Is Pierre Schoeller's ONE NATION, ONE KING the best French Revolution movie ever?

If not, it's pretty damned close. This 2018 film, just now being released in the USA to DVD and VOD, is so stunning and vital in just about every way -- visually, intellectually, emotionally -- that for the first time, TrustMovies found himself understanding so much more about what was going on during this incredible time of change for France and its populace than he had ever been able to do before, while viewing a movie on the subject.

ONE NATION, ONE KING (Un peuple et son roi, which translates into the far more meaningful title of "A people and their king') was written and directed by Pierre Schoeller (shown at left), who has done a couple of other interesting films (Versailles and The Minister), but nothing I'd seen prepared me for the breadth, depth and scale experienced here.

Schoeller has managed to combine beauty and spectacle with personal stories that grab us; political notions of many sorts (along with the particular folk who harbor them) that highlight the thinking of the time; and a look at the various classes -- from the French royal family on down to lesser royalty, the intellectual set, and the illiterate peasants and workers who strive for bread, shelter and some semblance of freedom.

Best of all, he gives all these characters their due, so that we come to understand, even if we cannot always sympathize with, their particular plight. And actually, he comes surprising close to gaining our sympathy, even for the French King, played extremely well by Laurent Lafitte (shown center, above and below). We first see Louis XVI performing a traditional religious ceremony in which he washes the feet of "poor children," and it is immediately clear, when one of the children actually speaks to him, that this King has no understanding or any genuine empathy for his people. And yet, over the course of the film, the more we see of him and his family, the more we come to understand the way in which extreme privilege both frees and imprisons its bearers.

The intelligentsia gets equal time, and we hear from a rather large number of them -- most impressively from the standout Denis Lavant (below, center) as Marat

and Louis Garrel (below) as Robespierre. Garrel gives us just barely a hint of the foul craziness that absolute power, even for a short time period, can bring with it.

The movie is awash with some of France's better thespians (that's Niels Schneider, below, second from right, as Saint-Just), but what these characters say proves every bit as interesting as who they are. I suppose it helps if you have some sense of France's history. Mine is certainly not that good, but I still found the film as intelligent as it is rousing.

In the roles of the working folk, constantly prodding for their betterment and freedom, Adèle Haenel and Gaspard Ulliel (below, left and right respectively) are front and center as the romantic leads. They are just fine (as always), but it is Olivier Gourmet in the role of the town's glassblower who proves (along with Lavant's role in the intellectual set), the film's standout.

How M. Schoeller weaves together all these characters and classes, their philosophies and intents, is exemplary. His pacing; use of sharp, short dialog; and especially his occasional action scenes -- the massacre of unarmed protestors ordered by the Marquise de Lafayette is the film's emotional high point, as well as its turning point regarding the strength of the Republican protests -- all combine to make One Nation, One King a resounding success.

From Distrib Films US and Icarus Home Video, the movie hits the street on DVD and VOD this coming Tuesday, September 3 -- for purchase/rental.

Yet more excellent European TV via MHz: Krivine/Daucé/Triboit's A FRENCH VILLAGE

Despite our country's ludicrous array of Trump supporters (not to mention the even more ludicrous Donald himself) and their cries of "Make America Great Again" by tossing out Mexicans and Muslims and -- let's make it clear -- anyone who isn't white, their "great" America remains a country that has never experienced what most of Europe did during World War II. That would be "occupation" by a foreign power, Nazi Germany, who ruled with an iron hand, using everything from intimidation to torture and death to keep the populace in line. It is all too easy to make fun of the French for losing their fight against the invading German army, but almost every other Western and Eastern European power was occupied, too (or worse, allied with the occupiers), not to mention the Scandinavian countries.

What is especially bracing and unusual about the French television series, A FRENCH VILLAGE (Un village français) is how it shows us what occupation meant for the occupied country in detail and precision, with all the nasty ironies intact. What it also makes so very clear is how impossible it was (without giving up your life, of course) not to betray everything and everyone -- from your country to your family to your friends at some point or other in this awful occupation. We human beings have enough trouble being kind and just during normal times. When you're part of the conquered, difficulties quadruple.

As created and (much of which) written by the trio Frédéric Krivine (shown above), Emmanuel Daucé and Philippe Triboit, with M. Triboit directing many of the episodes, the series has now reached five seasons -- only two of which have appeared so far on DVD.  But these 24 roughly-45-to-50-minute segments are enough to give viewers a fuller look at what "occupation" meant than anything from anywhere I've so far seen.

How a populace is convinced to collaborate with its enemy is shown with surprising skill and art. The series strikes me as both historically accurate and also rich in drama, with only an occasional coincidence to shake a bit of that believability. The reasons for collaboration are many and varied, from simple survival to bettering one's station. Two prime components in the collaborative process are the village doctor (Robin Renucci, above, left) -- along with his pampered wife (Audrey Fleurot, above, center, of Spiral) -- who is appointed town mayor by the Germans and must then work out one problem after another.

