The third of Jean Grémillon’s wartime films, Le Ciel est à vous is markedly different in tone from either of its predecessors. It’s not a pessimistic religio-political statement like the Poetic Realist Remorques, and it’s not an over-the-top melodrama like Lumière d'été. Le Ciel simply tells the inspirational story of a couple who sacrifice to achieve their dream against considerable odds, but as in all three of the films, moments of sheer cinematic beauty pop out unexpectedly and delight the viewer.
The visual is important in all Grémillon, and Le Ciel is no
exception. Some parts of the film are tour-de-force cinematography, like the visually startling opening. In the first image of Le Ciel, we see a
triangle of walking sheep heading into the frame from bottom right. The camera starts to rise, and as our perspective
widens, we see a shepherd leading the flock at a short distance. The camera doesn’t stop at that point,
though; it continues to rise until the flock is a small element in frame and we
see black circles rotating in an open field.
We move in that direction to find children in black uniforms dancing in
big circles, and the camera ultimate descends past them to a sign pointing to
an orphanage. It’s a delightful crane opening
fraught with significance we’re prepared to see realized further into the film.
The first arrival of the aviatrix Lucienne Ivry is another opportunity for bravura
filmmaking. We first hear the plane
approach and begin to land as we are watching Pierre in a conversation
elsewhere. As he perks up and heads out,
the camera rises and Pierre becomes part of a crowd surging toward the
plane. From above, the camera sweeps
along with Pierre as he rushes to the plane as part of the crowd, and as the
Lucienne exits the plane and starts towards the banquet hall, the camera,
maintaining its height, stops its forward rush just as the crowd does and
reverses direction with them to return to the hall with Lucienne. Grémillon is known for tracking shots, and
this one is one of his more remarkable.
But Grémillon’s visuals go beyond merely making his films
interesting. Maybe because of his silent film Grapes of Wrath, but shortly afterwards, Pierre has a tow truck and Thérèse is
driving a sporty roadster. Their
furnishings transition from the simple, rural items of the opening to the
embroidered fussiness of a bourgeois household, and the simple piano they could
barely afford early in the film is replaced by a big, shiny new one. Le Ciel also makes a point of commenting on
Pierre’s new neon sign, a symbol of their increased affluence. And when Pierre
becomes obsessed with aviation and Thérèse gets a job in the big city, the
messiness of the house and the shop indicate the lack of familial
attention. Later in the film, the image
of the disappointed couple peering through the café window at the celebration
in honor of Lucienne’s forthcoming conquest of the women’s distance record says
as much about the situation of the couple at that point in the film as any
amount of exposition would. Throughout
Le Ciel, Grémillon shows us information rather than telling us with tedious explanations.
background, Grémillon’s images tell us important information. For example, he tells us of the changes in the Gauthier family fortune by the way the family’s circumstances look. When they leave their rural garage, the Gauthiers travel in a rickety truck that would have been at home in 1940’s
background, Grémillon’s images tell us important information. For example, he tells us of the changes in the Gauthier family fortune by the way the family’s circumstances look. When they leave their rural garage, the Gauthiers travel in a rickety truck that would have been at home in 1940’s
But for all that, one of the most intense pleasures of
Grémillon’s imagery is the occasion eruption of a completely irreducible symbol,
an image that is packed with meaning that we can’t articulate in simple terms. The recurring appearance of the orphans is
one such element. The film opens with a
strong emphasis on circles of dancing orphans, and we see the orphans two other
times in the film as well. The opening suggests
a parallel between the sheep/shepherd and the orphans/priests, both sets of
images carrying religious overtones. However,
Le Ciel, whose title itself is a pun on sky/heaven, doesn’t have an overtly
religious theme. The orphans may carry a
visual suggestion of Pierre’s opinion that obsession doesn’t lead to anything
good, implying that some control of impulses is desirable; in fact, the next
time we see the orphans, this need is even more urgent as Thérèse and Pierre
are risking the family’s finances and even Thérèse’s life. In this and their last appearance, the
orphans carry a multifaceted significance, one that is vaguely foreboding, and
perhaps moral, yet there is no explicit meaning to draw from the recurrent
image.
The sinking beacon at the Nice airfield is another image
that has multiple layers of significance.
Disappointed that their home-built airplane will never outdistance Lucienne
Ivry’s well-financed technologically-advanced plane, Thérèse and Pierre leave
the Nice airfield on a foggy evening to return to their hotel. As they start to head out, the tall beacon that
they have been standing beside begins to recede into its silo. As the two leave the frame, the camera stays
on the beacon, drawing attention to it as an image that captures so much of
what is happening at that moment. This
high-tech machine is part of the same aviation technology that has wrecked the
Gauthier’s dreams, and in it we see technology unrelentingly performing its task,
oblivious to whatever tragedy that has just occurred. Not only is the technology unrelenting, but
it is also a little point of light that is going out in an already dark
night. Grémillon ties together several
aspects of Le Ciel in this one unexpected image.
There is also a complexity to the relationship at the center
of Le Ciel because we watch two well-rounded characters working out the
parameters of their relationship. Charles
Vanel creates a compelling Pierre, deeply sympathetic and likable. Pierre has renounced his love of aviation for
his wife but finds himself drawn back into it.
After an flying accident, he recognizes the dangers of flying and again
renounces it. But when his wife, Thérèse,
develops her interest, he reverses himself yet again, and the two of them
intensify their love by pursuing flight for Thérèse rather than for
Pierre. Such back-and-forth makes the
story of Le Ciel somewhat turgid, but it’s a pleasant complexity. And though Pierre has plenty of complexity,
his pales in comparison to Thérèse’s.
She evolves from a rural housewife to a successful , urban saleswoman to
an bossy, intolerant wife and mother.
Soon, though, she’s obsessed with flight and willing to lose the entire
family fortune to set a flight record.
With both of these central characters so variable, the relationship at
the film’s center occasionally becomes confusing.
Even 70 years later, we don’t see many female characters
like Thérèse. She is brave and
self-determined, and it’s her husband who makes compromises in order for her to
further her career rather than vice versa.
In fact, were it not for the empathy that Vanel generates onscreen,
Pierre would mostly be a reflection of the heroine of Le Ciel. The film is also unique in having two women, Thérèse
and Lucienne, competing for fame instead of a two-man rivalry or two women
competing for a man. This element is
another of the unique pleasures here.
Le Ciel is not without some problems and unevenness. The story is too choppy, and the reversals of
the individuals at the center are too frequent.
The film also leaves unanswered some important questions like what, for
instance, is going to happen with Jacqueline’s piano and the
rather brutal way her parents took it from her.
In fact, the character of Jacqueline gives rise to several unaddressed
concerns, too, as her determination to continue playing piano seems to echo her
mother’s determination, yet Jacqueline’s story remains undeveloped.
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