1938 – Scene by Green

La Bête Humaine (1938)

Jean Renoir | 1hr 40min

Locomotive driver Lantier has been painfully afflicted by the consequences of his ancestors’ alcoholism since birth, though the way it manifests as headaches and uncontrollable fits of rage in La Bête Humaine, it might as well be a blood curse. When he is caught in the throes of passion or intoxication, he appears to be possessed by some invisible force, at one point compelling him to wrap his hands around the neck of his sweetheart Flore before a passing train snaps him back to reality. As such, it is a dangerous game that his newest love interest Séverine is playing, slyly luring the angry, volatile beast from out of its cage and setting it on her abusive husband.

The link between France’s poetic realism and Hollywood’s films noir is evident in Jean Renoir’s bleak, psychological tale, laying out the blueprints of those corrupted antiheroes and femme fatales who would dominate the next decade of American cinema. That La Bête Humaine’s roots extend back to the naturalistic writing of novelist Émile Zola only further embeds it within a history of fatalistic storytelling as well, rejecting romanticism in favour of moral ambiguity and melancholic contemplations on the inexorable nature of man. After all, Lantier’s downfall is woven into the very fabric of his character, dooming him to a tragic fate decided before he was even born – so who better to navigate his dance with darkness than the French master of camera movement?

*An uncontrollable fit of rage tempered by a passing train – these high-momentum vehicles are deeply linked to Lantier’s soul.*

*Window frames divide the frame into segments, placing a barrier between the camera and the actors.*

Coming off a string of cinematic triumphs, the versatility of Renoir’s fluid visual style was well-established in 1938, though here it is more precisely aimed at generating a pervasive, uneasy tension. This is not to say his camerawork isn’t swept away by romance on occasion, even falling under Séverine’s allure in one ballroom scene as it lightly weaves its way among dancers to find her, but far more notable is the chilly distance which it keeps between us and the actors. When fate guides Lantier to the train where his path will soon collide with Séverine’s, we are kept on the outside, only catching glimpses through the windows as we drift past. Moreover, the murder she conducts with her jealous husband Roubaud unfolds entirely out of view, just behind the closed doors of a private compartment. Her wealthy godfather Grandmorin is the target here for allegedly assaulting her in the past, though given Roubaud’s abusive nature, his own future isn’t looking terribly secure either.

*Renoir’s camera niftily traverses the ballroom, joining the waltzing dancers to eventually find Séverine.*

*An excellent introduction to this fateful train ride, tracking the camera outside the windows as Lantier wanders between compartments.*

*Doors closed and shutters down – we remain at a distance outside the train as Séverine and Roubaud commit murder.*

With an infatuated Lantier as the sole witness to this assassination, Séverine finds no difficulty in covering it up, and thus an affair begins to blossom between the two. Renoir’s camera seems to be in equal adoration of her as well, often framing her through windows and mirrors like the subject of a painter’s gaze, though he does not shy away from the darkness which encompasses both in sultry, gloomy reflections. While Jean Gabin is playing out internal battles of self-control and impulsive fury, Simone Simon delivers a similarly layered performance as Séverine, albeit one which conceals a sharp, manipulative mind beneath seductive pleas for Lantier’s masculine protection. When she eventually confesses her love to him one rainy night, the camera’s movement from their kiss to an overflowing, nearby barrel isn’t just a suggestive hint at the following consummation – it is an ominous symbol of mounting emotions ready to spill over at any moment.

*Séverine is one of cinema’s original femme fatales, delicately captured in this sultry, gloomy reflection.*

*Elegant framing through mirrors in the mise-en-scène.*

*Camera movement ties this romantic affair to an overflowing barrel – an ominous visual metaphor.*

The first attempt on Roubaud’s life thus stands out as perhaps the most potent harbinger of film noir in La Bête Humaine, both in terms of narrative and mise-en-scène. With Séverine’s murder of Grandmorin becoming a point of morbid intrigue for Lantier, she takes him to a murky, industrial train yard where can find out for himself what it is like to kill a man, and Renoir’s lighting grows more expressionistic than ever. Long shadows are thrown across the rough ground, and a single strip of light illuminates Lantier’s guilty eyes, before he reaches down into a puddle and claims a steel pipe as his weapon. Even with Séverine’s encouragement though, still he cannot bring himself to unleash the murderous animal within him – at least, not upon the target she has aimed him towards.

