nous' from the same year, mark Jean Renoir's flirtation with Left-wing politics and very much reflect the prevailing mood of the time as the election of the Front Populaire had given the French a feeling of optimism. Suffice to say this euphoria was short-lived as the Socialist/Communist coalition proved utterly ineffectual.

Not only does 'Le Crime de Monsieur Lange' convey it's message with far greater subtlety than its companion piece, it's sheer exuberance is infectious.

Renoir has encouraged his cast to improvise which in conjunction with his use of continuous takes and deep focus camerawork gives the piece both immediacy and spontaneity. There is a distinctly collaborative feel here as many members of the cast as well as brilliant scénarist Jacques Prévert and composer Joseph Kosma belonged to the Left-wing 'October' Group.

The linchpin of the film is the personification of Good vs. Evil in the characters of Lange and Batala, superbly played by René Lefevre and Jules Berry. Lefevre is of course perfect casting as Everyman whilst Berry once again utilises his Mephistophelean persona to great effect and is the perfect combination of villany and charm. This immensely stylish artiste traditionally gave the appearance of improvising which stemmed from his being unable to remember his lines. On the distaff side there are enchanting performances from Florelle who gives a gorgeous rendition of Kosma's chanson and the always fascinating Nadia Sibirskaya, best known for her early films with her husband, director Dimitri Kirsanoff.

Renoir's fluid direction and the commitment of its participants have given us a thoroughly engaging and uplifting piece whilst on a purely technical level, the astonishing 360-degree pan when Lange 'executes' Batala is justly renowned.

Producer John Brabourne and director Lewis Gilbert combined to bring two excellent naval films to the screen, this one, based on C. S. Forester's 'Last Nine Days of the Bismarck' and Frank Tilsley's 'HMS Defiant'. Although the casts differed the same talent behind the camera worked on both productions, notably cinematographer Christopher Challis, composer Clifton Parker, editor Peter Hunt and special effects experts Howard Lydaker and Skeets Kelly.

Lydaker's superb miniatures were used in conjunction with war footage and staged scenes between real ships which were made available by the producer's father-in-law Lord Mountbatten with notably HMS Victorious standing in for the Ark Royal. Although shot in the confounded Cinemascope format the intimacy has not been jeopardised and Gilbert has wisely opted for black-and-white.

The real Director of Operations Sir Ralph Edwards, is not depicted here and is replaced by the fictional Captain Shephard, beautifully played by Kenneth More who coincidentally had served as an officer on HMS Victorious whilst the compassionate character played by classy Dana Wynter, the thinking man's crumpet, serves to broaden the film's appeal. They are supported by a first rate cast of dependable character actors, the like of whom we shall never see again, who bring a quiet authority to whichever film in which they appear notably Laurence Naismith, Michael Goodliffe, Geoffrey Keen and Michael Hordern. There is also a host of familiar faces in smaller roles, many of whom were to go on to greater things. The most fascinating and deeply poignant piece of casting is that of Esmond Knight as the Captain of the Prince of Wales. This must surely have been an emotionally challenging role for Mr. Knight who had lost one eye and been practically blinded in the other whilst serving as a gunnery officer in that ship's engagement with the Bismarck. One salutes his courage. Although Karel Stepanek is obliged for dramatic purposes to portray Admiral Luetjens as a rabid Nazi the real Luetjens was in fact quite the opposite, not only declining to give the Nazi salute but none too confident of Bismarck's chances of success. It was not he but Captain Lindemann who gave the order to fire on the ill-fated HMS Hood. He is played by Carl Moehner and voiced by the King of the Dubbers, Robert Rietty. Norman Shelley does his renowned Churchill impression whilst verisimilitude, especially for American viewers, is provided by inimitable broadcaster Edmund R. Murrow.

The final minutes of the Bismarck are powerfully realised and bring home in no uncertain terms the unutterable grimness of naval warfare whilst the special effects throughout are especially impressive for the time the film was made.

Quintessentially English war films were hardly likely to appeal to American audiences but this one proved a great success, due in no small measure to the appearance of Mr. Murrow but largely one suspects to the promotional use of the record 'Sink the Bismarck' sung by Johnny Horton. Whatever one's views on the quality of this song it certainly served it's purpose in getting bums on seats which is, after all, what the commercial enterprise of film-making is all about.

