Here is another great film that is not served very well by our media overlords. In order to be able to see Marius, I had to borrow a VHS tape a friend made a zillion years ago from the Bravo Channel. Not sure they would bother showing it today.

Sure wish someone would find good elements of this and put it out.

First off, you must learn how to pronounce the title of this film. Marius. Say it. MAH-ree-OOse. You see, if there is one thing that you can learn from this wonderful relic of a film, it is how to say "Marius"; you will never read Hugo's Les Misérables the same way again!

Marius' uncanny ability to conjure up the southern French seaport of Marseilles in the 1930s, and the way that it sets the stage for the other films in the "Marius Trilogy" has always been the key to its attraction over the years. The entire film is dripping with the things that characterize the French people. It is an idealization, to be sure; a picture of what life was life back then, but one that strikes the viewer as real and genuine nonetheless. This is the best quality of the great French writer, Marcel Pagnol, whether he was writing for the stage, in the case of Marius or a novel, as in the case of Jean de Florette. No matter how violent the conflicts, no matter how acrimonious the argueing between the characters, they must always face the facts, which are usually they are full of love for their friends and family, while at the same time, remaining fools most of the time.

© 1931 by Les Films Marcel Pagnol/ Paramount Pictures

To make a long story short, Marcel Pagnol was born in 1895 and his family moved to Marseilles when he was three. Since his father was a schoolteacher, young Marcel became well versed in the drama, writing a play which was performed in his school when he was only 15. He followed in his father's footsteps (a frequent Pagnol theme) and became a schoolteacher after graduating from college and running a literary magazine.

Eventually, he turned his hand to the writing of plays, writing several which were produced in Paris before scoring a huge success with the play Topaze in 1928, which concerns a schoolmaster caught in a typically Pagnolian plight: money or honor.

The following year saw the premiere of his play entitled Marius, which was an instant hit. Pagnol's story of a son and a father and their seaport bar, the son's desire for a life at sea and Fanny, the girl next door who gets in the way, was written with such affection for the characters, that Pagnol became the proverbial writer from the sticks who made it good in the big city.

Information on the original staging and who were the players remains elusive (for me anyway), but it seems a sure bet that much of the film version's cast is repeating their stage roles, they are so deeply connected to them. When it came time to make a film of it, Pagnol was in a position to call many of the shots, including being able to adapt his script for the screen (a rarity for the period), oversee the production and get the French arm of Paramount Pictures (!) to OK location shooting in Marseilles.

But what has always struck me about this film is how fluid it is even though it is somewhat stagy. The technique of making sound films was not being especially well handled by anyone in 1930. Many of the big hit films internationally were somewhat still silent films, despite what one might think of the use of sound in Fritz Lang's M (1931). Another film from this era that I am fond of, Freaks (1932) is not only a silent film to the very core, but is marred by awful sound recording, and this done in Hollywood at M-G-M, where one would think that they had moved beyond such primitive "talkies."

Fortunately, Marius falls into the "classic" mode of filmmaking, in that it is essentially a character / atmosphere sort of thing, rather than a project long on plot. A scene will go on and on, and while you might think it is rather like a filmed play, this is where you settle down with these characters and the fact that you are watching a really old movie simply does not matter anymore. The performances are so real and effective that you feel as though you are watching the action and hearing the dialog as they are actually happening.

Alexander Korda has to get some of the credit for this. Korda, born Sándor Laszlo Korda in 1893 in Pusztaturpaszto, Hungary, was 37 at time of filming. During that time, he had literally worked in every center of film production, including Hollywood. He had been directing films since 1914. Pagnol must have heard about his talents, and brought him over to direct this film.

It is very clever the way the film is recorded. Very advanced. I could swear that there are multiple cameras running to capture the vitality of the exchanges between the actors better. This is still something that a number of French directors like to do. In Marius, there is a reasonable amount of intercutting, and you could swear that a pair of setups are tossed after a certain point because the actors blow their lines. But after a cut to another angle, the same two camera setups come back, as does the cutaway angle. For the most part, it is all very well thought out and captured.

