Les Misérables
The paradise of the rich is made out of the hell of the poor
Directed by Raymond Bernard
France, 1934
So long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, works like this cannot be useless - Victor Hugo
You said four and a half hours, but it’s more like five! – N
Think of it as a trilogy box set – C
So this week’s film – 279 minutes running time to be precise – is the 1934 adaptation of Victor Hugo’s epic, sprawling novel of 1862, Les Misérables. The novel itself is a dense, encyclopaedic work with Hugo frequently being diverted onto political or sociological tangents, so in a way it is perhaps a work not best suited to adaptation. And yet, Les Misérables has given rise to fourteen film versions, including Tom Hooper’s 2012 adaptation of the stage musical which I will not mention again here. There have been few stories adapted for the cinema more often: Cinderella? Certainly… the Life of Jesus? Probably… and possibly a few of the works of Charles Dickens. In fact, the first version of Les Misérables was filmed in 1897 by the inventors of the cinematograph, Auguste and Louis Lumière.
Victor Hugo’s book is regarded by many as one of French literature’s most important works and of the many film versions, this production by Raymond Bernard has to be one of the greatest. The story of Les Misérables begins in the year 1815, with Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo, and ends with the failed Paris insurrection of 1832. We start with the focus of the film’s narrative, Jean Valjean, a formidable presence played here by Harry Baur. A prison convict, we watch as he repairs a monumental church statue. A man of monumental strength, for a moment he becomes one with the statue himself. Imprisoned as a child for stealing a loaf of bread, after nineteen years of hard labour Valjean is released on parole but forced to carry a ticket-of-leave that will forever label him as a menace to society.
Valjean’s journey is one in search of redemption while he is relentlessly pursued by that unyielding upholder of the law, Inspector Javert. On his way he comes across a host of characters, including critically the exploited and ill-fated Fantine, and her daughter Cosette who Valjean adopts as his own. The distinct change that Bernard makes with his adaptation is to shoot Les Misérables in three chapters that were originally screened as self-contained feature films, each with their own closing credits: Tempest in a Skull, The Thénardiers, and Liberty, Sweet Liberty. This allows the director the room to breathe, and explore the individuals in his extensive cast list without taking a knife to the narrative.
The first chapter, Tempest in a Skull, gives us Valjean’s origin story as we watch his change from an old prison lag after an encounter with a saintly priest:
Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man... Jean Valjean, my brother, you belong no longer to evil, but to good.
The second chapter, The Thénardiers, takes the form of a heist movie and with Liberty, Sweet Liberty, Valjean’s narrative arc comes to a resolution amid the climactic battle scenes on the barricades blocking the streets of Paris.
Les Misérables tells a story of oppression, exploitation, and redemption shot through a noir lens and Bernard and his cinematographer, Jules Kruger, give us a tour de force of visual style. The dramatic use of light and shadow comes straight out of the playbook of German expressionism, and I don’t think I have ever seen a film that makes so much use of Dutch (or oblique) angles – at times it looked as though the actors might slide off the frame. A potent signal of the turmoil and psychological unease of the times, but also perhaps a reflection of the malaise of the 1930s Depression and the sense that war was coming. But that use of light: the wretched poor are generally shot in a pall of gloom contrasting with the nobility who are captured in a bright, glaring light that reveals the cracks in their thickly applied makeup.
The production design is a combination of re-created 19th century exteriors and incredibly detailed models of the cityscape that possess a reality often all too lacking from today’s computer-generated imagery. That design is especially remarkable in the spectacular barricade battle, shot with a hand-held fury that prefigures Gillo Pontecorvo’s The Battle of Algiers that was to come 30 years later.
Given that the source novel is at least 1400 pages long, Bernard makes surprisingly little use of dialogue to explain the narrative, preferring to signal events using newspaper headlines, posters and, of course, the language of cinema. To achieve this, he relies on the consistently effective performances of his tremendous supporting cast. Central of course is the bear-like Harry Bauer as Jean Valjean, who over the course of the film is transformed from a bitter, hardened criminal to progressive, kindly father-figure, while maintaining a latent core of iron. His face has an earthy, lived-in look that is rare to see in the actors of today. Oh, what a Magwitch he would have made!
A tragic ending for Harry Baur in life: in Berlin during the Second World War, his Jewish wife, Rika Radifé, was arrested by the Gestapo on charges of espionage. Baur tried to get her released and ended up being arrested himself, and tortured. He died a few days after his own release.
That physiognomy is a feature shared by Gaby Triquet, the child actor playing Valjean’s adopted daughter Cosette. She looks eight going on 80 with her care-worn face. There is one particularly memorable scene where she is sent out at night into the woods by the Thénardiers to draw some water. I struggle to recall a moment captured on film where the internal sense of dread has been expressed so effectively. Her performance just edges out that of Émile Genevois as Gavroche, the junior rebel, whose playful enthusiasm for the revolution is a delight to watch.
And even the Thénardiers, ostensibly the clichéd evil step-parents - living in squalor and comical at times in their supposed cunning - elicit some measure of understanding, if not sympathy, as they are clearly born of the triangle of poverty, deprivation, and crime.
There are weaknesses. Charles Vanel as the sinister policeman, Inspector Javert, is always just one step behind Valjean. He represents the state, merciless in the persecution of its citizenry, but we are never clear why he is so fanatical in his pursuit. Without any sense of his motivation the circumstance of his ending remains a mystery. But that is a minor criticism. Like the novel from which it is drawn, this Les Misérables is full of riches: we join the French elite and their society balls, and then stumble through the city’s sewers to join the revolutionary barricades. This is a billowing tent of a film, yet it is also vigorous, entertaining and vitally, humane.
Reids’ Results (out of 100)
C - 85
T - 79
N - tbc
S - 87
Well, we have come to the end of our third season - and our 75th week - at Reids on Film and hope that you have enjoyed it as much as we have. We will return to provide you with more of our critical analyses (or hot takes) in a few weeks, but for now prepare to be entertained by some ‘bonus content’. And of course, Reids on Film would be happy to hear from you.
Would highly recommend the WWI movie Wooden Crosses from the same director.
Another brilliant issue. I really do enjoy Reids on Film - you've resurrected countless films I would never in a million years think of, so thanks! Looking forward to your return.