Orson Welles was not the only director to benefit from the services of innovative cinematographer Gregg Toland as his six colloborations with William Wyler helped establish and cement that director's reputation. This is their fourth film together and also marks the first of six films featuring Gary Cooper and inveterate scene stealer Walter Brennan who won this third 'supporting actor' Oscar for his splendid performance as Judge Roy Bean which puts those of Paul Newman and Victor Jory firmly in the shade.

Needless to say the decidedly odd relationship between Harden and Bean is the film's linchpin and the dynamic between these two actors is mesmerising. There is also a telling performance by Doris Davenport and it is to be lamented that she was unable to build on this and fulfil her potential.

Even by the standards of Hollywoodland the film plays fast and loose with the Bean legend but of course the reality was far less entertaining as he never met Lillie Langtry and died in his sleep at the age of 78.

The highlight is the crop fire, despite the obvious back projection whilst the powerful score is by Dimitri Tiomkin and an uncredited Alfred Newman.

What can one say of William Wyler? This much lauded and awarded director, affectionately known as '40-take' Wyler, is quite simply one of the greatest. He was certainly tough on his actors but no less than fourteen of them won Oscars under his demanding direction. One of those who expressed their gratitude was Charlton Heston who likened working with Wyler to having a Turkish bath. "You damn near drown but you come out smelling like roses."

This truly exceptional film, considered by its director Helmut Kautner to be his best, is even more remarkable in that it was filmed in arduous conditions during allied bombing raids and less than an hour's drive from the ravages of war in Berlin. The director, cast and crew were lucky for in Kautner's words: "We lived dreamily alongside time and distracted ourselves from all the horror through work."

It depicts working-class lives in the poetic realist style of Marcel Carné and echoes the lyricism of Vigo's 'L' Atalante'. Courtesy of cinematographer Igor Oberberg it is an etude of light and shadow whilst the haunting theme tune by Bernard Eichhorn is perfectly suited to the film's elegiac, melancholic mood.

Renowned for his gift with actors Kautner has drawn splendid performances from Hannelore Schroth, Carl Raddatz and Helmut Knuth, all of them familiar to German audiences. There is a simpatico between Schroth and Raddatz which is hardly surprising as they were husband and wife, albeit briefly.

Classified as a 'defector' film, one of those completed at the end of the National Socialist era but not premiered until after cessation of hostilities this masterpiece epitomises Kautner's refusal to use his work in the service of Nazi ideology which enabled him to pursue a highly personal approach to mainstrean cinema. As a result he is one of the true 'auteurs'.

Cinéphiles are obliged to shift tons of **** in order to find a diamond and discovering this beautifully realised, heart-winning film makes the effort worthwhile.

Patricia Highsmith's fascinatingly amoral creation Tom Ripley who featured in five novels, has been portrayed on screen by such varied performers as Dennis Hopper, Matt Damon. John Malkovich, Barry Pepper and Andrew Scott. The character was introduced in 'The Talented Mr. Ripley' and in this adaptation for director René Clément he is personified by Alain Delon. Not only did this film put Delon on the map it established and defined his screen persona for the rest of his career. His mystique and ambiguity were to serve him extremely well, notably in the iconic 'Le Samourai' and in what is arguably his best performance as 'Monsieur Klein'.

Director Joseph Losey said of him that beneath the cool, handsome exterior lay a deeply complex and driven man which makes him ideal casting as this adaptation by Clément and Paul Gégauff contrasts the beautiful with the sinister, the bright light on the surface with the darkness beneath.

The light is provided by the Italian coastline captured in ravishing Eastmancolor by one of the world's greatest cinematographers Henri Decae whilst the variations on Nino Rota's rather jaunty theme perfectly complement this tale of deception, stolen identity and cold-blooded murder.

Clément is not afraid to take his time here in establishing the characters and depicting what appears to be a carefree male friendship with perhaps a touch of the homoerotic which makes what occurs on the boat thirty-five minutes in so dramatically effective. Everything seems more clearcut at sea as Polanski was to show two years later in 'Knife in the Water'.

The role of Greenleaf also furthered the career of Maurice Ronet who was to appear with Delon on a few occasions, notably in 'La Piscine'. The character of Marge is essentially a cipher and Marie Laforet does her best whilst Erno Crisi is extremely effective as a police inspector and in her late sixties Elvire Popescu retains her ebullience. Easy to spot an uncredited Romy Schneider who was Delon's great love at the time.