*A single strip of light illuminates Lantier’s guilty eyes, revealing an expressionist influence.*

*A dark reflection of Lantier as he picks up a murder weapon, tipped upside-down in this black puddle.*

*A precursor to film noir in the high contrast lighting of this train yard, mirroring the darkness of Lantier’s character arc.*

Like the steam trains he is so lovingly obsessed with, Lantier cannot deviate from the rigid tracks he has been set on, and it is no use trying to slow or control him. Renoir has been building this metaphor right from the start through montages of chugging wheels, burning furnaces, and our soot-covered protagonist at the helm, while those recurring shots fixed to the vehicle itself build a similarly brisk momentum, hurtling forward into pitch-black tunnels and beneath bridges. His fate is as tragically assured as the destination of any locomotive, finally toppling headfirst into madness when Séverine tries to seduce him one last time into killing her husband.

*Marvellous montage editing upon the train as it hurtles through tunnels, beneath bridges, and past fields – an unstoppable force of destiny.*

Much like the murder of Grandmorin, Renoir’s camera keeps a safe distance from the violence which unfolds, though this time we are given glimpses through a doorway as Lantier furiously chases his lover. With so much of this unfolding offscreen, we are given nothing but her chilling screams to fill in the dead air before he finally re-enters the frame, pushes her onto a bed, and sinks a knife into her flesh. In the aftermath, the sentimental lyrics of a French love song seem to taunt Lantier as his mind begins to clear, and the camera drifts mournfully across Séverine’s limp, lifeless body.

“Whoever tries to love Ninette,

Will end up with a broken heart,

Ninon’s little heart,

Is tiny and frail and adorable.”

*A subtle but powerful reframing of the camera as the murder commences within this narrow doorframe, disappears from view, and then reemerges from another angle.*

*The camera drifts in close-up along Séverine’s lifeless body as the sentimental lyrics of a French love song taunt Lantier in the background.*

*Finally pushed to the edge and consumed by corruption, shadows fall harshly across Lantier’s face.*

Still set on a singular, unwavering path, Lantier trudges down the railway tracks and towards his final shift at work. The beast within him has won, and now only death can end the suffering it has inflicted upon his mind and soul. After witnessing him jump from a moving train and finding his body in the grass, it seems that even his colleague Pecqeaux agrees too, poignantly remarking that “I haven’t seen him look so peaceful in a long time.” Perhaps this calmness found in the destruction of the self is the best that any of us can hope for, Renoir cynically laments – and yet La Bête Humaine never entirely discounts the grace which comes with such suffering. If anything, the fact that Lantier’s anguish resonates so loudly only affirms the existence of beauty in his troubled life, letting us cherish it even more for its delicate, fateful fragility.

*Peace is found in death – the total destruction of self.*

La Bête Humaine is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

Alexander Nevsky (1938)

Sergei Eisenstein | 1hr 51min

The Teutonic Knights’ attempted invasion of Russia in the 13^th century was not the last time the Slavs would feel the heat of rising German forces. Tensions between the Soviet Union and the Third Reich were similarly strained when Sergei Eisenstein was commissioned to direct Alexander Nevsky, seeing him use the titular Prince’s grand conquest of his foes to inspire audiences with patriotic solidarity. It had been ten years since his previous film, and the artistic failures he suffered while travelling Europe and the Americas brought him back to his home country, reluctantly asking Stalin for one last chance to prove his value. Supervised by co-director Dmitri Vasilyev and co-writer Pyotr Pavlenko, his instructions were simple: stay on schedule, do not stray into experimentalism, and do not embarrass the Soviet Union.

