Human Desire

July 16, 2011

Human Desire, another noir-ish effort from Lang, a German in exile who seemed at home in Hollywood.  It’s based on the Zola novel, La Bête Humaine, which I have not read, but I’ve read enough of  Zola to know the terrain.  As for that title…is there another kind of desire?  Zola’s title, The Human Beast, seems to capture the logic more accurately.

Zola’s realist novels usually present a milieu in tremendous detail, with lots of atmosphere:  a mining town; an enormous urban food market; a department store; and the setting is almost a character in the book.  In this film, the world of railroading is the setting, and we get into it by way of the credits followed by a long sequence that shows the men at work driving a train to its destination.  Glenn Ford plays Jeff, the Korean War vet, happy to be back home at work.

While riding home as a passenger on a train, Jeff meets Vicky (Gloria Grahame), the wife of a fellow railroader.  She has obvious charms…

…but he doesn’t know that she and hubby have just murdered someone on the train.  As in M, the killer has a special relationship with his knife and what it represents.  Vicky’s husband (Broderick Crawford) is much older than she, jealous, and not up to keeping her satisfied, but he’s very handy with a blade.

The whole town knows what’s going on between Jeff and Vicky.  While he’s been at war, the little girl in the rooming house where he lives has grown up, and she tries to save him from himself, for herself.  She comes to meet him at work, a little girl dwarfed by the big machine.  They have their talk, but Vicky has her hooks into Jeff.  She retreats, defeated, a nice contrast of womanly flesh and brute machinery.

Grahame is marvelous as a brassy fatal woman, but she just can’t get Jeff to knock off her husband, although he is tempted.

He’s a flawed noir hero, but not flawed enough for her.  He sends her walking.  As usual with Zola, there is a churning pot of sex, lust, greed, spiritual corruption, and violence, but Jeff is too good for it.  He goes back to the working life, and we know he will return to that spicy brunette who wants him.  Now I have to read the novel.

Grahame’s life might be the stuff of a Zola tale:  it was stormy, and included a divorce from one husband who caught her in bed with his thirteen year old son.


When did Paris become romantic?

December 22, 2009

When did Paris get to be the city of romance and of young lovers?  No doubt, the photographs of Robert Doisneau had something to do with it.  Is it a post WWII phenomenon?  I think of Paris for the period before that as being the city of loose women, artists, intellectuals, free-wheeling nightlife, but not exactly romance.  As the WWI song went,

How ya’ going to keep them down on the farm,
after they’ve seen Gay Pa-ree?

This referred to all those rural American doughboy soldiers who’d gotten a taste of Sodom’s delights while on leave in the big city.  And before that, during the Second Empire and the fin de siècle, Paris was the city of sin, lust, greed, wild financial wheeler-dealing, whores and nightclubs, drugs and absinthe, “ballet” dancers for purchase by rich sybarites, and plunging décolletage.  Not exactly the stuff of…romance.

And then there’s the Paris of brutality and political insurrection.  The bloody suppression of the Commune, the revolutions in the streets of 1830 and 1848, with barricades and hand-to-hand fighting.  Looming over it all, the Big One, The French Revolution of 1789, and the ensuing Terror.  Again, not too much romance there.

People talk about how beautiful Paris is, as if the urban plan and the regular facades of the streets exude loveliness and, of course, romance.  More and more, when I think of Paris, I think of its reconstruction under Napoleon III and Hausmann, the ruthless demolition of neighborhoods, the eviction of thousands, the fraud, the corruption, and the waste incurred during the pell mell rebuilding of the city in Napoleon’s image until his ignominious exit in 1871.  The long avenues and the open circles seem to me the marks of authoritarian planning, a dictatorial City Beautiful [in America, urban renewal was called by some negro removal; in Paris, it would have been worker removal] all of which has been imitated by dictators of various intellectual calibers since, from Romania to the Ivory Coast.

I guess I’ve been reading too much Zola.  I was surprised to find how many of his novels deal with precisely this topic, the rebuilding of the city.  The Belly of Paris and The Kill are two that come to mind immediately.  And as for décolletage, he documents it in several texts, most tellingly here where he is describing not a prostitute or courtesan, but a society lady:

When Renée entered the room, a murmur of admiration greeted her.  She was truly divine…her head and bodice were done up adorably.   Her breasts exposed, almost to the nipples…the young woman seemed to emerge stark naked from her sheath of tulle and salin… [more here]

Does the objectification of woman get any more explicit?  Romance?..  A few images from now and then…

   

    

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