Controversially, throughout the five novels Ripley evaded both capture and prosecution but here the makers have chosen to insert an Hitchcock-style ending of which the author unsurprisingly disapproved, citing it as 'a cowardly concession to public morality'. She was probably right of course but in a purely filmic sense, it works.

A thoroughly absorbing piece which has been described by one critic as 'the last ray of warmth in René Clément's illustrious career'.

Even the best of directors, like thoroughbred racehorses, have only so many great races in them and this is one race too many for Alfred Hitchcock. In the three years that had elapsed since his uneven 'Torn Curtain', the 70 year old director had been desperately casting around for a suitable subject for his 51st film and eventually settled, grudgingly, upon Leon Uris' best seller based upon the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Hitchcock recalled that this was 'a most unhappy film to make' and this is very much in evidence. The original material is dynamite but the result is, alas, a damp fuse. Apart from the sequence in the Cuban Embassy it is strangely devoid of both momentum and suspense and causes one to lament the earlier demise of Hitchcock's greatest editor, George Thomasini whilst the performances of most of its international cast verge on the lifeless. Philippe Noiret and Michel Piccoli of course never disappoint.

The shooting of Juanita by Parra with her purple dress opening like a flower is the one highlight.

One critic has compared watching this to 'listening to the concert of a great singer about a mile from the stadium. It is only a glimpse of greatness'.

When wooden Frederick Stafford, certainly no Cary Grant, utters the singularly appropriate 'That's the end of Topaz', this viewer at any rate could not help but heave a sigh of relief.

From the exotic Marrakesh of his previous film Alfred Hitchcock has brought us to the grimy streets of New York for a sombre, documentary-style piece which many believe to be one of his greatest. Adapted by Angus MacPhail from the Life magazine true story by multi-faceted Maxwell Anderson, this tale of the tragic consequences of mistaken identity is utterly compelling and reminds us that truth is not only stranger than fiction but decidedly more disturbing. Interestingly, it was MacPhail who had introduced to Hitchcock the concept of 'The MacGuffin' and here it is JUSTICE that fulfils this function.

The casting of Henry Fonda as wrongly accused but finally exonerated musician Manny Balastrero is a masterstroke as his understated manner and intrinsically upright persona engages our sympathy whilst the real victim of this Kafkaesque nightmare is his wife Rose, played by the excellent Vera Miles. As she begins to crack under the emotional strain the gradual distancing between this loving couple is expertly realised by Mr. Hitchcock.

His first black-and-white film since 'I Confess', the film is Bressonian in style as no one is caught 'acting' and in common with Bresson's 'A Man escaped' there is not a single unnecessary shot although the 'tilt-a-whirl' camera effect of Manny's dizziness in prison is somewhat anachcronistic. The scene of the real culprit appearing whilst Manny is praying is nothing short of inspired.

One must give credit to Hitchcock's dream team of cinematographer Robert Burks, editor George Thomasini and composer Bernard Herrmann. Sadly, when he was for various reasons deprived of their services ten tears later, the effectiveness of his films took a dive.

As a footnote Manny sued for wrongful arrest but had to settle for an insultingly paltry sum whilst the $22.000 he received for the film rights barely covered the costs of his wife's ongoing care. The film's written coda suggests that she fully recovered but alas that was not the case.

Not only is this a superb piece of film-making, the increasing amount of miscarriages of justice that are forever coming to light render it timeless.

This, the last of the five Westerns directed by Anthony Mann and starring James Stewart is also the third of their collaborations in this particular genre with screen writer Borden Chase and typifies the characters and conflicts associated with Chase's work as well as featuring stunning cinematography of its Canadian locations by veteran William H. Daniels.

Chase's 'Dr. Broadway' had provided the basis for Mann's first film and Mann had been suggested by Stewart to direct 'Winchester '73' after Fritz Lang had pulled out, feeling that Stewart was unsuitable casting(!) These three were made for each other with Borden's writing and Mann's direction perfectly suited to Stewart's tougher, more cynical post-war persona.