Korda must have been at the service of Pagnol's theorem about the drama, which is to say that he felt that dramatists ought to keep in the background. That when telling a story, whether for stage, the page or the screen, the techniques employed ought not draw attention to itself. Just do the characters and let the audience fill it in.

This is what makes Pagnol such a classicist. He is the French equivalent of John Ford; no matter how extreme the story line might get, there is always space for the character to reflect on who they are and what they are about. Audiences love that!

I don't want to simply recite the plot of Marius, but one has to if one is going to point out the high spots. We are introduced to Marseilles and the waterfront and the "Bar de la Marine." The proprietor is César (Rimau) whom we first see asleep in one of the booths in the establishment. César then wakes up only to accuse his 23-year-old son Marius (Pierre Fresnay) of being lazy!

CÉSAR: You don't know your job at all!

MARIUS: I don't know my job?

CÉSAR: Can't make up a vermouth black-currant! As to our Picon-curaçoa, let's forget it. Yesterday, old Coagourd came to complain. And yet, it's easy. Look, (taking bottle) you pour 1/3 curaçoa. Mind you, a very small third. (Putting the bottle away and bringing out another) Then 1/3 lemon, you see? (switching bottles again) . . . a good 1/3 picon, you see? (taking out a seltzer bottle and funnel) And then a large 1/3 water. And that's that! (drinks)

MARIUS: You have four thirds.

CÉSAR: What?

MARIUS: There are only 3 thirds in a glass.

CÉSAR: Silly, it depends on their size.

MARIUS: No it doesn't.

CÉSAR: Why not?

MARIUS: It's aritmetical.

CÉSAR: Don't look for arithmetic, and don't change the conversation!

César goes on to complain about the drop that Marius supposedly leaves on the bottles that renders them all sticky.

As César, Rimau handles all of these massive amounts of dialog as though it were nothing, immediately establishing himself as the typical Marseilles: sometimes sleepy, sometimes touchy and excitable, sometimes full of artifice. Raimu, born Jules Muraire in 1883 in Toulon, was 47 at time of filming. It is still remarkable how vibrant this performance is and is well caught by the camera. From the cuts surrounding César's awakening to the authoritative way he picks up a bottle with one hand, then slaps it into the palm of his other hand in order to pour from it (something he does throughout the entire picture). It is no wonder that Orson Welles came to the conclusion that Raimu was "the greatest actor who ever lived."

It is great to watch Fresnay's reaction to playing against this powerhouse of an actor. Just the way that he respectfully watches César carefully pouring out the four thirds in the above scene — he's just great, but it is because he has equally powerful scenes to come.

There is an exchange between Marius and a boat captain, Escartefigue (Paul Dullac), outside the bar, and I love it for two reasons. First, because of the way that it is shot. There is a full-on shot of the fat captain sitting in his chair and fanning himself. Then, there is the shot of Marius as he is talking to him. But the shot does not match the shot of the captain at all. It is taken slightly above Marius, taken in profile and very close to him, throwing the background of the pavement and people walking by out of focus. He is smoking a cigarette and leaning his downstage arm against a pole in the left side of the frame. I like this approach to crosscutting because it implies that the character in the odder composition is not really listening all that well.

The other reason I like this scene is that it reaches very deep into the past. Escartefigue complains that, as the captain of a ferryboat, things have gotten very quiet since the building of the bridge. It's something we take for granted now. But think about it: what did they do to get from one side of the harbor to the other? Marius questions Escartefigue. How can he stand it, going back and forth all of the time, when there are ships travelling to every corner of the globe? We become informed of what is bugging Marius very early: he wants to go to sea.

We are also introduced to a strange kind of fallen-angel / derelict named Piquoiseau (Alexandre Mihalesco), who is always available to Marius in helping him to set up a berth in the crew of one of the many vessels in the harbor.

There are a couple of other characters introduced at this point, who all serve to witness one of the prime features of Pagnol's writing: that almost all men are dupes who are fooling no one, and that it is impossible to escape one's heredity.

