Les Nouveaux messieurs (1929)
Directed by Jacques Feyder

Film Review

By the late 1920s, Jacques Feyder had secured his reputation as one of the leading filmmakers of his day.  He had made his name with L'Atlantide (1921), at the time the most expensive French film ever made due to his insistence on shooting the bulk of the film on location in Africa.  Further acclaim came with Visages d'enfants (1925) and when his adaptation of Émile Zola's Thérèse Raquin proved a worldwide hit MGM made him an offer he could not refuse - the chance to direct Greta Garbo in The Kiss (1929), his last silent film as it turned out.  Before he embarked on his short spell in Hollywood, Feyder had one last commitment to honour in France, directing Les Nouveaux Messieurs (a.k.a. The New Gentlemen) for Alexandre Kamenka's prestigious film production company, Albatros.

It was a commission that Feyder was reluctant to accept at first, as he had resented Kamenka's heavy-handed interference in their previous collaboration, Carmen (1926).  Ill-feeling over the casting of Raquel Meller in the title role had almost led the director to walk away from the project.  For Les Nouveaux Messieurs, Feyder was able to extort a promise from his Albatros paymasters that he would be given a completely free hand - an opportunity he exploited to the full, sadly to the detriment of the company that was employing him.  The filming took four months to complete and necessitated the construction of several incredibly ambitious sets at the Billancourt studios, including an authentic recreation of France's seat of government, the Chamber of Deputies.  When the film was released in April 1929, after being waylaid by the French censorship office, it was only a moderate commercial success.  Already in financial difficulty, Albatros dropped plans to release a sound version of the film and the company went out of business not long afterwards.

Les Nouveaux Messieurs started out life as a phenomenally successful stage play written by Robert de Flers and Francis de Croisset.  Starring Gaby Morlay and Victor Boucher, it had run for over 500 performances and was lauded by the critics as a highly astute satire on political ambition in present day France.  With the help of co-screenwriter Charles Spaak (who worked with the director on many subsequent films, notably La Kermesse héroïque), Feyder emphasised the political dimension of the play, sharpening the critique to the point that the film was deemed by the censors to be 'an attack on the dignity of parliamentarians' and thereupon denied a distribution visa.  The film was released only after its producers had agreed to make several cuts (including the removal of a sequence in which striking workers are met by armed soldiers) and altered some of the inter-titles.  Feyder was by this time busy working in Hollywood and so was not in a position to respond to the censors' requests, although he did admit to being mystified by the criticism.

Certainly, the picture that Les Nouveaux Messieurs paints of France's political class is hardly a flattering one.  The two male protagonists - one a member of the entitled aristocratic caste who clearly owes his position to his noble ancestry, the other an opportunistic parvenu from the working class - are equally apt to disgrace their profession by their self-serving misconduct.  They may come from opposite sides of the political spectrum, they may have very different motives, but both, it would seem, share the same lust for power and, having acquired this power, are equally adept at using it for their personal gain rather than serving the interests of the nation.  Even more condemnatory are the displays of tribalistic anarchy that we are shown in the Chamber of Deputies.

If audiences had been expecting to see the two sides of the house engaged in reasoned debate, each respectfully listening to their opponents' argument and then politely stating his own case they would have been shocked.  Instead, what we are presented with is a battle of egos resembling a bun fight, the left and right sides of the house boorishly pounding their desks with their fists whilst booing and jeering at whoever rises to his feet to make a speech.  The constantly shifting opinion in the chamber is humorously portrayed on screen by the use of a semi-transparent filter that masks out a section of the assembled deputies, moving from right to left in the manner of the kind of swing-o-meter that is used in today's TV election coverage.

In the film's most surreal sequence, one of the older members is so disconnected from the proceedings that he falls into a gentle sleep and imagines everyone around him transformed into a tutu-wearing ballet dancer.  The ballerinas rise from their seats and perform an elaborate formation dance around the chamber.  Shot from high above, the dancers elegantly fuse into a kaleidoscopic floral pattern, no doubt inspiring the American choreographer Busby Berkeley to utilise the same dazzling effect on his Hollywood musicals of the early 1930s.  As a depiction of the beating heart of French democracy the film could hardly have been less respectful, but as we all know today (after seeing TV broadcasts of what goes on in real debating chambers) what Feyder shows us is depressingly spot on - even a century after he made the film!

Feyder employs other cinematic trickery to great effect, often to underscore the rich vein of humour that runs through the film.  Superimposition is used sparingly, mostly reserved for telephone conversations to depict what the speaker imagines he is hearing on the other end of the line.. Speeding up the film through under-cranking brings a touch of Keystone Kops absurdity to a scene in which a dignified ministerial visit to a new housing estate is kiboshed by a sudden political crisis.  Skilfully applied effects such as these add lustre to the film's striking visuals, allowing Feyder to extract as much humour and pathos as possible from the remarkably true-to-life screenplay.  The sequence in which Jacques and Suzanne are seen amorously lounging about an open-air swimming pool in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower provides an idyllic romantic counterpoint to the torrent of ignoble strife that follows, particularly the disgraceful political manoeuvring in the Palais Bourbon.