An outstanding element in Mann's westerns is the sometimes uneasy relationships between men and women in a milieu of action and violence and this film is certainly no exception with a fascinating dynamic between the equally self-willed characters played by Stewart and Ruth Roman whilst Stewart is particularly gifted at portraying the emotional ambivalence of the action hero.

The supporting characters, although stereotypical, are given true substance by Walter Brennan, Jay C. Flippen, a chilling Robert J. Wilkie and a gloriously unsavoury John McIntire.

The film's intensity, brutality and final shoot out look ahead to Mann's final and arguably greatest western, "Man of the West'.

Mann's films of this period were alas destined to be underrated by the 'cultivated' American critics but were at least appreciated by the French whilst much-loved James Stewart reigns as one of Hollywood's most complete actor-personalities.

Although arguably not Helmut Kautner's greatest film it is probably his most popular and the one for which he will be best remembered whilst Hans Albers, despite a distinguished career, will forever be associated with Hannes the singing sailor.

The bawdy, boozy, brawling sequences in the Grosse Freiheit no 7 of the title are well choreographed but for this viewer at any rate the film's effectiveness lies in the intimate scenes where Kautner's gift with actors comes into play. The performances of Albers, Ilse Werner(also teamed to great effect in 'Munchhausen') Hans Soehnker and Hilde Hildebrand are exemplary whilst the director puts on his actor's hat as Karl and fellow screenwriter Richard Nicholas does a turn as an ancient mariner. One of the film's obvious highlights is the magnificent nightmare sequence splendidly edited by Annaliese Schoennenbeck.

Kautner managed to navigate the perilous waters of National Socialism and refused to allow his films to be infused with Nazi ideology which naturally brought him into conflict with Herr Goebbels. Originally endorsed by the Propoganda Ministry as a tribute to the Merchant Navy, the finished film was deemed to be immoral, unheroic, demoralising and subversive. As a result it achieved the distinction of being one of ten films banned by Goebbels in 1944. As for Albers, he cleverly distanced himself from Nazi propoganda and as with the equally popular Heinz Ruemann, the Hitler regime turned a blind eye to his partner being Jewish.

Although perhaps not equal to the sum of its parts, Kautner's film with its melancholic strain continues to cast its spell and bears the hallmarks of a master film-maker. Shot in glorious Agfacolor by Werner Krien its songs undoubtedly contributed to its success, to the extent that outside Northern Europe Herr Albers is renowned more as a chanteur than the fine actor he was. As a son of Hamburg his statue still stands in the Platz named after him and he was to get more mileage out of the Hamburg connection with 'On the Reeperbahn at half past Midnight' and 'Heart of St. Pauli' in the late 1950's when he was, alas, well beyond his prime.

Kautner went on to become a beacon of light in the commercial wasteland of post-war German cinema.

Showered with awards and long since regarded as a masterpiece of world cinema this is one of Robert Bresson's most lyrical and accessible films and one in which, in his own words: "I put the best of myself."

The different stages in the life of the donkey Balthasar are here analogous to the life of a human being and the beast becomes a witness to and victim of mankind's frailty and destructive impulses. Although the film avoids sentimentality, the final scene is almost unbearably moving, heightened by the inspired use of the Andante from Schubert's sonata in A with its sparse, lamenting, poignant melody.

Bresson and his preferred editor Raymond Lamy ensure the film never drags whilst the casting of Anne Wiazemsky with her innate spirituality, is spot on. She was shortly to marry Jean Luc-Godard who perfectly summed up Bresson's piece as "really the world in an hour and a half."

It beggars belief that both Kenneth More and Dirk Bogarde were considered for the role of serial escapee von Werra in this adaptation of the book by Kendall Burt and James Leasor and top marks to director Roy Ward Baker for insisting upon a genuine German.

In his first international film young Hardy Kruger excels as the type of character for which he was to become best known although for this viewer at any rate he is just as effective in his less bombastic roles in Bourgignon's 'Les Dimanches de Ville-d'Avray' and 'Der Rest ist Schweigen' for Helmut Kautner.

Kruger himself by all accounts escaped three times from the Americans although one assumes in not nearly as dramatic a manner as depicted here and were it not for the fact that the film is based on a true story one would find it almost incredulous.