That Eisenstein was still able to create a film of such majestic ambition without stepping outside these restrictions is a testament to his incredible craftsmanship. Alexander Nevsky may not possess the formal innovation of his silent works, yet this venture into sound cinema maps out its historic clash of medieval armies with great finesse, inviting famed Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev to arrange a score that rumbles and sweeps across battlefields and villages. “The Russian lands we shall never surrender / Whoever rises against Russia will be smitten,” his male chorus sings in the opening scene after Nevsky refuses to join the Mongols’ Golden Horde. Although his vanquishing of Swedish invaders upon the Neva River has earned him a formidable reputation, his talents are not for sale. He is a hero for the Russian people, and a man this remarkable no doubt deserves his own folk songs to accompany his tale.

*The horizon sits low in the frame as figures traverse barren hillsides, and disappears entirely when Eisenstein poses them against vast, grey skies.*

*Magnificent architecture of 13th century Russia, rising up as impressive backdrops to the rising political tensions.*

Even before we reach the monumental Battle on the Ice, the scale of this narrative is equally matched by its astounding cinematic style, often tilting the camera at low angles to gaze up in awe at marvellously blocked scenes laid before us. The horizon sits low in the frame as figures traverse barren hillsides, and it disappears entirely when Eisenstein poses them against vast, grey skies, often with the domed roofs and arches of their buildings rising up in the background. The Teutonic Knights receive similar visual treatment as they overrun the city of Pskov, though they carry a far more daunting air of sadistic, almost cultlike ruthlessness, tossing children into fires and holding crucifixes aloft. Eisenstein’s montages do not unfold with the radical flourishes of Battleship Potemkin or Strike for once, but rather carry through a deep, sombre grief in their continuity editing and axial cuts, punching in on wide shots to underscore the horrific suffering of the Russian people.

*Scenes of carnage and destruction in Pskov, setting in a deep, sombre grief.*

*The Teutonic Order possesses a cult-like ruthlessness, wearing white hoods and raising crosses as they torture innocent Russians.*

*Swastikas adorn the bishop’s mitre, likening his threat to rising Nazi powers in 1938.*

It is no coincidence that the helmets worn by these invaders bear such close resemblance to mock-ups of German Stahlhelms from World War I, nor that the bishop’s mitre is adorned with swastikas. Next to these villains, Nevsky effectively becomes a twentieth-century man facing contemporary evils, rallying Novgorod to fight for its freedom. His rousing speeches are infectious, inspiring rival warriors Vasili and Gavrilo to prove their worthiness to the maiden Olga on the battlefield, and similarly stirring the grieving Vasilisa to seek vengeance for her slain parents.

*Two warriors competing for the heart of one girl, stirring them to prove their value on the battlefield – clean, archetypal characters remain Eisenstein’s strength.*

*Beautiful, wintry sets as we approach the Battle on the Ice, freezing these half-sunken boats upon the lake.*

Patriotic anthems continue to ring out as the peasants of Novgorod zealously raise their weapons and torches, moving as one mass towards their common destiny at Lade Chudskoe. There, Vasili and Gavrilo are ordered to take charge of the vanguard and left flank, while Nevsky leads the right flank. If his strategy works, then this should crush the Germans’ wedge attack, and the lake’s thawing ice will shatter beneath the weight of their heavy armour.

It is one thing to hear the Prince’s genius in theory, and another to behold it in action. The Battle on the Ice dominates almost thirty minutes of the film’s runtime, and stands among Eisenstein’s greatest artistic triumphs, setting a cinematic standard for medieval conflicts that would influence many legendary directors from Orson Welles to Stanley Kubrick. As the suspense slowly ratchets up in anticipation of the first charge, Eisenstein surveys the layout, obstructing shots of the Teutonic army gathering in the distance with a forest of spears sprouting from Nevsky’s forces. Vasilisa is one of a hundred Russian troops stationed across this vast, flat expanse, but here her focused expression is foregrounded, embodying the grit and strength of a nation that refuses to surrender quietly.

