Many directors switch styles and thematic interests from film to film, but few are as fascinatingly chameleonic as Alain Resnais. In a career that spanned seven decades—from his initial short documentaries of the 1940s to his final film, Life of Riley (2014), made at the age of 91—Resnais refused to succumb to audience and critical expectations, instead prioritizing ceaseless innovation in narrative, form, and subject matter. An only child born in 1922 in the small Brittany town of Vannes, the asthma-stricken Resnais was home-schooled and quickly developed a voracious appetite for reading, from comic books to the surrealism of André Breton. It was, perhaps, this eclectic self-instruction in the history of literature that instilled in Resnais a love for the unpredictable and polysemous. Though he initially studied acting, Resnais became attracted to film editing in 1943 under the tutelage of Jean Grémillon, though his education was interrupted when he served in the French military during World War II.
Resnais' earliest documentaries focused on art and politics, two strains of thought that would continue to interweave throughout his career: short films on Van Gogh and Gauguin alternated with critiques of French colonialism and its destruction of African art and heritage. It was this trajectory which led to Night and Fog (1955), a hugely influential documentary on Nazi concentration camps which attempts to deal with trauma and memory, asking how cinema can portray horrors to which the lay audience cannot possibly relate. His first feature, Hiroshima mon amour (1959), deals with similarly ambitious themes—memory and reality, the self and society—and concocts an ingenious fact-fiction hybrid (decades before such experimentation became commonplace) to convey such ideas.
Resnais' status as an internationally celebrated filmmaker became solidified with Last Year at Marienbad (1961), a cryptic, dreamlike film scripted by Alain Robbe-Grillet (one of many times Resnais collaborated with writers who were not typically known for working in cinema). The fractured chronology and accentuated artifice led some to include Resnais in the French New Wave crew alongside Godard and Truffaut, though Resnais shrugged off this association, identifying more with the political interests of Left Bank artists such as Agnes Varda, Chris Marker, and Marguerite Duras. This political commitment emerged in Muriel (1963), one of the first French films to deal with the country's turbulent occupation in Algeria; and The War is Over (1966), an implicit denunciation of Franco's regime in Spain, scripted by Spanish author Jorge Semprun.
But just when you think you know where Resnais' filmography is headed, he dizzyingly switches gears: his next film (after the 1967 anthology piece Far from Vietnam) was 1968's Je t'aime, je t'aime, an abstract and formally audacious science-fiction experiment. From this point on, his films tend to focus on temporal, formal, and narrative experimentation, though such stylistic playfulness is often wedded to a fascination with the human thought process and the difficulty of relationships. Resnais has explicitly stated that he began to avoid political subject matter since worldwide cinema was becoming overwhelmed with didactic polemics. He often enjoyed incorporating various media—literature in Providence (1977), television in Same Old Song (1997), music in Life is a Bed of Roses (1983), and theater in Mélo (1986), among many others—in order to suggest the importance of creative expression as an attempt to come to grips with the human experience. Few directors in cinematic history have embraced innovation and defiance as brazenly as Resnais; he was unafraid to fail or overreach if it meant toppling preconceptions of the cinematic art form.
Exuberant and dazzling throughout his lengthy career, Resnais exhibited a creative energy and social perspicacity that resulted in befuddling and richly complex films. With his death three months ago, world cinema was deprived of a thoughtful, sensitive alchemist whose unpredictability could serve as a model for innovators everywhere. We hope the following overview of his filmography does justice to Resnais' contagious celebration of human insight and formal experimentation.
Resnais' status as an internationally celebrated filmmaker became solidified with Last Year at Marienbad (1961), a cryptic, dreamlike film scripted by Alain Robbe-Grillet (one of many times Resnais collaborated with writers who were not typically known for working in cinema). The fractured chronology and accentuated artifice led some to include Resnais in the French New Wave crew alongside Godard and Truffaut, though Resnais shrugged off this association, identifying more with the political interests of Left Bank artists such as Agnes Varda, Chris Marker, and Marguerite Duras. This political commitment emerged in Muriel (1963), one of the first French films to deal with the country's turbulent occupation in Algeria; and The War is Over (1966), an implicit denunciation of Franco's regime in Spain, scripted by Spanish author Jorge Semprun.
