Life During Wartime

L’Armee des Ombres, 1969 (Army of Shadows). Written and directed by Jean-Pierre Melville. Starring Lino Ventura, Paul Meurisse, Jean-Pierre Cassel, and the magnificent Simone Signoret.

Now showing at the Edina Cinema.

With perhaps as much mystery as the Maquis fighters it showcases, Army of Shadows has snuck into town with little fanfare, spending its week at the Edina Cinema and, having blown the minds of the few who have seen it, will drift away again in a pair of days. When I went to see it last evening, there were perhaps ten people, including my party of three. When we stumbled out, one of us was seemingly attuned to every existential clue, while the other two (myself included) were quite a bit more baffled. It struck me, then, that there’s no way in hell this movie could make any money. Like Cache earlier this year, this is a film that will invigorate some, confound others, and be loathed by those that hate to be confounded.

Army of Shadows is ostensibly a story of the French Resistance fighters, but it is a war movie unlike any I’ve seen before. Steeped (as I understand it) in existentialist philosophy–Satre worked in the Resistance, I’m told, and was represented here in the character of Luc–it makes for an astounding view of what life would really be like during wartime. That is, living under pressure with mounting terror now and again; long stages of dour and depressing existence; this contrasted to the continued presence of death; and, for the most part, little heroism but a lot of seemingly meaningless, and often joyless, survival. If Army of Shadows is a masterpiece–and it may well be–it is also a strong tonic against the chest-thumping heroics of many a war film, and perhaps especially World Trade Center. That it is essentially a story of terrorists makes it even more profound.

The plot is and as full of holes as a pair of rationed silk stockings. Philippe Gerbier (the owlish Lino Ventura) is a leader in the underground, and, at the film’s opening, has been arrested on suspicion. He will undoubtedly receive no trial, just torture. After a transfer to the torture-house, he makes his escape and regroups with his men, Le Masque (Claude Mann) a frustrated and at times cowardly man; Le Bison (Christian Barbier) a gentle giant; and Felix, a bowler-capped fellow who is Philippe’s number two man. They work for the leader, Luc Jardie (Paul Meurisse), who is the Satre double, and whom Philippe worships. He is also worshipped by his younger brother, Jean-Pierre–who, I have to admit, no one in our group was sure whether or not he was the brother of Luc, or merely a student (IMDB indicates the characters share the same last name). Working with the resourceful and heroic Mathilde (Simon Signoret, wonderful as always), the men work to topple the Nazis. In the course of the movie’s two hours, these men will make plans that will not come to fruition, get captured, fail to save their comrades, get captured, save a comrade, and finally, execute one of their beloved own.

We are never privy to the group’s attempts at unsettling the Nazis. The assumption is, of course, that the French Resistance worked diligently to fight against their oppressors, but Army of Shadows is a story of internal strife and conflict. Jean-Pierre Melville drops you right in the middle of a complex web of relationships within the Resistance, whose existence seems solely to survive. Only one Nazi is seen killed, and that is in Philippe’s initial escape–the rest of the film is about bumping off traitors in their camps and trying to bust their compatriots out of Nazi prisons. The streets are empty, but without the foreboding mood of films like The Third Man–these are simply empty streets, devoid of life, space to fill in-between assignments.

In the course of the movie (and in a strangely homoerotic scene), Le Masque, Felix and Philippe have to kill a traitor, who can only whimper by way of resistance. Men don’t struggle against the approach of doom, they seem to either steel themselves for the worst, chomping on the bit of philosophy, or cry quietly and die. Philippe ends up in London to attend the decoration of his hero Luc (by DeGaulle), and then returns to France when fellow fighter Felix is captured. At times the existentialist symbolism is an obvious slap in the face–Philippe stares down into the blackness before parachuting into France, and in another instance, during a daring rescue, is confronted by a wall of pitch black smoke that he must plunge into for freedom. The attempt to save Felix comes to a lot of nothing, resulting in the death of Felix and the younger Jardie, both by cyanide pills. Remorse seems to have been bled out of these people, along with their hope.

Melville creates perhaps the most banal wartime land in film history. France is eternally overcast, the whole film shot in a dour blue and gray, the soundtrack a motley collection of old motors screeching, sirens bleating, lights clicking on and off monotonously. It appears as if the Nazis are here to stay, just another aspect of an already forlorn life. Does resistance, then, simply become a metaphor for the daily struggle, which will, inevitably, lead to a meaningless death?

It’s a lot to take in, and a great deal to turn over, which I did in my fitful sleep last evening. Despite its often creaky and overly coincidental plot, Army of Shadows is a great film because of its crack filmmaking, stellar and understated cast, its edginess and its willingness to ignore the world’s continued cries for simplistic heroes who do nothing to provoke questions. Perhaps like my understanding of the world’s conflicts, if there’s one thing I know about this strange film, it’s that I probably won’t grasp its entire meaning, ever.