*The terrain is vast and flat, yet Eisenstein still turns it into a visual marvel in his framing and blocking, filling the shot with negative space from the sky.*

*Vasilisa’s face stands out along the frontline of Russian soldiers, embodying the grit and strength of a nation that refuses to surrender quietly.*

*Minimalism in Eisenstein’s framing, frequently using low angles to set actors against clouds.*

*Welles would later recycle this shot in Chimes at Midnight – a forest of spears obstructing our view of the opposing forces.*

Finally, the Teutonic Knights’ charge begins. From low camera angles that move with their horses, they seem to float like faceless spectres, and Prokofiev’s score builds its chants and horns to a dramatic climax before abruptly cutting out with the violent clash of both armies. Eisenstein is not content with simply capturing random chaos here, but choreographs the battle with tremendous clarity, closing in on smaller skirmishes between foes while tracking the movement of larger units. Though the Germans begin to make ground on the Russians, cutaways to Nevsky waiting for the moment to launch his surprise flank attack reassure us of his plan, and promise hope as he charges forward with a bold rallying cry – “For Rus!”

*Teutonic Knights seem to float on the air as they rush into battle, almost like faceless spectres.*

*A violent clash of fighters from both sides, officially commencing one of Eisenstein’s most remarkable set pieces.*

*“For Rus!” – Nevsky launches his surprise flank attack, and shifts the balance of power.*

Eisenstein’s editing paces this battle perfectly, slowing the action at key points as tactics are reassessed, and then building it up again with a fresh shift in power dynamics. We see this unfold when the Germans retreat into a defensive formation and rain arrows on the Russians, but also in the sweet, smaller-scale interaction that sees Vasilisi toss a wooden spar to a surrounded Vasili, saving his life. This is the sort of selfless bravery which holds Nevsky’s forces together while the Teutonic Knights crumble, forcing them onto the frozen lake where, just as he predicted, they shatter the surface and sink into its depths. Cinematographer Eduard Tisse’s practical effects are spectacular all throughout this battle, simulating wintry landscapes with lens filters and chalk dust, but it is here that his genius truly shines in constructing ice sheets out of melted glass and collapsing them upon deflated pontoons.

*The Germans retreat into a defensive formation, forcing the Russians to reassess their tactics.*

*A constant focus on the smaller skirmishes between warriors, uniting Vasili and Vasilisi in this moment of heroism as they are surrounded on all sides.*

*A tremendous, resounding defeat rendered through montage and practical effects. The ice cracks, and the Germans drown in their heavy armour.*

Nevsky’s victory is decisive, though as the camera slowly drifts over the field of slain warriors, Eisenstein takes a moment to mourn the sacrifices that have been made. “He who fell for Russia has a died a hero’s death / I kiss your sightless eyes and caress your cold forehead,” a lone female voice laments, before turning to the glory endowed upon those returning home.

“As to the daring hero who survived the fight,

To him I shall be a loyal wife and a loving spouse.”

*Eisenstein’s camera slowly tracks over the battlefield and its bodies, quietly mourning the loss of Russia’s bravest fighters.*

*A proud return home, exalting the national spirit as woman and children embrace their men.*

Indeed, Nevsky’s liberation of Pskov brings romantic resolution for his warriors, neatly tying up their own lingering arcs. With Vasili proclaiming Gavrilo the second-bravest fighter on the battlefield, he is the winner of Olga’s hand in marriage, while Vasili is more than happy to marry the bravest – his saviour, Vasilisi. The curtains are fully pulled back on the Soviet propaganda behind Eisenstein’s artistry in this moment, idyllically promising great rewards to those who put their lives on the line for Russia, as well as its alarming inverse to those who threaten war,

“He who comes to us with a sword shall die by a sword!” Nevsky warns, and it is plain to see here the threat that Stalin wishes to send to his own enemies. Eisenstein may have acted as a reluctant mouthpiece for the Soviet Union, though it is evident in Alexander Nevsky that he saw these political messages as an unfortunate mandate. Still, to forge an impassioned connection to the past through moving images, music, and the skilful synthesis of both – that alone justifies the noble pursuit of creativity in an autocratic culture that threatens its very existence.

