LES DESTINÉES SENTIMENTALES B+
aka: Les Destinées
France
Switzerland (180 mi) 2000
‘Scope d: Olivier Assayas
One of the more ambitious works of this often modern and
experimental filmmaker, making what amounts to an homage to Jean Renoir’s THE GRAND
ILLUSION (1937), a lengthy, old-fashioned costume drama that depicts turn of the
century French aristocracy on the decline, as seen through the eyes of those few
inheriting family fortunes, who are radically effected by World War I, as
afterwards they’re forced to watch their wealth and privilege disappear before
their eyes, replaced by a new emerging social order that pays little attention
to class. Much like Renoir’s film, the story
is advanced through an examination of relationships, suggesting mankind’s
common experiences should prevail above economic or political divisions. Adapted from Jacques Chardonne’s 1934 novel
by the same name, supposedly beloved in France, as by the end it carries some
melancholic, Proustian reflections about what constitutes a valued life, the
film is divided into three one-hour chapters examining three decades in the
life of a wealthy porcelain manufacturing family. As the 19th century draws to a close, the
film opens with a funereal solemnity, as we see a horse-driven cart carrying
the casket of a porcelain magnate with a line of workers following behind as
they proceed to the burial site, a picture of unity and common purpose that
will be split apart over the next few decades.
While the film has an epic sweep, with sumptuously beautiful
cinematography by Eric Gautier, Assayas creates an impressionistic journey of
how many of the characters react to their changing lives, where the atmospheric
style is maintained throughout, but the storyline as adapted by Assayas grows
weaker as the film progresses, where the weight of the ambitious demands of a
three-hour film are simply not met, leaving gaps and holes where too often very
little happens, lulls that simply can’t match the surging moments occurring
elsewhere.
Jacques Chardonne’s own family comprises the source material
for his trilogy Les Destinées
Sentimentales, where he was raised Protestant in the small town of Barbezieux,
which even today has fewer than 5000 inhabitants, but is in the heart of the
cognac wine growing region, where his father came from a family of cognac
traders, his brother-in-law was part of the Delamain cognac dynasty, while his
American mother was a Quaker and heiress to the Haviland
porcelain dynasty. Chardonne’s
social conservatism supported the Vichy government during the war where he was
denounced and imprisoned as a Nazi collaborator, where he was afraid of being
shot as his literature was banned for a short period after the war and
scrutinized for its “Frenchness.” Francois
Mitterrand, French President for 13 years, who actually worked briefly for the
Vichy regime during the war, was born in a nearby region of Jarnac, and Chardonne
was his favorite writer, anchored in French tradition, particularly the extremely
conservative, highly classical style, with its descriptive focus upon regionalism
and being tied to the land. The film
itself is a long and sprawling work, a detailed-oriented period piece that
spans several decades from the early 1900’s to the years between the World Wars,
tracing the impact of changing times both culturally and economically on a single
family, while following one particular romance.
The film follows Jean Barnery (Charles Berling), born into a porcelain manufacturing
family in the Limoges region of France, where the ruling families in the region
make china and Cognac, transferring power within their own families in the
traditional way from one generation to the next. Their porcelain factory caters to only the
wealthiest tastes, creating a handcrafted, exquisitely designed china, much of
it shipped to affluent Americans. Over
time, they are eclipsed by modern factories that can mass-produce products more
cheaply, undercutting their profits, challenging their working methods, and
eventually their very survival. The film
contrasts the wealthy bosses living lives of luxury and ease while the factory
workers continue to live in poverty, which interestingly remains out of sight
throughout the entire film. Instead,
what the viewer witnesses is only the most aristocratically resplendent wealth
on display.
Jean Barnery initially defies tradition, leaving the family
business to become a Protestant minister, where he’s seen as an overly severe
intellectual prone to self-criticism in a region that is isolated from
Catholics who outnumber them 10 to 1 in France.
While he gives voice to the spiritual needs of the community, he
represents an ingrained religious traditionalism, the picture of austerity, like
the keepers of the gate guarding any and all trespasses. Accordingly, he is completely inflexible when
it comes to what he suspects is his wife’s infidelity, seen throwing Nathalie
(Isabelle Huppert) and their daughter Aline out of the house, sending them off
to exile in a smaller estate, all in response to vicious rumors casting
aspersions on her character, where appearances matter more than reality. Nathalie resolutely denies any wrongdoing and
stubbornly refuses to forgive him afterwards, forbidding him from ever seeing
or speaking to their daughter. This
crack in the façade of moral certainty has never stopped the self-righteous,
where marriage is about responsibility and obligation, with little thought for
happiness or love. Surprisingly then,
Jean develops a growing affection for a member of his congregation, Pauline
(Emmanuelle Béart), divorcing Nathalie, giving her all shares to the business,
while he resigns from the clergy and marries Pauline, retreating into his own self-imposed
exile where he lives a luxurious life in Switzerland while receiving monthly
stipends from the family business. This
segment couldn’t be more luxuriously beautiful, even idyllic, almost like a
mirage, living on a pristine mountainside overlooking a tranquil lake, where he
is the picture of Gustav Mahler retreating to his mountainside summer villas to
compose music, but Jean has no such aspirations, where he and Pauline are simply
happy and in love, where they haven’t a care in the world. The idea of living in such extravagance
without having to work is a bit mind-altering, and even today, one-hundred
years later, it remains hard to comprehend.
How was this all possible? And
indeed, we never see the workers that struggle in the factory each day to make
it all possible. From this dreamlike
interlude, war strikes, sending a jolt of reality into this harmonious picture
of love without hindrance.
While Jean and Pauline represent an idealized and mostly
unattainable love, Pauline is a thoroughly modern woman who isn’t remotely
religious or concerned about what others think of her, but then she’s allowed
to live in a vacuum completely shut out from the rest of the world. This kind of ivory tower existence only
exists for a few, completely absent any real work or responsibilities, where
love seen in this light is little more than a fairy tale. Pauline dreads returning to the factory in Barbezieux,
knowing what kind of small-town mentality exists there, where everyone meddles
in everyone else’s affairs, proclaiming if they go, “This is the end of our
love.” Unfortunately, this film is
filled with swooning proclamations like this one, which are simply
overexaggerated gestures that suggest the dream is over, but hardly the
love. Jean is quickly ushered back to
take over as head of what has become an ailing company under poor leadership,
where he has the backing of his family and the workers, at least initially,
until the stock market collapse wipes out the American market, initiating a
series of ongoing struggles with the constantly striking workforce that will
drag on for years. Of interest, the
socialist journalist writing on behalf of the worker’s interests, who also
served at the front lines during the war, remains a trusted and valued friend
of Jean, even socially, perhaps because he so clearly delineates the
opposition’s point of view. What is
clear is that the family business becomes more than an obligation, but a reason
for being, a philosophic ideal largely built upon old ideas about privilege,
yet it also ties into the director’s concept about art, providing a near
documentary detail about the workings of the factory as it goes about the
production of what they hope is the most exquisitely perfect piece of
porcelain, elevated to an artform, where nothing less is acceptable. By the end, years fly by and Jean, weakened
by a medical affliction, ruminates about his life, contending “Everything I've
done is worthless. I was always wrong.” Again this kind of cheap melodrama takes the
focus away from what is a superbly directed film, given a novelesque sweep of
grandeur and noblesse, showing some beautiful patience in this epic document
that in the end cherishes those small, seemingly insignificant moments that
stay with us forever.