But just when you think you know where Resnais' filmography is headed, he dizzyingly switches gears: his next film (after the 1967 anthology piece Far from Vietnam) was 1968's Je t'aime, je t'aime, an abstract and formally audacious science-fiction experiment. From this point on, his films tend to focus on temporal, formal, and narrative experimentation, though such stylistic playfulness is often wedded to a fascination with the human thought process and the difficulty of relationships. Resnais has explicitly stated that he began to avoid political subject matter since worldwide cinema was becoming overwhelmed with didactic polemics. He often enjoyed incorporating various media—literature in Providence (1977), television in Same Old Song (1997), music in Life is a Bed of Roses (1983), and theater in Mélo (1986), among many others—in order to suggest the importance of creative expression as an attempt to come to grips with the human experience. Few directors in cinematic history have embraced innovation and defiance as brazenly as Resnais; he was unafraid to fail or overreach if it meant toppling preconceptions of the cinematic art form.
Exuberant and dazzling throughout his lengthy career, Resnais exhibited a creative energy and social perspicacity that resulted in befuddling and richly complex films. With his death three months ago, world cinema was deprived of a thoughtful, sensitive alchemist whose unpredictability could serve as a model for innovators everywhere. We hope the following overview of his filmography does justice to Resnais' contagious celebration of human insight and formal experimentation.
Selected Filmography: Life of Riley (2014) | You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet (2012) | Wild Grass (2009) | Private Fears in Public Places (2006) | Not on the Lips (2003) | Same Old Song (1997) | Smoking/No Smoking (1993) | I Want to Go Home (1989) | Mélo (1986) | Love Unto Death (1984) | Life is a Bed of Roses (1983) | My American Uncle (1980) | Providence (1977) | Stavisky... (1974) | Je t'aime Je t'aime (1968) | The War is Over (1966) | Muriel (1963) | Last Year at Marienbad (1961) | Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) | Night and Fog (1955)
Life of Riley (2014) by Kathie Smith Life of Riley premiered February 10 at the Berlinale, and less than three weeks later, on March 1, Alain Resnais passed away at the age of 91. As if wanting to prophetically quell the temptation to overly venerate his last film as a grand au revoir, Resnais’ endnote is more of an abrupt final stepping-stone that is no more (yet no less) innovative and thoughtful than the dozens before it. His third film adapted from a play by Alan Ayckbourn (after Smoking/No Smoking and Private Fears in Public Places), Life of Riley playfully situates the French cast in the UK countryside outside of Leeds, where the original material is set. But this isn’t the only level of idiosyncratic style that Resnais uses—all sequences are acted out on vivid prefab stage sets with minimal editing, once again blurring boundaries between theater and cinema. Three couples have just found out that their good friend, the eponymous George Riley, doesn’t have long to live. Although George never appears on screen (much like Antoine in You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet), the sudden flux of their relationships centers on the charms and manipulations of the dying man. They invite George to partake in an amateur play for which they are rehearsing (yes, Life of Riley is a play within a play within a movie), ushering in a slow cascade of romantic reassessments at the expense (or under the spell) of George. The entire drama takes place under the glow of heartwarming wit, including the hilarious appearance of a puppet mole in the style of Caddyshack’s gopher. Life of Riley is a spry reminder of Resnais’ legacy and nothing short of a grande fête, with a whimsical spark and collective cast that has dominated his last decade of work. |  Producer: Jean-Lois Livi Writers: Laurent Herbiet, Alain Resnais, Alan Ayckbourn (play) Cinematographer: Dominique Bouilleret Editor: Hervé de Luze Music: Mark Snow Cast: Sabine Azéma, Hippolyte Girardot, Caroline Sihol, Michel Vuillermoz, Sandrine Kiberlain, André Dussollier Runtime: 108m. Genre: Comedy/Romance Premiere: February 10, 2014 – Berlin International Film Festival |
