Reviews of Recent Independent, Foreign, & Documentary Films in Theaters and DVD/Home Video
Directed by: Louis Malle. Produced by: Jean Thuillier. Written by: Louis Malle & Roger Nimier, based on the novel by Noël Calef. Director of Photography: Henri Decaë. Edited by: Léonide Azar. Music by: Miles Davis. Released by: Rialto. Language: with English subtitles. Country of Origin: France. 88 min. Not Rated. With: Jeanne Moreau, Maurice Ronet, Georges Poujouly & Yori Bertin.
Thrusting the viewer right into the action, the then-24-year-old director
Louis Malle begins his first feature film with a whispered telephone
conversation between two conspiring lovers, Julien (Maurice Ronet) and
Florence (the regal Jeanne Moreau). Julien immediately puts his plan into
action - murdering his boss, Florence's older husband and arms dealer Simon
Carala (Jean Wall). The plan proceeds like clockwork, until a telephone call interrupts
Julien's concentration and he leaves an important detail literally hanging
in the air. Outside of the Hopperesque office building, dreamy shop
girl Véronique (Yori Bertin) and her boyfriend, the delinquent-in-the-making
Louis (Georges Poujouly), joyride through Paris in Julien's stolen sports
car, as the lovers' plot unravels.
Certainly in its plot and sardonic dialogue ("Have some respect for war,
it's your family heirloom") Elevator to the Gallows is a conventional
film noir set against the singular backdrop of French colonial wars and post-war recovery (motels are all the rage) with convenient coincidences and
plot holes; would anyone in daylight climb up from the ninth to tenth floor outside
of a building and not expect to be seen? And given the
life-and-death circumstances, at times the acting by Ronet and Poujouly is
too casual, while the film loses its crackerjack momentum after its fast-paced
first act. However, the crisp black-and-white cinematography is the stand
out, hugely benefiting from filming on location, especially as Florence,
resigned to her fate, wanders throughout the night, searching in smoky late
night haunts for her accomplice. Adding to the melancholy is Miles Davis'
sparingly used score. Kent Turner
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