As one critic has pointed out, it is hardly likely that the Germans would have made 'The Wooden Horse' but despite the hero being a Nazi, the handsome and charismatic Herr Kruger certainly contributed towards its box-office success in Britain as well as cracking the German market which enabled producer Julian Wintle to form his own production company and make two more films with German protagonists, namely 'Bachelor of Hearts', again with Kruger and 'Tiger Bay' featuring Horst Bucholz.

The supporting cast is uniformly competent with plenty of 'stiff uppers' on display whilst the excellent Michael Goodliffe, so effective in 'A Night to remember' for the same director, is a standout and his interrogation scene with Kruger is arguably the film's most memorable.

The exterior shots of Northern England and Canada are impressive whilst the momentum is on the whole, well sustained.

Roy Ward Baker is one of a myriad of directors who have never stamped a personal imprint on their films. He has given us here a solid escape war movie which is watchable but somehow lacks the indefinable touch of an auteur.

The bare bones of Montague R. James' masterful short story 'Casting of the Runes' have been fleshed out in no uncertain terms in this adaptation by renowned screenwriter Charles Bennett which is directed by Jacques Tourneur, an inspired choice having previously worked wonders on a series of small budget occult horrors for producer Val Lewton at RKO.

One would hazard a guess that a not inconsiderable part of this film's budget was taken up by the salary of obligatory Hollywood import Dana Andrews who is of course worth every cent as his strong, eminently plausible persona makes him perfect casting as a sceptical man of science whose increasing doubts and fears are dramatically effective. His character of Holden replaces the Dunning of the original whilst the brother of the ill-fated Harrington has become his attractive niece played by the appealing Peggy Cummins. Happily the 'romance' element has been kept to a minimum. The clean-shaven satanist Julian Karswell of James' imagining has here acquired a suitably Mephistophelian beard and is given a splendidly subtle portrayal by Niall MacGuiness and there are marvellous turns by notable British eccentrics Athene Seyler, Reginald Beckwith, Liam Redmond and Brian Wilde. For filmic purposes the dreaded 'time allowed' has been condensed from three months to thee days.

The only fly in the ointment it seems was the meddling producer Hal E. Chester who not only tried to tell Tourneur how to direct but insisted on ramping up the 'horror' element which was totally opposed to Tourneur's emphasis on suggestion rather than depiction. The bone of contention, needless to say, was Chester's conception of the 'fearful fiend' and Bennett later said the 'introduction of the demon took a major movie down to the level of crap'. Mr. Andrews comment was more succinct: "Chester was a schmuck".

The effectiveness or otherwise of the mythical beast has long since divided critics and audiences alike but that aside, it is the performances, script, editing, cinematography, art direction, score and not least Tourneur's restrained direction which enable the film to triumph as one of the most accomplished of its type.

I would heartily recommend a reading of James' original. It won't take you long!

By Edward G. Robinson's standards the early-mid 1950's marked a low ebb as his 'greylisting' essentially barred him from the major studios but at least enabled him to make 'B' movies for the smaller ones, affectionately known as Poverty Row. This low budget, high body count crime noir, directed by the more than capable Hugo Fregonese, is arguably the best of the bunch and gives this fine actor the type of role in which he traditionally excelled, that of a psychopathic gangster. As written by Sydney Boehm the character of Vince Canelli is utterly monstrous with no redeeming qualities whatsoever and needless to say Robinson is riveting.

Good support from Jean Parker as a gangster's moll and Peter Graves as an unlikely hood whilst Milburn Stone as a priest represents the customary Hollywood 'God' element.

Veteran Stanley Cortez is behind the camera and the taut editing is by Robert Golden who also edited Fregonese's earlier 'The Raid'. Both these films are regarded as this director's best work but sadly, finding further directorial assignments in Hollywood elusive, he packed his bags and moved to Europe.

There have been twenty-three film adaptations of the plays of Henri Bernstein and 'Samson', first presented in Paris in 1907 has been filmed no less than four times. This version, the only one with 'sound', is courtesy of master film-maker Maurice Tourneur with a powerhouse performance by Harry Baur in the first of their fruitful collaborations.

Bernstein is guaranteed to offer a dose of harsh reality and behind the gloss and glamour lies a deeply cynical depiction of the arrogance and greed of the upper echelons of French society, a class that the playwright knew only too well. He himself spent the war years living it up in New York at the Waldorf Astoria with little or no interest in the war.