César is getting all dressed up to go out. So Marius remarks to the customers that he is getting ready to visit his mistress, even predicting the excuse César will employ to cover his absence from the bar. César comes out, then says exactly what Marius has predicted. This causes one of the customers, a sail maker named Panisse (Fernand Charpin) to chuckle, and he and César have a row over it, with César taking the typical French line: "May I not go where I please?" The tables are turned toward the end of the picture, when César is doing the same thing to Marius over the very same topic: Marius going out to see his mistress.

There is a wonderful shot taken after César has left the shop as he walks toward his mistress' house. It is taken with a portable camera right in the street. At first, César walks slowly so as to not attract attention. But soon, he is flying through the street. He dives into a coffee bar as the camera rounds the corner, and upon emerging, we see him wrap a collar on his shoes. Spats! My, my! The vanity of men!

Anyway, Panisse tells another customer, Mr. Brun (Robert Vattier), about the fact that his wife has been dead a whole three months. As Panisse, Charpin is another great performer. After telling Brun about the tears he shed for his wife, "Tears as big as this!" he proceeds to chat up the lovely local fishmonger, Fanny (Orane Demazis). He asks if he can ask her mother for her hand. Fanny is just nutty enough to say to the old man, "Sure." This is another Pagnolism: things are sometimes set in motion by misunderstandings.

Panisse is a wonder of the wayback machine. He has a singular pouch to his stomach that hasn't been seen in some time. He accents it with a cummerbund of all things. The lazy grace of this character is really great. Eventually, Panisse talks to Fanny's mother Honorine (Alida Rouffe), who operates a fish stand nearby. Honorine tells Panisse that she is dubious of a marriage between the pair. Panisse counters that he is wealthy, which causes Honorine to utter her famous line, "Nightgowns do not have pockets."

© 1931 by Les Films Marcel Pagnol/ Paramount Pictures

Although we all collectively shudder at the thought of the sweet Fanny bedding with the older Panisse, we can sense that Marius would love to bed Fanny himself. We are not told so, but one can pick up (if one wants to) that Fanny is playing Marius in the next scene. Marius is looking after the bar, when Fanny and Panisse enter, take a table and begin their flirtations. This culminates in Panisse examining a pendant Fanny wears, allowing him a grand opportunity to glimpse down Fanny's blouse. Marius goes ballistic. He and Panisse have this great face-to-face close up where it is clear that Fanny means quite a bit more to this barman than what he is letting on. In the longer shots, there are people who are staring at the confrontation though the bead strands that cover the entrance to the bar. Panisse withdraws only to vow never to set foot in the Bar de la Marine again. Marius assures Fanny that he is not jealous. Oh, sure.

Piquoiseau leads Marius to some other bar, where one can make arrangements to join a ship's crew. I like this scene because of the soundtrack. There is very loud singing and music making heard, but you can hardly make out what the characters are saying to one another. Of course, this is made the easier for English speakers, because of the subtitles.

In the meantime, Fanny returns home. I love the atmosphere here in this shot. She enters, then there is a cut to a somewhat high angle looking across the room to the stove, where a pot of stew is cooking. Fanny moves towards it, looks into it, then closes it with hopeless ennui. You know just how she feels. She doesn't want Panisse, and her love, Marius, has just told her he is not jealous of her marriage to the older man.

Meanwhile, Marius is having a meeting with Captain Bartoli of the Cyros about taking the place of a Corsican on his crew.

Then back to Fanny's place. Her mother Honorine is there. They sit at a table. The frame is all dark and moody, but there is a great effect in the lantern over the table. It has a wonderful light halo around it. It doesn't look real, but it's very theatrical in a Van Gogh sort of way. Honorine discovers that Fannny doesn't love Panisse, but loves Marius (well, she knew that!). But what she doesn't know is that Marius has rejected her. "What? That boy who rinses out glasses?"

The next day, César invites Panisse in for a drink, who refuses. "Your son is rough," Panisse maintains. They begin to argue over the merits of Marius. There is a great bit here in that they have this midget in the scene who is trying to get a drink as César and Panisse argue. They keep telling him to shut up, with César picking him up and plopping him down anyplace out of the constantly shifting line of fire. It's quite a staging job.