You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet (2012) by Peter Valelly Resnais’ penultimate film, You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet is a loose hybrid adaptation of two plays by Jean Anouilh, a French master of modernist theater. As in one of Anouilh’s later plays, Dear Antoine, or the Love That Failed, the film’s story begins when a group of actors gather at a deceased playwright friend’s estate for a reading of his will. Once they arrive, they are shown a filmed performance of Eurydice, a modernization of the Orpheus myth that offers a bleak, sardonic take on ideas of love and identity (this 1941 Anouilh play, within the film’s story, is a creation of the fictional playwright Antoine d’Anthac). Within minutes, the playwright’s guests begin to act out the play in parallel with the performance they’re watching. The film’s framing (both literal and figurative) of the interactions between the older actors and the young troupe on the screen opens up entire worlds of oblique commentary on issues tied to cinema and theater as mediums, the difficulties of adaptation and translation, performance, imagination, and the self. These ideas bleed into the thematic undertones of Eurydice itself, prompting uncanny juxtapositions and frictions. At times, the film feels ponderous and meandering, and occasionally its cerebral formal conceits overshadow the actors' terrific work. In its best moments, though, You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet is disciplined yet generous, demanding yet intellectually omnivorous—a glorious testament to Resnais’ unique genius. |  Producer: Jean-Louis Livi Writers: Alain Resnais, Laurent Herbiet, Jean Anouilh (plays) Cinematographer: Eric Gautier Editors: Hervé de Luze, Sylvie Lager Music: Mark Snow Cast: Mathieu Amalric, Pierre Arditi, Sabine Azéma, Jean-Noël Brouté, Anne Consigny, Anny Duperey, Hippolyte Girardot, Gérard Lartigau, Michel Piccoli, Denis Podalydès, Michel Robin, Andrzej Seweryn, Jean-Chrétien Sibertin-Blanc, Michel Vuillermoz, Lambert Wilson Runtime: 115m. Genre: Drama Premiere: May 21, 2012 – Cannes Film Festival |
Private Fears in Public Places (2006) by Matt Levine Movies like Crash and Babel have given ensemble-driven dramas with intersecting storylines a bad name, but Private Fears in Public Places demonstrates how exciting and compassionate such an approach can be in the right hands. One of Resnais' three adaptations of an Alan Ayckbourn play (along with 1993's Smoking/No Smoking and 2014's Life of Riley), Private Fears in Public Places is at once boldly theatrical and undeniably cinematic: the high-angle tracking shots and dreamy dissolves are visual miracles that only movies can provide, but the often perpendicular perspectives and artificial lighting lend everything the spontaneity of live theatre. This is, in fact, a central conceit of the film—that everyone's personal crises and neuroses inevitably encroach upon our social lives, essentially turning into performances for everyone around us to witness. Romantic dissatisfactions, lusts and loneliness are the central motifs, primarily revolving around the character of Charlotte (Sabine Azéma, who married Resnais in 1998 and often served as his muse)—a marvelous contradiction who piously follows the Christian faith yet sees her sexuality as a tool to test the sinful weaknesses of men. As in most of Resnais' post-1968 films, formal and narrative experimentation is the focus here. The most overt stylistic device is the gently falling snow which serves as an interlude for most edits (a gorgeous way to indicate simultaneity, as well as a suggestion that all of these internal scenes are taking place in figuratively external spaces), but there are countless examples of Resnais' formal conundrums: abruptly inserted close-ups of paintings of French dignitaries, for example, or edits between medium-shots and long-shots which seem to subtly alter the physical space (a capability which cinema has and