Those who collaborate for profit is one of the town's leading businessmen (Thierry Godard, also of Spiral), who gladly cooperates with the enemy in order to reap the many benefits. Among the various villains is one in particular (played smoothly and sleekly by the steely-yet-appealing Richard Sammel, above), who takes Nazi sex and pain to new heights (and lows).

Along the way, food -- or often the lack of it -- plays an important part in the proceedings, with pineapple upside-down cake,  foie gras, and a very large bunny (below) among the items used for maximum tension, irony and surprise. In these first two seasons, the French Resistance is only beginning to be felt, with the French Communists who incite this shown to be both leaders and idiots in their insistence on hierarchy and following orders. (That's the Mayor's Communist brother, above (played by Fabrizio Rongione), who also figures heavily into the plot.)

Toward the finale of Season Two, the doctor's Jewish maid is given a quietly stirring and absolutely on-point speech about collaboration that's should be a keeper that is shown to all future generations. There is a constant threat of violence here, and sometime its follow-through, as well. But the series does not milk events for mere suspense and thrills. There are plenty of both, yet the filmmakers are much more interested in the vagaries of human behavior than in the usual guns/guts/gore routine.

Available on DVD (those first two seasons) with some, perhaps all, of the others viewable via streaming from the MHz Networks, A French Village is one of those rare television series that should appeal to history buffs, seniors who still have a memory of WWII, and just about anyone who loves a good tale well told. Click here to see how to get the series now.

Bonus: There are also half a dozen very fine "extras" 

at the end of Season 2 that should prove 

of interest to film and history buffs.

Hi-def restoration: Hollywood tackles the French Revolution in Anthony Mann's THE BLACK BOOK

I was but eight years old when I got my first taste of and lesson in The French Revolution -- via Hollywood, of course -- from a dizzy little ditty called Reign of Terror, which has since been re-titled, somewhere along the way, THE BLACK BOOK, a moniker it seems to have retained, for better or worse. I remember liking this film a lot as an elementary school kid. Watching it again, some 65 years later, elementary school (at best early junior high) seems about the right age for full appreciation. This is the kind of move in which, at the start, most of the characters are placed front and center with a description that lets you know right off the bat if they're good guys or bad guys.

As directed by Anthony Mann, left, who has a goodly number of important films to his credit, this one aims to give us that famous revolution as a kind of film noir/boys adventure, with a little guillotine and torture tossed in the keep the kids from getting bored. As the leading good guy, we have Robert Cummings in his stalwart mode pitted against Richard Basehart as Robespierre, the Joe Stalin of a century or so earlier. The movie begins with the execu-tion of Danton, some speechifying and further exposition. Finally we get to the heart of the matter: that little black book of the title, into which Robespierre has listed all of the people he plans to place under the guillotine's blade.

Assassination, betrayal, identity theft (the old-fashioned kind), lost love (that would be Arlene Dahl, above, right, with Mr. Cummings) hairbreadth escapes, and more, this 90-minute movie boasts all of those and more, as it moves fast and covers a lot of territory. As is often the case, the bad guys get the juiciest performances, with Mr. Basehart a preening and awfully "gay" Robespierre (Hollywood loved to makes villains of us, back in the day), and a fine character actor named Arnold Moss, below, right, playing the master conniver Fouché.

The dialog (the screenplay's by Philip Yordan) is bearable, and the Mann's pacing fleet, so the 90 minutes pass quickly enough. And it is fun to see how old Hollywood handled blood and guts (there are none). You can just imagine what a remake of this one might look like today -- awash in the red stuff, beheadings right and left!

Now, about this new High Definition restoration promised by the distribu-tor, Film Chest: I am no expert on restorations, but it appears that the restorers either had damn little to work with, or didn't do much with what they had. This is one of the weakest of all the supposed restorations I've yet seen. I can barely imagine what low-definition might look like.

But if you haven't seen this one in decades, or want to see it for the first time, this version is probably the best shot you've currently got. Made in 1949, with an aspect ratio of 4x3 and featuring the original sound, The Black Book is available now for purchase and maybe rental.

Mads Mikkelsen in Arnaud des Pallières' AGE OF UPRISING: THE LEGEND OF MICHAEL KOHLHAAS

Kohlhaas?  Was that Kohlhaas Walker? No: that's from Milos Forman's hugely under-rated film of E. L. Doctorow's novel, Ragtime, and it's spelled Coalhouse. Otherwise, though, Michael Kohlhaas and Coalhouse Walker have a lot in common, their quest for justice in particular. The new film, AGE OF UPRISING: THE LEGEND OF MICHAEL KOHLHAAS (a rather cumbersome title for what was simply called Michael Kohlhaas in Europe), during its first hour seems pretty much your typical clanking-armour revenge movie.