No sooner than they dispose of the midget than do César and Panisse forget their troubles and have a drink in friendship. Uhh — okay. After Panisse departs, Honorine shows up to talk to César about Fanny and Marius. They start talking about dowries, but Marius enters, so they are forced to stop. Honorine exits to allow the father and son to talk. César insists that Marius marries Fanny, but Marius dissembles. We know that he is fixing to go off to sea, but he can't say that to César; it would mean admitting that he is leaving him. The performances here are simply breathtaking. There is a bit that they use throughout the entire film, which is to have César extend his index finger and twirl his wrist whenever he feels he is being bullshitted. It is something that Marius does too.

So Marius worms his way out of things by saying that he cannot marry Fanny because he has another love, which César mistakes for a mistress. Since this is a good cover for Marius, he lets it stand. They conclude with Marius saying that he likes his father a lot. "Why do you say that?" But we all know why; he is getting ready to leave the old man and Fanny and the rest of them flat. César is a tired old man. The shot of his trudging up the spiral stair up to his room is just one of the most heartbreaking sights. You just see the strange outline of his overalls going up until the ceiling gets in the way. Then, there is a shot of Marius looking up towards the ceiling as the sound of the old man's heavy steps plod toward his well-deserved rest. This is a really modern and sophisticated thing to be doing in a sound film in 1931!

Of course, what makes this so rending is that we have all had to do something like this. There are tender feelings that we have for our parents, but they are getting on, and we wonder if they will have the character to face the dastardly deed we are contemplating. Namely, setting out on our own lives.

About this time in the proceedings, the formal rigidity of the stage is somewhat abandoned for the clunky scene shifting of the cinema, where a number of people are doing things simultaneously. The effect of all this is somewhat tiring, but it boils down to this:

a. Fanny is toying with returning to Panisse

b. Marius is still trying to get aboard the Cyros

Everyone seems to working at cross purposes. Fanny is shown bidding adieu to Panisse, who closes his shop in a very leisurely way. Then Marius closes the bar. But then Fanny knocks on the shutters and Marius admits her. This is the big showdown. But this is not what Pagnol has in mind — not for right now, anyway. Fanny comes in and just melts down before Marius. She will get together with Panisse if Marius doesn't want her. Marius does the typical Guy Thing: he will tell her to go away, but he won't tell her why. Finally, he must. It's a very heavy moment. Marius is sulking behind the bar, where he tells her that she wouldn't understand. Fanny tells him that she would. Marius begins to describe the vision he has received from all these years of dealing with sailors who are coming from far off exotic lands. He concentrates on one ship coming in from the West Indies.

The image of Pierre Fresnay standing there leaning against the wall with his pomaded hair as he raises his arm in salute of this vision is, I think, one of the most indelible images from this film. He does it quite a bit, too. You are supposed to get it, and you do. They way he describes watching the ship sail off into the sunset — you can see it yourself.

Fanny, however, does not get it. "Was there a woman on the ship?" she asks.

This is the last straw. Marius tells her that she doesn't understand. Then, there is the standard doge: "I can't make you happy." There is a knock on the shutters by a group of merrymakers who want a drink. Fanny, suspecting that her moment is slipping away, just physically swamps Marius with her passion. The group outside has woken César up; he yells at them to go away. The two lovers sense that César will be descending, so they hide in Marius' room, reached by a door under the stairs. We enter with them, as the camera does a sweep of the room, it focuses on the images of boats Marius has there.

It feels like a climax of sorts, but as I say, Pagnol has lots more of this that you think. I always think of Marius as being a short film, but it ain't! It's 130 minutes, and the other films in the trilogy are longer!

© 1931 by Les Films Marcel Pagnol/ Paramount Pictures

There is a montage of shots of the harbor and a title saying "One month later." Pagnol lowers us back into the story with a typically enjoyable scene of César, Panisse, Escartefigue, and Mr. Brun playing cards, culminating with Panisse stomping off, having discovered César cheating. Then, César informs the group that Marius will now come out and make some excuse about going to the movies, when he is really going to see his mistress. Sure enough, Marius does exactly the same thing as César did in the earlier scene.