theater does not). Do the formal abstractions sometimes outweigh the characters' romantic plight? Perhaps—but so what? Resnais was fond of saying, "There cannot be any communication except through form. If there is no form, you cannot create emotion in the spectator." Private Fears in Public Places has form to spare, and with such dazzling imagery on display, it's inevitable that we're wrapped up in the ensemble's seemingly mundane dramas. Resnais was often accused of cold, abstract detachment, but this film suggests that he sees the cinematic (or theatrical) spectacle of our everyday lives as a shared experience connecting humanity: if the fleeting scenes we witness every day in our lives benefitted from gorgeous camerawork and pristine lighting, wouldn't it all seem like the grandest masterpiece? |  Producer: Bruno Peséry Writers: Jean-Michel Ribes, Alan Ayckbourn (play) Cinematographer: Eric Gautier Editor: Hervé de Luze Music: Mark Snow Cast: Sabine Azéma, Isabelle Carré, Laura Morante, Pierre Arditi, André Dussollier, Lambert Wilson, Claude Rich Runtime: 122m. Genre: Drama/Comedy Premiere: September 2, 2006 – Venice Film Festival |
Mélo (1986) by Kathie Smith The rich narrative of Alain Resnais’ work begins with the richly textured melodrama punctuated by formal surrealism in Hiroshima mon Amour and ends with the theatrical repartee on human nature in Life of Riley. Almost perfectly situated right in the middle is Mélo, a brilliant combination of the themes in his feature film bookends. Based on a 1929 play by Henri Bernstein, Mélo (an abbreviation of mélodrame) might be best described as, quite literally, a chamber opera—a bubble confining the fiery emotions of the three principle characters within deliberate stage-like sets. The mélo in question is a heated love triangle between three friends who happen to be musicians: married couple Romaine (Sabine Azéma) and Pierre (Pierre Arditi) and their more accomplished colleague Marcel (André Dussollior). Sparks fly at a dinner opening the film as the three discuss love, contentment, deceit, and music while the capricious Romaine flirtatiously charms both men. Pierre proclaims that he is happy because it’s in his nature, but that is all about to tragically change. Resnais’ visual and temporal stylizations, usually at the fore, are in this case used to augment his masterful orchestration of the script. Centerpiece orations are performed with the precise structure and passion of the Brahms and Bach sonatas that the three characters hold close to their hearts. Thanks to its abundant and spirited theatrics, Mélo strikes a resoundingly somber chord. |  Producer: Marin Karmitz Writers: Alain Resnais, Henri Bernstein (play) Cinematographer: Charlie Van Damme Editor: Albert Jurgenson Music: M. Philippe-Gérard Cast: Sabine Azéma, Pierre Arditi, André Dussollior, Fanny Ardant Runtime: 112m. Genre: Drama Premiere: September 3, 1986 – France |
Love Unto Death (1984) by Kathie Smith Alain Resnais’ somber 1984 contemplation on mortality, Love Unto Death, weaves in core themes the master filmmaker spent his entire career exploring—namely the profound temporality of human sentience and the divisive personal emotions of its fallout—and does so with an edge that is as thoughtful and visionary as his most well-known work. As the film opens, Simon (Pierre Arditi) is pronounced dead, much to the distress of his new lover Elisabeth (Sabine Azéma). But no sooner does Elisabeth start to accept this unbelievable news than does Simon come walking down the stairs from his deathbed. Simon and Elisabeth feel they have tricked fate until they slowly start to suspect that it was actually death that tricked them. Love Unto Death fields a heavy influence from Ingmar Bergman’s early 60s trilogy of Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, and The Silence. Using the chamber piece as a template with a script from Jean Gruault, Resnais pushes dramatic form with the assistance of a foreboding and dissonant score by Hans Werner Henze that punctuate segments of the narrative. Some of these chapter stops between Elizabeth and Simon’s stormy catharsis are no more than a blank screen, while others take on the appearance of illuminated falling snow on a dark night. But on closer inspection, the intermediary images are ones of dust floating in the void—a coy assessment on the relativity of our passions, existence, and deaths. |  Director: Alain Resnais Producer: Phillippe Dussart Writer: Jean Gruault Cinematographer: Sacha Vierny Editors: Jean-Pierre Besnard, Albert Turlure Music: Hans Werner Henze Cast: Sabine Azéma, Pierre Arditi, Fanny Ardant, André Dussollier Runtime: 92m. Genre: Drama/Romance Premiere: September 5, 1984 – France |
