La Silence de La Mer

Continuing the theme of Nazi occupation, I recently watched Melville's 1949 debut film La Silence de la Mer, which was an adaptation of a book secretly published in Paris in 1942 by Vercors. The story centres around a German Major's billeting with an old man and his niece in a rural part of France. The officer, played with a stately assurance by Swiss actor Howard Vernon, is a cultured man, a musician in his "normal life" and one with thoughts that beyond initial conflict, France and Germany would forget their differences and forge a new cultural alliance.

The film itself is narrated from the perspective of the Old Man, who, along with his niece, never talk to the Officer, imparting only a series of glances and subdued expressions which imbue the film with a peculiar sense of tension. For his part, the Officer, Werner Von Ebrennac, understands this silent protest, but after a furtive start, begins to join the couple each evening, regaling them with his love of France, music, literature, but never entering into the sort of long-winded monologues that one might expect of a man under the flag of the Nazi party - he is soft-spoken and subdued, realising that conflict was necessary to bring France to the table. In a way, this arguably follows the theme of "La Belle et la Bête" in Cocteau's 1946 film. Cocteau himself was much feted by the Germans during the Occupation, much to the chagrin of many right-wing and extremists in France itself. Slowly but surely the couple begin to make ever so slight expressions that identify their growing warmth to him, not least with his decision to play Bach on their Harmonium.

Von Ebrennac then visits Paris, and after meeting old war comrades, realises that the Occupation and what is happening in the East is far, far worse than he could have imagined, and returns to the couple, leaving with the knowledge that their silence was correct.

Apart from several scenes outside, the large majority of the film was filmed in the confines of Vercor's own house, and is described as "Anti-cinemagraphic", yet has a strong modern feel to it, with Decae's photography giving a strong indication of why he would become one of the major cinematographers of post-war French cinema. Unlike Melville's striking 1969 L'Armee des Ombres, this is a markedly different sort of resistance film, bathed in the medium of silent passiveness, and for one makes it a rather remarkable debut.