The film begins innocuously enough but from the moment that Baur as wealthy financier Brachart realises that he has been cuckolded, it takes on a far darker hue as he seeks revenge on his wife's lover and builds to a thrilling if somewhat melodramatic climax. The Samson of the title, like his Old Testament namesake, shakes the columns of the temple, not of the Philistines but of the Paris Stock Exchange, ruining both his rival and himself.

The superlative Monsieur Bauer goes through the gears here, from mild-mannered to maniacal, combining pathos and villainy. Strong support from stalwarts Gaby Morlay, André Luguet, Gabrielle Dorziat, André Lefaur and an especially touching Suzy Prim.

A little known but fascinating opus that boasts excellent production values and suffice to say, immaculate direction by Monsieur Tourneur.

Watching this morality tale unfold calls to mind Henry Ford's observation: "Money doesn't change men. It merely unmasks them."

The professional relationship of Maurice Tourneur and Harry Baur, two of Europe's indisputably greatest talents, bore fruit in four fine films of which this is the last and sadly, the penultimate film of the tragically ill-fated Bauer whilst Tourneur was forced to give up directing following a car accident in 1949.

Made for the Nazi-controlled 'Continental-Film', this is an utterly delightful and enchanting piece with some simply delicious performances from both adults and children. One cannot but run out of superlatives regarding Monsieur Bauer whose effortless artistry and supreme mastery of his craft is a joy to behold. He has excellent scenes with Monique Joyce and Lise Delamare in particular and Jacques Varennes does a splendid turn as his butler.

The film benefits from the contributions of renowned scénarists/dialoguists Michel Duran, Charles Spaak and Albert Valentin whilst Tourneur's direction is customarily subtle and restrained.

It is not as bittersweet as Julien Duvivier's similarly themed 'Un Carnet de Bal' but anyone who is unmoved by the final scenes is flint-hearted.

Made during Robert Bresson's especially creative period and suggested by 'Crime and Punishment', this morality tale of a man's fall from grace and salvation through love is, for this viewer at any rate, one of this director's most mesmerising works.

He again uses the first person narrative and although there is music by Jean-Baptiste Lully, it is the carefully recorded and orchestrated noises that supply the soundtrack. The visual economy is matched by the spare dialogue whilst regular cinematographer L. H. Burel provides suitably harsh natural lighting. The editing of the renowned pickpocketing sequence is superlative.

The linchpin is the casting of Richard LaSalle and Marika Green, two of Bresson's best acteurs-modeles. LaSalle has been trained by puppet master Bresson not to show any emotion and whose face resembles a tabula rasa whilst the main emphasis is on his hands, the tools of his trade. Marika Green is, quite simply, stunning, combining subdued sensuality with the look of a Renaissance Madonna. Both were to turn 'professional' but this remains their finest filmic hour. Their final scene, surely one of Cinema's most moving, inspired the ending of Paul Schrader's 'American Gigolo'.

Bresson has been called the most Christian of directors and indeed his greatest films, in one way or another, are about redemption. Of this film he said: "With theft I entered the back door into the kingdom of morality".

Seas cover seven tenths of the terrestrial globe and have inspired painters, writers, composers and not a few film-makers and this adaptation of a novel by Roger Vercel is one of the very best of its type.

Considered by the French to be among their most gifted directors, Jean Grémillon is fated to be little known abroad except to a coterie of cinéphiles. He had envisioned a far more realistic storm sequence to be filmed in Brittany but this was deemed impracticable for health and safety reasons and he was obliged to shoot in UFA's studios at Billancourt. Nonetheless this sequence still comes off pretty well. Filming came to a grinding halt with the outbreak of war and it was not completed and released until 1941 by which time its two stars had gone to Hollywoodland.

Navigating the stormy waters of desire are Jean Gabin and Michéle Morgan, one of Cinema's most memorable couples. On-screen chemistry is hard to define but their deep fondness for each other off-screen is evident whilst her ethereal quality is perfectly allied to his earthiness. As his wife is Madeleine Renaud who was later to star in Grémillon's excellent but underrated 'Le Ciel est a vous'. Renowned as a stage actress her sporadic appearances in film represent quality over quantity. Fernand Ledoux makes the most of a thankless role and if you blink you'll miss an uncredited Alain Cuny.