Life is a Bed of Roses (1983) by Matt Levine After Resnais, screenwriter Jean Gruault, and producer Philippe Dussart collaborated on the successful Mon oncle d’Amerique (1980), the three quickly reunited for Life is a Bed of Roses, released three years later. The film’s tepid commercial and critical response is notorious in France (it was the lowest-grossing Resnais film to date), but what made the film so befuddling upon its release is precisely what makes it so bold and entrancing today. A comedic flipside to Mon oncle d’Amerique’s interweaving stories, Life is a Bed of Roses ponders the idea of “happiness,” especially the varying ways children and adults perceive it. The storylines Resnais and Gruault use to interrogate this concept are undoubtedly bizarre, at times incongruent: in 1920, a despondent aristocrat builds a whimsical castle in the Ardennes forest and creates a cult whose practitioners are in a state of constant sensorial pleasure. Sixty-three years later, at the same castle, a group of pedantic theorists and teachers host a conference on pedagogical methods designed to encourage young students’ imaginations; meanwhile, a group of children spending the summer at this experimental school play-act their own fantasies, which take on the demented, garish environs of Georges Méliès’ silent films. The point isn’t very subtle, but it’s admirably warm-hearted: the innocent fantasies of children are infinitely closer to notions of “happiness” than the petty lusts and aspirations of practical-minded adults. As was his wont, Resnais is not shy about indulging his stylistic whims: the dialogue leaps suddenly from spoken lines to sung operettas, and foregrounds painted onto glass are placed in front of the camera for the children’s fantasies, lending the film a surreal, outsized look. Describing Life is a Bed of Roses as a disorienting mess wouldn’t be too far off-base, but that appears to be the point: Resnais and Gruault follow their capricious muses and end up with something kinetic, gorgeous, thought-provoking, and legitimately funny. Despite its initially disastrous reception, Life is a Bed of Roses can today be viewed as one of the most idiosyncratic comedies in the history of French cinema. |  Producer: Philippe Dussart Writer: Jean Gruault Cinematographer: Bruno Nuytten Editors: Jean-Pierre Besnard, Albert Jurgenson Music: M. Philippe-Gérard Cast: Vittorio Gassman, Ruggero Raimondi, Geraldine Chaplin, Fanny Ardant, Pierre Arditi, Sabine Azéma, Robert Manuel, Martine Kelly, Samson Fainsilber, Véronique Silver, André Dussollier, Guillaume Boisseau, Sabine Thomas Runtime: 112m. Genre: Comedy/Fantasy Premiere: April 20, 1983 — France |
Providence (1977) by Joseph Houlihan If you can close your eyes for a second and imagine the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover, you’ll remember that for several years in the mid-60s, Swinging London became something like the hip cat center of the universe. Besides British Invasion rock, artists of all kinds were drawn to the ferment, including many leading film directors: Antonioni with Blow Up, Pasolini with Teorema, Roeg with Performance, and Rafelson and Nicholson with Head. In many ways, Providence (1977) was Alain Resnais’ contribution to this scene, drawing on a cast of English heavies. Shakespearean lion John Gielgud stars as an aging alcoholic novelist working on a book through the course of a night. Gielgud was a major star of the British theater; he famously collaborated with Harold Pinter and David Storey, and this became his most celebrated film performance. Another Pinter veteran, Dirk Bogarde plays the son of the novelist