L’Atalante (1934)

Director: Jean Vigo                                Writers: Jean Vigo & Albert Riéra
Film Score: Maurice Jaubert                   Cinematography: Boris Kaufman
Starring: Dita Parlo, Jean Dasté and Michel Simon

My prejudice against foreign films is going to show again in my review of one of the A List’s entries, L’Atalante. While there’s nothing exactly bad about it, it certainly failed to capture my imagination in the way it has for numerous critics through the years. There are certain elements of the cinematography that are striking—and very French—but they tend to stand out as aberrations amid the generally static look of the picture. The leads are competent in terms of their ability to hold interest, but it is the incredibly odd looking—and acting—Michel Simon who dominates the screen, and not in a good way.

The story is about a pair of newlyweds, Juliette and Jean, played by Dita Parlo and Jean Dasté, who begin their married life aboard the barge that Jean pilots up and down the Sein. It’s made clear in the opening sequence after their marriage, that Juliette is very different from other girls in the village in her desire to experience more of life. But the barge life is one of monotony and drudgery and quickly pales. When they finally reach Paris and stop for a couple of days, she goes out on her own to see the town and a furious Jean pulls up anchor and leaves her. When he can’t bare life without her it is Michel Simon’s Père Juleswho brings her back to resume their interrupted love. Of course this main plot is heavily laced with the antics of Jules, much to the detriment of the film.

The only other movie that begs comparison with L’Atalante is F.W. Murnau’s silent masterpiece Sunrise, which is superior to the French film in almost every way. Both focus on the relationship of a couple, and the lure of the city juxtaposed with the hard working yeoman’s life. But where Murnau’s film is a tour de force, Jean Vigo’s film borders on the tedius. Where Murnau’s city is a living, pulsing temptation that literally pulls its protagonist in against his will, Vigo’s city is merely a picture window full of nick nacks that, while fascinating to a country girl, lacks nearly all of the allure that would justify Jean’s impetuous action.

Terrence Rafferty’s review in The A List is over the top with hyperbole, admitting in the same sentence that director Jean Vigo, who died at age 34 just after the film premiered, created less than three hours of total film but was also somehow “one of the greatest artists in the history of the movies.” On its face it’s patently ridiculous. One of the metaphors that Rafferty uses to explain Vigo’s “genius” is to compare his work to that of a jazz musician. But that’s like saying Dupree Bolton is one of the greatest jazz trumpeters of all time based on only two albums he recorded in his lifetime. Tantalizing for the possibility of what he might have become--Vigo, as well as Bolton--but hardly the greatest of all time. L’Atalante is interesting for its historical value as Vigo’s only feature film, but no more artistic than many other works of the time and in many ways less so.