Stunning cinematography by one of his nation's finest, Armand Thirard, powerful score by Roland-Manuel whilst at the insistence of Grémillon and Gabin, the screenplay has been entrusted to Jacques Prévert whose poetic/realist style is perfectly suited to this tale of doomed love and the forces of Nature.

Grémillon's ambitious projects were constantly thwarted by the constraints of commercial cinema but his comparatively small output is a legacy to be treasured.

After WW11 director Alberto Lattuada adhered to the then-current Neo-realist style and this just about squeezes into that category as the 'returning soldier' theme is essentially a peg on which to hang a gangster, noir melodrama very much in the manner of Hollywood. The influence of post-war American culture is also evident in the use of Chick Webb's 'A-Tisket, A-Tasket' and a truly bizarre rendition by a mobster of Brown and Homer's 'Sentimental Journey'.

The film's main attraction is of course the pairing of Amedeo Nazzari, a strong leading man and Anna Magnani who utilises her earthy, sexual charisma. Nazzari received a well-deserved Nastro d'Argento for his performance. Also of note in a small but telling role is Carla del Poggio who married Lattuada the year this was released and who was to be seen to great effect in his 'Without pity' and 'Mill on the Po'. The sina qua non of films of this period, the sympathetic child, is beautifully played by Eliana Banducci whose only film this seems to be, alas.

This is Lattuada's third but his first feature of note and its unevenness which stems from it's screenplay by committee, in this case numbering six, is compensated for by its performances, taut editing, momentum, Aldo Tonti's atmospheric cinematography and effective close-ups with Lattuada's father Felice again providing the score. In keeping with its Hollywood counterparts the baddie has to get his just desserts but his demise amidst the rugged scenery is imaginatively realised.

Anna Seghers wrote her deeply personal statement 'Das Siebte Kreuz' whilst in exile. Having left Germany in 1933, actual life under the Nazis could only be of her imagining but she undoubtedly learnt of the horrors second-hand from more recent exiles. Her novel is very much one of nostalgia for better days but for filmic purposes director Fred Zinnemann and his adaptor Helen Deutsch have concentrated on the man hunt element.

Despite being early in his illustrious career, Zinnemann's gift with actors is already evident although by all accounts he and his star Spencer Tracy did not get on. Having said that Tracy's journey as George Heisler from bitterness to renewed faith in human nature is most effective and is further testament to this actor's skills whereas the brief romance with the maid of Signe Hasso is less so, especially when compared to the way Renoir treats the touching relationship between escapee Jean Gabin and farm girl Dita Parlo in his masterpiece 'La Grande Illusuion'. The communist leanings of Heisler which reflect those of the author have understandably been glossed over whilst one could have done without Ray Collin's voice-over from the grave which for this viewer at any rate is a needless distraction.

Standout performances come from husband and wife Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy, two highly respected artistes who came full circle some forty years later in 'Cocoon'. Agnes Moorehead makes her presence felt in a brief appearance and the film boasts a supporting cast of emigrés from Nazism whose accents and sincerity add verisimilitude to the proceedings. As a piece of well-intentioned propoganda the film does what it says on the tin.

The inspired cinematography of Karl Freund transcends the studio-bound production and in his first feature of interest Zinnemann's direction although still 'work in progress', gives note of what is to come.

As a tragic footnote, Freund's wife had already perished in a concentration camp whilst Zinnemann did not learn until after the war that both his parents had suffered the same fate.

It is very much part of Hollywoodland folklore that the character of megalomaniacal Smith Ohlrig is a thinly veiled version of Howard Hughes who had earlier fired director Max Ophuls during the first week of filming of the misbegotten and appropriately named 'Vendetta'. Always a pervasive force Hughes had recently purchased RKO and apparently gave contract player Robert Ryan permission to play the part as he and Ophuls saw fit but true to type he made an arrangement with editor Robert Parrish to secretly view the rushes.