Hang on, please, for the film's second hour proves so much better -- deeper, more encompassing and profound -- that if you have any interest in philosophy, class issues, religion, justice, the monarchy and Europe in the sixteenth century, I believe you will find this movie more than a little eye-opening and finally quite moving. Director Arnaud des Pallières, shown at left, has given us a film that captures the "look" of the times, as well as a character, Michael Kohlhaas, who evidently did indeed exist. As co-adaptor (with Christelle Berthevas) of a novella by Heinrich von Kleist (whose work, according ot the IMDB, has been adapted for the screen some 57 times!), M. des Pallières spills out his most impressive and thought-provoking work as the movie continues.

Granted, his star Mads Mikkelsen (above, right), who possesses probably the most consistently riveting male face currently on screen, helps make that first hour more bearable. In it, our hero Michael, whom he plays, and very well, as a highly moral man, is taken terrible advantage of by the local Baron, illegally confiscating Michael's horses, then setting dogs on his much-loved servant, and finally... well, you'll see. By the end of that initial hour, our hero has rounded up (many of the men come to him of their own volition) a small army (below) of the disenfranchised and dissa-tisfied, and has killed a number of the Baron's henchmen. So far, so-so.

But then, the film begins to probe some depths. As Kohlhaas' army grows, The Catholic Church gets involved. That fine actor Denis Lavant plays a churchman who tries to convince Kohlhaas to end his siege, and their conversation is a fine one, bringing to light the usual case of the Church supporting the powers-that-be, whoever they may be. Then the Princess of the realm (Roxane Duran), whom the Baron serves (she's the sister of the current French King), agrees to give Kohlhaas amnesty. (The visit the Princess pays him, arriving in the midst of his al fresco bath, is something to see -- and hear.)

Accord seems to have been reached, but then things change. How and why and what happens is profoundly moving and revealing of morality, justice and the balance of power as these were perceived and defined in the mid-1500s. The final scene, featuring the wonderful Bruno Ganz (above, right, as a character called only The Governor) is spellbinding in every way, leaving us, as well as Kohlhaas both shaken yet somehow at peace, having begun to understand one's place in a world vastly larger than oneself.

The filmmaker has managed to round up quite a starry cast in supporting roles, from Sergi López as a one-armed, would-be recruit and Amira Casar as the local Abbess to Mélusine Mayance (above, left, from Sarah's Key) as Kohlhaas' daughter and Jacques Nolot as his kindly but frightened lawyer.

From Music Box Films and running 122 minutes, the movie opens tomorrow, Friday, May 30, in New York City at the Cinema Village, in the Los Angeles area at Laemmle's Music Hall 3 and Playhouse 7, in Miami at the Tower Theater, and in Phoenix at the Film Bar. Click here (and then click on THEATERS) to see further scheduled playdates.

Ilan Duran Cohen's intelligent, thoughtful bit of religious/social history, THE JEWISH CARDINAL

Were I to imagine the right director for a quietly thoughtful, intelligent and emotionally resonant (with no melodrama) movie about the Jewish convert to Catholicism who went on to become a Cardinal and then Archbishop of Paris, Ilan Duran Cohen would probably have been the last filmmaker I'd have come up with. Among this writer/director's best-known work are two terrific movies -- Confusion of Genders and The Joy of Singing -- that deal with sex in several of its many forms and are, in their funny and outrageous manner, rather ground-breaking. Now, here comes Cohen, giving us a serious, worthy film about a man and his religions -- one abandoned, another embraced -- and how he tries to somehow unite both them and the folk who follow them.

THE JEWISH CARDINAL ("God's Crossbreed" in its original and more interesting French title, Le métis de Dieu) tells the extremely worthwhile (even, I think, to us atheists) tale of Jean-Maire Lustiger, a Jew born to Polish immigrants in France, who converted as a child to Catholicism, yet insisted on maintaining his cultural identity as a Jew, even as he rose to extraordinary prominence in the Catholic Church. M. Cohen, show at right, has managed to turn out a movie (made for French television, by the way) that places emphasis on what M. Lustiger, our Cardinal, tried to accomplish. Rather than give us the usual "history-of-the-guy" approach, he incorporates neatly only some of this information into his brainy screenplay, and concentrates instead on the man's insistence on bringing these two important religions together (he is often reminding his listeners that Jesus was, after all, a Jew).

I am taking it as "gospel" that the events and personages in the film are based on truth, even if how these events and people interacted has been fictionalized. Chief among the characters here is the "Polish Pope," John-Paul II, played by the wonderful Aurélien Recoing (above), to whom our Cardinal becomes a kind of confidant. What transpires between these two men is simply fascinating. Even an Anti-Papist like me came away from this film with some respect for the intelligence of that particular Pope.