*Romances cleanly sort themselves out, promising great personal reward to those who risk their life for Russia.*

*An astounding arrangement of extras among buildings, playing to Eisenstein’s strengths as an epic filmmaker.*

Alexander Nevsky is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel and Tubi TV.

Bringing Up Baby (1938)

Howard Hawks | 1hr 42min

From the moment that the scatter-brained Susan throws David’s golf game into chaos at their very first encounter in Bringing Up Baby, unruly forces of nature seem to conspire against the perfectly ordered life he has built for himself. A leopard called Baby sent from Brazil unexpectedly falls into their care, wreaking havoc on his plans to complete a giant Brontosaurus skeleton at his museum, and marry his fiancée Miss Swallow the next day. A troublesome dog named George interferes too, running off with the final bone needed for his project, and a second, dangerously untamed leopard complicates the ordeal even further when it is freed from a local circus.

These mischievous creatures represent more than just the breakdown of structure in David’s life though, wearing away at his patience until he surrenders to the mayhem. Howard Hawks’ animalistic subtext is ridden with sexual innuendo at every turn, comically undercutting the seriousness of David’s mounting stress with reminders of his vulnerability and repressed, primal desire.

*Hawks wields his comic subtext wth a deft hand, positioning David and Susan as the reluctant parents of Baby the leopard, and thus pushing the boundaries of a conventional American family.*

With the Production Code’s censorship at its peak in 1938, Hawks and his screenwriters could have never been so explicit with their gags even if they wanted to, yet the underhanded subtlety of their perpetual double entendres speaks even more acutely to David and Susan’s simmering romance than any brazen statement of their attraction. Besides, David’s just not that sort of man to speak so plainly of such personal matters. Only when he is forced to beg Susan to return his balls, goes searching for his “precious” bone, and becomes a surrogate parent to Baby is he able to admit to his innate animalistic impulses.

If Baby the leopard effectively becomes David’s child with Susan, driving them mad with frustration, then that giant dinosaur skeleton which he is working on with Miss Swallow is theirs, and she virtually says as much herself. “This will be our child,” she proclaims, gesturing at this dry, dead beast. “I see our marriage purely as a dedication to your work.” Not even she is saved from Hawks’ sexual innuendos, with him poking fun at the connotations of her suggestive name, and humorously implying the sterility of their relationship as David ponders where his new bone goes.

“You tried in the tail yesterday and it didn’t fit.”

*If Baby the leopard is David’s child with Susan, then this dinosaur is his child with Miss Swallow – dry, dead, and sexless.*

With jokes this sly being thrown out at such a breakneck pace by Hawks’ talented ensemble, we are often left catching up on several punchlines at a time. This propulsive narrative power and madcap energy isn’t atypical of 1930s screwball comedies, but Bringing Up Baby reaches near-perfection in the hands of a genre master like Hawks, orchestrating an amusingly tense dynamic between his actors that lands each comic beat with razor sharp timing. Dudley Nichols and Hagar Wilde no doubt deserve credit for penning one of Hollywood’s finest comedies too, but at the same time this is just the springboard for two career-defining performances – Katharine Hepburn taking control of scenes with her rhythmic dialogue and clipped intonations, and a sarcastic Cary Grant nervously stammering through the confusion.

“Now it isn’t that I don’t like you Susan, because after all in moments of quiet I’m strangely drawn to you. But, well, there haven’t been any quiet moments.”