with singular gravitas. David Warner is full of angst, youth, and vim. Two’s Company-era Elaine Stritch stars in high dramatic form. And Ellen Burstyn, the irrefutable dynamo of 1970s independent cinema, displays all of her depth and charm. The film is divided into two parts. The first follows Gielgud’s slow-going novel and plays out with the actors corresponding to imaginary characters. Like Alain Robbe-Grillet’s Trans-Europ-Express, the film breaks continuity as Gielgud works, reimaging scenes and dialogue. The second half of the film centers on the novelist’s actual family visiting him, and plays up this dramatic rupture in continuity. Providence is a very attractive film: the colors are full, and the settings capture different moody genre tropes. The biggest pleasure of this picture is seeing these fabulous actors playing off one another. And at 104 minutes, you’ll be left wanting an extended edition. |  Director: Alain Resnais Producers: Yves Gasser, Klaus Hellwig, Yves Peyrot Writer: David Mercer Cinematographer: Ricardo Aronovich Editor: Albert Jurgenson Music: Miklós Rózsa Cast: John Gielgud, Dirk Bogarde, Ellen Burstyn, David Warner, Elaine Stritch Runtime: 104m. Genre: Drama Premiere: January 25, 1977 – USA |
Muriel (1963) by Peter Valelly Resnais’ follow-up to Last Year at Marienbad may adhere more to conventional storytelling than his earlier masterpiece, but it’s no less difficult a film. Set in the small port city of Bolougne-sur-Mer, Muriel follows the story of Hélène, a widowed antiques dealer living with her stepson Bernard, a recently returned veteran of the Algerian War. When a lover from the distant past comes back into her life, Hélène must reckon with a torrent of emotional confusion. Meanwhile, Bernard is haunted by his traumatic experiences on the battlefield, and in particular by his memories of torturing a young girl who may or may not be named Muriel. As Muriel progresses, Resnais veers subtly but assuredly towards formal abstraction. Contorting and subverting familiar coordinates of duration and location while retaining its narrative’s linear momentum, the film gently intertwines the characters’ emotional journeys towards an uneasy whole. Taken together, Hélène and Bernard’s stories encompass a meditation on the wounds inflicted by time’s passing, not just on our individual psyches but on the soul of society itself, and even on its cities and landscapes. Muriel is a warm and humane film, taking none of its characters’ joys and comforts for granted, but it’s held in place by a peculiar, pessimistic gravity. Marienbad’s nameless protagonists exist only insofar as they are constructed by the infernal, looping mindgame they find themselves trapped in, which is the film itself. Muriel fills in those stick figures, fleshes them out as real people with lives, psychologies, motivations, and yet their struggle is no less futile: their best, simplest hope is to stagger fitfully and haplessly against the merciless tide of history. |  Producer: Anatole Dauman Writer: Jean Cayrol Cinematographer: Sacha Vierny Editors: Kenout Peltier, Eric Pluet Music: Hans Werner Henze Cast: Delphine Seyrig, Jean-Pierre Kérien, Nita Klein, Jean-Baptiste Thiérrée, Claude Sainval, Laurence Badie, Jean Champion Runtime: 115m. Genre: Drama Premiere: July 24, 1963 – France |
Last Year at Marienbad (1961) by Jeremy Meckler Alain Resnais' second feature is an ambivalent formalist excursion, a collaborative work between Resnais (a big name after his Hiroshima mon Amour helped spark the French New Wave) and Alain Robbe-Grillet (a prominent late-modernist author who would later make films of his own). The plot of Last Year at Marienbad is often indiscernible; the film is more interested in framing, composition, and lighting—and the bizarre machinations of a mathematical game that it repeats over and over—than it is in consistent characters or comprehensible plot. Who is our nameless protagonist (labeled in the credits as “X”—the man with an Italian accent)? Did he truly meet “A” last year at Marienbad? The borders between dream, memory, and reality are fuzzy, yet the lines of shadow and drastic light and dark composition are beautifully