The film reaches its real theme and climax in the tale of how the Auschwitz Concentration Camp, built and run by the Nazis in occupied Poland during World War II, became involved in a kind of tug-of-war between Polish Catholics and Jews from across the world, as the horrifically anti-Semitic Poles try to install a permanent convent on the Auschwitz grounds. The filmmaker allows us to observe all this from several angles: those of the Jews and the Poles, and especially that of the Vatican, where our Cardinal (played with restraint but only partially buried emotion by the fine Laurent Lucas, above and on poster, top) becomes the man who must somehow work this out to the benefit of all parties. This is not easy, and the fact that Duran makes its ins-and-outs both intelligible and understandable is an accomplishment.

While the film is full of beautiful, high-end church scenery (above and below), the only other characters of importance here are Lustiger's cousin, Fanny,  played by Audrey Dana; Albert Decourtray, Archbishop of Lyon, played by Pascal Greggory; and Lustiger's assistant, Father Julien, played by Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet. (This talented young actor is building quite a versatile resume, having now appeared in roles so different in everything from Love Songs and Black Heaven to The Snows of Kilimanjaro and The Princess of Montpensier.)

One of the nicest surprises of The Jewish Cardinal is that, although M. Cohen works wonders when the subject of sex is at hand, here, in a film regarding the Catholic Church, about which the now reams of sex scandals approaches the mythic, the filmmaker stays on point and simply ignores any overt sexuality. However, it seemed clear to both me and my spouse that the Father Julien character did indeed love and was in love with our Cardinal. This is never stated in any way, but thanks to the sweet and so genuine performance of M. Leprince-Ringuet, shown below, it comes through strongly yet never obviously.

The Jewish Cardinal, another quite worthwhile choice from Film Movement and running 96 minutes, will appear on DVD and via Netflix streaming this coming Tuesday, May 20, while also being available for purchase or rental from Film Movement itself.

Agnes Varda's DAGUERRÉOTYPES gets a real--if tardy--theatrical at Maysles Cinema

For just one week, beginning this coming Monday, December 12, a movie will be receiving its very belated U.S. theatrical debut -- 35 years belated! -- as DAGUERRÉOTYPES, a 1976 documentary by Agnès Varda opens at the Maysles Cinema in Harlem. No slouch in the filmmkaing department, narrative or documentary, Ms Varda (pictured below) has been making movies since 1955 and is justly regarded, by those who really know, as every bit as important a part of La Nouvelle Vague as was Truffaut or Godard.

Since the early 1990s, Varda has concentrated almost exclusively on the documentary form, giving us a throng of wondeful films, of which The Beaches of Agnès is the most recently seen. Back in 1976, when she made Daguerréotypes, the western world was so different from today that I can't imagine what young people watching this movie will think. In the film, Varda simply shows us the shopkeepers who are her neighbors along Rue Daguerre in the 14th Arrondissement, the street named for Louis Daguerre, the man who developed an early photographic process known as the Daguerreotype.

These shopkeepers provide the meat and heart of the film -- they and the delightful magician who both introduces the movie and then, midway, puts on a magic show to which the neighbors all come: the butcher (above, with this wife), the baker, the plumber, the hairdresser, the driving instructor, and more. Varda talks with them about their history, where they come from, how they met their mate, how they earn their living, and, as usual, she manages to draw from them the kind of magic that always seems to make her subjects so fascinating and her films such delights.

Especially strange and moving are the elderly couple (above) -- he's a perfume maker, she helps serve the customers in their shop -- that begin the film and pop up throughout it. He seems ever smiling and full of energy; she seems incredibly sad. Is she in pain, dying slowly, or just unhappy at having every dream in life crushed? (Or, as I have now been told -- just after posting -- perhaps the onset of dementia.) We never find out, and this is one time I wish Varda had probed a little more deeply. Yet you feel like she would never want to impinge on her subjects' private lives, at least no further than they themselves were wiling to go or to share.

The magic show, interestingly, is woven into scenes of these neighbors working (the baker is a special visual treat). While it would have nice to have had the chance to see the film around the time it was made, watching it now offers another kind of bonus: the opportunity to view history and the kind of life we most likely shall not see again. If the French are saving time capsules, this movie is a must for inclusion.

Also on the program is a 20-minute short from 1965, unseen by me, called Elsa la rose, directed by Varda and Raymond Zanchi, and narrated by Michel Piccolli, that documents a famous literary romance of the day between Louis Aragon and Elsa Triolet.


Daguerréotypes (78 minutes, released via Cinema Guild) opens Monday, December 12, and plays through December 18 at the Maysles Cinema. Click here to order tickets, and here (then peruse the left hand column of the screen) for directions and/or other information.