With actors, writers, and director working at the top of their game, Bringing Up Baby is about as flawless as any piece of cinema can get with such little dedication to any distinct aesthetic. Hawks’ physical gags may be hilariously inventive, at one point seeing Grant awkwardly hide the back of Hepburn’s ripped gown by trailing behind her a little too closely, but this is not the sort of visual comedy innovated by Buster Keaton which relied heavily on framing and composition. Almost the entirety of the comedy here is driven by the eccentric screwball antics, leading a pair of opposites towards a more fulfilling romantic union than either of them previously knew existed, as well as the erotic subtext that lies just beneath its surface.

*Visual gags and slapstick galore. Grant and Hepburn are two of a kind in their tight, comedic coordination.*

Hawks formally signposts the disruptive transgression of this relationship virtually all the way through the film too, with Susan implicating David in a few minor crimes at the start, and later stopping to note the unlikely friendship that forms between Baby the leopard and George the dog. Most prominent of all though is the gender subversion that Hawks wields such a deft hand over, dressing the low-voiced Hepburn in traditionally masculine outfits and positioning her as the more dominant figure, while Grant is forced to dress in a fluffy negligee upon realising his clothes have been stolen. On one level, his improvisation when he suddenly meets Susan’s Aunt Elizabeth while wearing this outfit is simply an exasperated resignation to the ludicrousness of the situation without even trying to explain himself, though on another he is sardonically pushing the boundaries of his own apparent queerness even further.

Elizabeth: You look perfectly idiotic in those clothes.

David: These aren’t my clothes.

Elizabeth: Well, where are your clothes?

David: I’ve lost my clothes!

Elizabeth: But why are you wearing these clothes?

David: Because I just went GAY all of a sudden!

*Gender bending typical of Hawks’ comedy, dressing Hepburn in traditionally masculine outfits while Grant is relegated into a fluffy negligee.*

It’s too bad for him that this Aunt Elizabeth also happens to be the multimillionaire who has offered a large donation to his museum, should he prove to be a suitable enough candidate. The rest of the evening doesn’t exactly prove her first impressions wrong either, especially with Susan still drawing him into her hijinks. Mistakenly believing he is a zoologist, and later lying to her aunt that he is a big-game hunter, she is constantly landing David in awkward positions that assume he possesses some dominance over the animal kingdom, only to expose his total ineptness. No matter how hard he tries to coax Baby off rooftops with hilariously desperate renditions of ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love’, he is not a man who controls nature, but is tormented by its unpredictability and lack of order.

*‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love’ hilariously forces David and Susan to express their affection towards Baby the leopard – only then will it behave like a good child should.*

In short, Susan embodies all of David’s most embarrassing weaknesses, continuing to radiate her aura of chaos out into the lives of strangers and drawing them to a jailhouse in Hawks’ climactic comedic set piece. The farce which binds them, Miss Swallow, Aunt Elizabeth, her lawyer, her housemaid, a big-game hunter, a circus crew, and a pair of daft policemen together within a series of misunderstandings only continues to disintegrate the bureaucratic structures which hold society together, until everyone is cut down to the same humiliating level.

*Hawks builds his narrative a brilliant climax in the prison set piece, drawing each character into Susan’s aura of pure chaos.*

As Susan unwittingly leads a dangerous leopard right into the middle of this crowd and sends them climbing the prison cell bars, it is clear that no one is safe around her, but perhaps David is the only one who can see the joy in such maddening volatility. Once the dust has settled, he barely seems fazed when Miss Swallow curtly breaks off their engagement back at his museum, and even when Susan accidentally sends his prized brontosaurus skeleton tumbling to the ground, he quickly moves past the loss of his life’s work. After all, that dinosaur was the child of a relationship he now realises was uncompromisingly rigid and exceedingly inauthentic. The dead belongs to the past, Hawks symbolically asserts, while life in all its impulsive uncertainties should be embraced, delivering an amusingly peculiar logic in the romantic union of two incongruent yet totally compatible opposites.

*Returning to the museum in the final scene is nice bookend, sending David’s dinosaur crumbling to the floor as he embraces his new life with Susan.*

Bringing Up Baby is not currently available to stream in Australia.