I won’t start the perpetual debate here (again) over whether every war movie is inherently an anti-war movie, but The Grand Illusion (La Grande Illusion in the film’s original French) is certainly a movie that makes you contemplate the futility of war. The illusion that director Jean Renoir reveals is the notion that war ever settles anything definitively. You see so many connections between the soldiers on different sides of the war, so many ways that they hold common beliefs and backgrounds, that you wonder why they’re at war. You also see so many distinctions between soldiers who come from the same home country that you wonder if they truly are on the same side. It’s a masterpiece in so many ways, and it holds the distinction of being the first film in a language other than English to be nominated for Best Picture.
The film opens with a scene involving the French and then one involving the Germans, and they’re doing mostly the same activities: having a drink and conversing with colleagues. It’s only after two French aviators, Capt. de Boeldieu (a debonair Pierre Fresnay) and Lt. Marechal (the great Jean Gabin), are shot down by German Capt. von Rauffenstein (Erich von Stroheim, showing off his consummate acting skills) that we begin to learn of the connections that these men at war have across the boundaries of their countries. Boeldieu and Rauffenstein have traveled in the same upper-class circles, and Rauffenstein even knows one of Boeldieu’s relatives in Austria. Marchel also learns of some commonalities between himself and the Germans who have taken him and Boeldieu as prisoners of war.
They’re all so civil to each other that you have to wonder how the principles of warfare have changed so much in the years since World War I. Rauffenstein even invites the men to lunch with him and his colleagues and then apologizes to Boeldieu for shooting down his plane: “I’m so sorry for this convenience.” When the two Frenchmen are taken to their first POW camp, one seemingly reserved for officers only, they discover that prisoners are allowed to receive parcels from their families. One of the men, Lt. Rosenthal (Marcel Dalio), gets food and cognac regularly and shares with the other captured Frenchmen and sometimes with the German guards. He’s Jewish and the subject of several antisemitic remarks throughout the film. The other Frenchmen in the camp – prisoners seem to be segregated by country – include a vaudeville performer and a mechanic, a rather diverse group.
The film has a few intriguing moments that raise some interesting questions about homoerotic (or related) activity in the camp. A collection of women’s clothing arrives as the prisoners are planning a theatrical performance. One of the men dons a wig and dress, and all the prisoners stop to stare silently at the man in drag, who’s actually rather fetching whether dressed in men’s or women’s clothing. How long has it been since they’ve seen a woman in person? What is going through their minds as they are reminded of what is on the outside of the camp? What are they thinking of this beautiful young man? Later, several of the prisoners sing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” while dressed in women’s clothing. Again, they do make for a somewhat fascinating display.
It’s during the theatrical presentation that the filmmakers reveal another one of the most galling aspects of war. The town or village of Douaumont keeps changing hands between the French and the Germans. When the Germans are in control, bells ring for their victory. When it’s back in the hands of the French, the Germas proclaim and bemoan the defeat in their papers. Marechal interrupts the show to share the good news, and everyone in the audience who isn’t German begins to sing “"La Marseillaise,” the French national anthem. I’d remind you that this is about five years before a similar scene occurs in another masterpiece, Casablanca. Needless to say, the Germans are not happy about this alleged sign of revolt and toss Marechal into solitary confinement.
The prisoners have some intriguing philosophical discussions about the purposes of war, and they certainly mourn what they’re missing while they’re imprisoned. That’s probably why they keep trying to escape. The French are digging a tunnel to escape in the first camp, and they’re close to finishing it when someone else tries to escape and is shot and killed near the spot where they would be escaping as well. It’s a harrowing moment for them to realize the dangers in what they are attempting. Of course, the repeated escape attempts also mean that they keep getting relocated to other prisoner-of-war camps. Three of the French prisoners wind up at Wintersborn, a huge stone castle being run by none other Rauffenstein, now wounded from battle and serving as a major. By this point in the film, Lt. Demolder (Sylvain Itkine) has three escape attempts on his record, Boeldieu four, and Marechal five times! Rosenthal is already at Wintersborn, presumably because he has also attempted to escape multiple times. It’s not very long before they begin plotting another escape. The one they pull off is certainly a clever one.
By the way, why do Rauffenstein and Boeldieu get along so well, and why does Rauffenstein treat Boeldieu with so much more respect than the others? Is there antisemitism involved? (Yes, this is a film from 1938, and it’s showing viewers what lies ahead in the next war.) Is it simply because they are from somewhat the same class, albeit from different countries? Are they, in a sense, equals? Or is there a level of attraction between them? Boeldieu is quite handsome, and Rauffenstein is rather, um, fastidious in his clothing and appearance. Consider those immaculate white gloves he wears. I know that seems to be trafficking in stereotypes, and the two men do discuss what will happen to the upper classes after the war ends, but to maintain a relationship over so much time and geography seems a little unexpected.
Then there’s the geranium that Rauffenstein grows. When he later kills Boeldieu during an attempted escape, he returns to his quarters and snips the bloom from the geranium. I don’t think it takes too much psychoanalyzing to recognize that he’s implying the death of something or someone beautiful. How emotionally bonded is he with Boeldieu at this point? Why is Rauffenstein the only soldier growing flowers? He even apologizes to Boeldieu for shooting him! Why is he the one who, after touching Boeldieu’s shoulder during a moving death scene, closes the Frenchman’s eyes and appears incredibly sad? More must be going on there than just simple respect.
One of the most moving sequences involves Marechal and Rosenthal hiding out on a farm in Germany after Rosenthal injures his foot while escaping. A German woman (played by Dita Parlo with a gentle stoicism befitting the role) shelters and feeds them, and she points to pictures of her husband and her brothers, all of whom were killed in various battles. She wonders aloud at the futility of war. She and Marechal fall in love, and he vows to return after the war and take her and her daughter to France with him. They have to escape Germany first, though, because they’re still being hunted. When looking at a map on their way to Switzerland, Marechal comments that he cannot see the borders between countries when he looks at the landscape. Rosenthal replies, “You can’t see borders. They’re man-made. Nature doesn’t care.” Indeed, it’s only people who care about such things, but the Germans shoot at them until they realize the two men have apparently crossed over into neutral territory.
The cinematography throughout the film is spectacular, and it deserved Oscar recognition. The use of darkness, in particular, is consistently effective, and the interiors of the various prisoner-of-war campus are designed to cast shadows, perhaps suggesting that not everything is quite as it appears. I’m not certain why the film was only nominated for Best Picture and nothing else, but this was before the Academy developed its Best Foreign Language Film (now Best International Film) category, so we should perhaps just marvel that the voters singled this now-classic film out for recognition.
Aside from its Best Picture nomination, The Grand Illusion holds another special place in film history because it apparently led to the formation of the Cannes Film Festival. It was apparently going to win the Mussolini Cup for best foreign film at the Venice Film Festival, but Mussolini himself intervened and prevented Renoir’s film from receiving the honor. The French Minister of National Education and Fine Arts at the time, Jean Zay, proposed the creation of a French film festival, and that eventually became the one we know as Cannes. You should know that if the fascists are against a film when war is actually looming, you might reconsider whether war films aren’t truly anti-war, but there I go again, raising a subject I said I wouldn’t.
Oscar Nomination: Outstanding Production
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