sharp. Marienbad serves as something of a litmus test for film lovers: those who love film form for itself, for the magic that can be created by exposing photosensitive paper to light and capturing those living photons, will love this film. Those obsessed by story and narrative over form, conditioned by years of Hollywood brainwashing, may hate it. Regardless, its importance in cinema history cannot be overstated--Marienbad is late modernism at its zenith, the most formally radical film to make it out of Paris in the 60s. |  Producers: Pierre Courau, Anatole Dauman, Raymond Froment Writer: Alain Robbe-Grillet Cinematographer: Sacha Vierny Editors: Jasmine Chasney, Henri Colpi Music: Francis Seyrig Cast: Delphine Seyrig, Giorgio Albertazzi, Sacha Pitoëff, Françoise Bertin, Luce Garcia-Ville, Héléna Kornel, Françoise Spira, Karin Toche-Mittler Runtime: 94m. Genre: Drama Premiere: June 25, 1961 – France |
Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) by Benjamin Voigt Watching Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour for the first time, I had the strange (and moving) experience of feeling like I’d seen it before. I think Resnais would be happy with my case of déjà vu. The film, his first feature, tells the story of an ardent affair on an actress’s last night in Hiroshima, but most of all it’s a meditation on memory, and you’d be hard pressed to find another film that deals with the themes of time that doesn’t remember a bit of Resnais’. Dreamy ramblers like Lost in Translation and Before Sunset extract Hiroshima’s situation and headiness. Memento absorbs its ambiguity, its anguish and its shattered chronology. Wim Wenders cribs the film’s abstract intimacy. Even Wong Kar Wai, who suffuses Resnais’ stark vision with color, lives in Hiroshima’s long shadow. None of Resnais’ successors have offered something quite so monumental—blending fact and fiction, the personal and political, and the intimate and immense. The film’s lyrical opening sequence, cutting from scenes of intimacy to scenes of war and back again, is worth the price of admission alone and still overwhelms fifty years after its release. |  Producers: Anatole Dauman, Samy Halfon Writer: Marguerite Duras Cinematographers: Michio Takahashi, Sacha Vierny Editors: Jasmine Chasney, Henri Colpi, Anne Sarraute Music: Georges Delerue, Giovanni Fusco Cast: Emmanuelle Riva, Eiji Okada, Stella Dallas, Pierre Barbaud, Bernard Fresson Runtime: 90m. Genre: Drama/Romance Premiere: June 10, 1959 – France |
Night and Fog (1955) by Nathan Sacks Ten years after the liberation of Germany, Alain Resnais directed this documentary short, which for many viewers was their first time ever witnessing documentary evidence of the Holocaust (mainly taken from footage of Auschwitz and Majdanek). Resnais alternates placid, almost serene modern footage of the fields of Auschwitz with black-and-white archival footage of Hitler’s rise and the inception, production, and industrialization of mass death centers. In this sense it most resembles Shoah, the 1985 film where modern shots of camp grounds—the landscape beautiful and yet charged with death—alternated with survivor interviews. Night and Fog is approximately 1/20 the length of the other film, meaning Resnais and narrator Michel Bouquet can only describe the average life of a concentration camp prisoner in broad details. The tone of the film is journalistic, sketching each facet of camp life (deportations, living quarters, prisons, gas chambers, watchtowers) with just enough description to horrify. Coming a few years before the first wave of Nouvelle Vague films, this documentary stands outside of that group as well as the rest of Resnais’ oeuvre. Holocaust historians may have uncovered a great deal more since 1955, but this remains a valid early attempt at conveying the horrors of the event using the language of film. |  Producers: Anatole Dauman, Samy Halfon, Philippe Lifchitz Writer: Jean Cayrol (commentary) Cinematographers: Ghislain Cloquet, Sacha Vierny Editor: Alain Resnais Cast: Michel Bouquet (narrator) Runtime: 32m. Genre: Documentary Premiere: 1955 – France |
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