Whilst Les Nouveaux Messieurs cannot be faulted on its mise-en-scène, design and writing (all up to Feyder's usual impeccable standard), the one area where the film most impresses is the acting, and this is down to its three lead performers excelling with their utterly compelling naturalistic performances.  Gaby Morlay was an obvious choice to take the female lead, having triumphed on stage in the part.  After making her cinema debut in the mid-1910s alongside French superstar Max Linder, Morlay rapidly became both a popular film star and an emblem of the modern liberated woman in France.  Her best years were ahead of her - the most sought after French actress of the 1930s, she went on to become the unrivalled queen of the French melodrama, drawing massive audiences with such high class slush as Le Voile bleu (1942).  As the ambitious ballet dancer Suzanne, Morlay powerfully conveys the tragedy of a young woman in a man's world, forced to choose between her career aspirations and true love, and ultimately finding she has no decision to make.  Few scenes in Morlay's impressive filmography are more heart-wrenchingly poignant than the one, right at the end of Feyder's film, where her character's happiness is cruelly snatched from her - not by fate, but by the insufferable vanity of the dominant sex.

The tragedy that befalls Morlay's character is effectively mirrored by the calamity which her young lover Jacques brings on himself through his own, even-more determined ambition.  On the face of it, Albert Préjean is an unlikely casting choice for the role of a man who rejects love and shames his own class in pursuit of personal glory.  A few years later, following his success in René Clair's Sous les toits de Paris (1930), he would come to personify the nobility of the French proletariat, more so than any other actor (even his nearest rival Jean Gabin).  It is because Préjean's humble working class origins are so apparent, in his appearance and mannerisms, that he is so well-chosen to portray the everyman type who becomes haplessly drawn into the murky world of political chicanery.  It is Jacques's apparent ordinariness that makes us so shocked to witness his dramatic transformation - from an idealistic worker to a vain, self-interested politician, believing he is serving the nation when in fact all he is doing is feeding his own swollen ego.  Seated behind his ministerial desk, Jacques has the bearing not of a man of the people, but of an emperor on his throne, all too conscious of his position and the power he holds in his hands.

As the corrupt, smoothly Machiavellian Count Montoire-Grandpré, Henry Roussel should arouse our contempt as what is manifestly the villain of the piece.  The Count is the more experienced politician, manipulating the levers of power with far less effort than Jacques, making it inevitable that he will triumph over his enemy in the end.  As different as Roussel and Préjean's characters initially appear, by the end of the film they are virtually indistinguishable - indeed it is painfully evident that Montoire-Grandpré is what Jacques is destined to become with a few more years' experience in high office.  Far from being the archetypal, moustache-twirling cad, Roussel's Count is the only one of the three central protagonists to show any sign of personal integrity.  Suzanne and Jacques are too inexperienced in the ways of the world to see who they really are - steaming hypocrites who really have only their self-interests at heart.

We may cringe at Montoire-Grandpré's deft behind-the-scenes string-pulling, but his motives are those of a seasoned pragmatist not a glory-seeking charlatan.  He sees the dangers that socialism may bring to his country, so naturally his instincts are to oppose this by all the means at his disposal.  His ideas may be outdated, his morality may be flawed, but his conduct as a politician is far less reprehensible than Jacques's.  When he ultimately gains the upper hand, he has it in his gift to end Jacques's political career, but instead he chooses to prolong it, leaving the way open for future political conflict.  He even encourages Suzanne to accompany Jacques on his overseas assignment, allowing her to make up her own mind and take the course of true love if she wishes.  Of course, it can be argued that the cunning Montoire-Grandpré has arranged things so that no other outcome is possible, but the fact remains that if Suzanne and Jacques had chosen otherwise they would have found lasting happiness together, rather than the sad lot they end up with - a futile ego trip down the most lonely of paths.  The last silent film that Jacques Feyder made in  France, Les Nouveaux Messieurs is all too easily overshadowed by his subsequent cinematic achievements, but of all his films none has such a powerful modern resonance.  As a critique of personal ambition and the political class it is justly scathing, and it remains as pertinent as ever.

Film Synopsis

Suzanne Verrier's dreams of becoming a star ballerina with the Paris Opéra ballet company are encouraged by her wealthy patron, Count Montoire-Grandpré.  A distinguished right-wing politician, the Count uses his influence to help Suzanne's career, even though she shows little talent for her art.  She repays him by remaining his faithful mistress - until the day she meets Jacques Gaillac, the handsome young chief electrician at the theatre where she is rehearsing.  A whirlwind romance ensues, although the prospect of a long-term love affair is threatened by Suzanne's artistic ambitions.  Against his will, Jacques is gradually drawn into the world of French politics.  His intervention in a transport strike makes him a prominent trades unionist and he soon finds himself elected into parliament.

A vote of no confidence in the Chamber of Deputies results in a sudden change of government and Jacques is appointed Minister for Labour.  So impressed is Suzanne by her lover's success that she abandons her sugar daddy and throws her lot in with Jacques.  In return, Jacques does what he can to support her career as a dancer.  Our hero's political fortunes take a sudden reversal when, on discovering the identity of his rival, Montoire-Grandpré leads a vehement assault on the present government.  Thanks to the Count's behind-the-scenes machinations, Jacques has no choice but to accept a posting abroad.  Suzanne pays him one last visit but it is by now clear that their paths must part.  The ballerina returns to the Count, knowing that she has sacrificed true love for security and personal ambition.