After Marius departs, Escartefigue asks who the mistress is. "Some sailor's wife — the Navy is full of cuckolds," says César. This sends Escartefigue into a rage, who stomps out.

Down by the docks, Fanny and Marius have everything settled. They will get married. Marius claims that he has given up his notion of going to sea, but the point is made easily enough; Marius hangs his head dejectedly as Fanny prattles on about how she will decorate their place together, while he immediately brightens upon hearing a ship's horn sounding.

Piquoiseau finds the pair among the boats. There are some neat shots of the characters interacting with the boats bobbing up and down at night in the background. It cuts in with the studio stuff perfectly; it's the kind of scene painting this film does well.

Fanny knows that Marius is playing along with her still, so she finds Captain Bartoli to ask him to leave room in his crew for Marius. Then, there is a scene showing Fanny and Marius retiring to Fanny's place. There is a shot of a lighthouse, and well, you can figure the rest.

The psychology of happens next is somewhat puzzling, but one must bear in mind that this is 1930 we are talking about. Let me see if I have this straight. Marius really doesn't want to get married to Fanny, he still wants to go to sea on the Cyros. Fanny knows that she must allow Marius to follow his dream. So they go to bed together. Oh! I get it!

But Fanny cannot let this love of her life go without one night of passion. Knowing how people behave these days, a young man in a position like this would usually not have to commit to a woman after a long-delayed night of love. But in 1930, perhaps this was the last card Fanny could play. Who knows? One sort of has to make what one can out of the event, which has huge repercussions.

Honorine returns home early to find Marius' belt draped over her kitchen table. She opens the door to the bedroom quietly. She sees all she needs to know. She makes a beeline over to Bar de la Marine, waking César up. She explains what she has discovered.

HONORINE: He raped her.

CÉSAR: She must not have called out too loud.

So César takes a somewhat cavalier attitude toward the event. But this proves to be short lived. Marius has snuck back into his room via the window. The scene where he pretends to be awakening under the scrutiny of César is just wonderful. The entire thing has been properly set up, so one is just waiting for César to lower the boom.

© 1931 by Les Films Marcel Pagnol/ Paramount Pictures

The cat and mouse game of "Oh, you must have stayed up late reading — must be awfully tiring, that reading" is wonderful to watch. It is another favorite Pagnol trick: a rapid shift of tone into the deepest moral material. César essentially tells Marius that he has dishonored Fanny. He says something in recounting the story of "Aunt Zoe" that is particularly telling. It is the story of how Aunt Zoe was loved and then abandoned by a Spanish sailor. César says that, "Once a woman has been betrayed like that, she can never love again." Well, yes, love in the same way like that again. But Zoe is not so lucky. She turns into a whore. Not sure that would happen nowadays, but. . .

César has the upper hand now, and drives home his point by throwing Marius' belt at him. Caught dead to rights.

There are some more scenes with the Captain over Marius. Apparently, the ship is still in need for him, but the Captain is dubious. Marius is forced to tell the man no. N-O, no! Now the dream is completely crushed. He retires to his room and, in a rather womanish gesture, flings himself onto his bed for a good cry. Fanny enters and begs Marius to arrange their marriage. Marius must because of the stern lecture from César. But Fanny lets him off. She tells him that she has talked to Panisse, so this allows Marius off the hook. He lights out of the window, leaving Fanny an emotional wreck, who must put on a brave appearance of normalcy while César plans out their future together. Marius's ship is departing in the background.

Marius is a strange film in that its title character is not the nicest guy in the world, and Pagnol never once suggests that he is. The moral ambivalence one feels at the end of this picture is, I think, the effect that Pagnol was seeking. That young men and women do these things to each other is simply something that he has observed and is writing down — that's all. You take from it what you will.

No one knew that Pagnol would go on to write a follow up play, entitled Fanny (1932), which was made into a film, which, in turn, spawned another film focusing on César (1936). Marcel Pagnol was a prolific writer who became fascinated by the medium of film. He directed many films himself, many of which remain buried in our collective ignorance of the films of non-English speaking countries. I would like to see more of the work of this singular writer.

02.17.04