Even by the standards of this brilliant actor, Ryan's performance as a deeply disturbed personality is utterly electric and for this viewer is matched only by that of Arturo de Cordova in Bunuel's 'El'. The character of Leonora is here less of a gold digger in Arthur Laurent's adaptation of Libbie Block's 'Wild Calendar' and in a demanding role Barbara Bel Geddes gives it her all. It is to be regretted that her subsequent film roles were sporadic thanks to the accursed HUAC. James Mason has the great good fortune to be cast by Ophuls in this, his first American film and went from strength to strength aided by his 'earthy' approach and his Huddersfield roots which meant he sounded neither too English nor too American. Perhaps with a nod to Ophuls the European there is a marvellous turn by Curt Bois as Ohlrig's steward-cum-factotum.

Although less vivid than in his European films his use of the camera marks him out as the master of 'fluid' film-making whilst every scene is meticulously choreographed and he is well served here by veteran cinematographer Lee Garmes. The Art Design by P. Frank Sylos is exemplary with Ohlrig's Long Island mansion a haunting presence. The narrative is pure melodrama but is transcended by a director who indisputably belongs in the hallowed company of what Andrew Sarris has called 'Pantheon Directors'.

The ultimate accolade came from Stanley Kubrick who considered him the director 'who for me possessed every quality'.

Loosely adapted from Ernst Lothar's monumental novel and directed by Karl Heitl following an absence of ten years, this is not only the history of an upper-middle-class, piano-making dynasty that covers the period 1888-1938 but is, most importantly, a portrait of a tumbling nation.

Lothar had, for obvious reasons, fled Austria prior to the Anschluss whereas actress Paula Wessely had welcomed it and together with her actor/husband Attila Hoerbiger had appeared in the notorious 'Heimkehr' for director Gustav Ucicky. It was considered, not least by the Americans, that by appearing in Hartl's film they would successfully distance themselves from the Nazi regime and that by playing a Jewess, she would be well and truly denazified. It is safe to say that her stunning and sympathetic performance certainly served its purpose.

Wessely had played the part of Christine in Schnitzler's 'Liebelei' on stage but was passed over for the film as she was not considered photogenic. Although not a beauty she possessed that indefinable quality common to the greatest artistes and seemed somehow lit from within as well as having a mellifluous speaking voice. Under Hartl's sensitive direction she exhibits charm, grace and dignity. It must be said that her character in this is more innocent than in the novel and her relationships with Crown Prince Rudolf and Count Traun are portrayed as platonic. Her link to Rudolf's suicide is of course historically tenuous to say the least.

It is an absolute joy to see the slim and youthful Curd Juergens who had become an Austrian citizen after the War, Maria Schell in her first starring role and Oskar Werner in his film debut. Both Schell and Werner were to reprise their roles in the somewhat limp British remake and Anton Edthofer reappeared as Emperor Franz Josef as he could hardly be improved upon.

The film should really have ended with the bombing but the makers felt obliged to add a Hollywood-style ending complete with heavenly chorus but this is perfectly acceptable for its time as the film itself was designed as a vehicle to aid Austrians to overcome their past whilst the final panoramic view of the city with St. Stephen's Cathedral being rebuilt must have gladdened many a heart. The shot of the angel with the trumpet potruding from the rubble is particularly touching as for Austrians it represented what one film historian has termed 'a symbol of purity, art and heartfelt nationalism expressed through its love of great music'.

This is a cracking Fim Noir from a director one would not readily associate with this particular genre. MGM has gone all-out here with archetypal noir cinematography by Robert Surtees, edgy and sometimes discordant score by Bronislau Kaper and taut editing by studio stalwart Conrad Nervig.

The film takes an unexpected turn halfway through and introduces some deliciously seedy characters whilst the Western-style final showdown on a windswept night by the railway tracks is one to treasure. Of course the old Hollywood Rule Book dictates that the leading character must seek redemption for his past misdemeanours, in this case cowardice and betrayal and he does so here in the most spectacular fashion.

As always Zinnemann gets the best from his players and the casting is faultless with Messrs. Ryan and Heflin, two of Hollywoodland's finest, as the pursuer and the pursued. Mary Astor convinces as one who has been there and back which in Ms. Astor's case was certainly true. Appealing MGM contract player Janet Leigh is still in her fresh-faced wholesome phase BC(before Curtis) whilst Taylor Holmes does a splendid turn as a shyster lawyer who offers a harassed Heflin a perfectly practical solution to his troubles: "He dies...or you die. It's him...or you."

This film comes from what could be termed Fred Zinnemann's 'period of promise'. A promise that was to be fulfilled in no uncertain terms during the next decade.