Jean Renoir’s scathing social satire of the French bourgeoisie prior to the outbreak of World War II makes The Rules of the Game one of the world’s great movie masterpieces. With indelible characters from both upper and lower classes who intermingle tellingly and superbly blocked and shot sequences which reveal realistically and symbolically the rotten core of the society under the director’s microscope, The Rules of the Game has more than earned its celebrated reputation after it was booed and whistled off the screen in some of its initial French cinematic engagements.
The Rules of the Game (Blu-ray)
Directed by Jean Renoir
Studio: Criterion
Year: 1939
Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1 1080p AVC codec
Running Time: 106 minutes
Rating: NR
Audio: PCM 1.0 French
Subtitles: English
Region: A
MSRP: $39.95
Release Date: November 15, 2011
Review Date: November 9, 2011
The Film
5/5
Marquis Robert de la Cheyniest (Marcel Dalio) organizes a weekend hunting party at his lavish estate and invites several guests with whom he and his wife Christine (Nora Grégor) are in various states of intimacy. Among the male guests are celebrated French aviator André Jurieux (Roland Toutain) and his best friend Octave (Jean Renoir), both of whom she’s had romantic flirtations with and foremost among the female guests is Robert’s former lover Geneviéve de Marras (Mila Parély) with whom he’s grown quite bored. Downstairs in the servants’ quarters things are also quite tense with gamekeeper Edouard Schumacher (Gaston Modot) forced to watch his wife Lisette (Paulette Dubost) flirt with anything in pants including not only Octave and Jurieux but also the new hired bootblack Marceau (Julien Carette) who had formerly been a convicted poacher who had already aroused Schumacher’s wrath in stealing rabbits and other game illegally from the property.
Renoir’s screenplay (with an assist from Carl Koch) establishes early that in most cases, these upper class dandies know all about the affairs that are going on amongst their social set and look on the ebbs and flows of the passions with bemused nonchalance (even though it provides them with fodder for their endless gossiping). Even later on when a farcical evening of jealousies and passionate chases ends in murder, it’s explained away with the feeblest of excuses that fools no one but will likely remain the official explanation, all obvious examples of Renoir’s derision. Renoir is at his height with his staging and shooting of three masterful sequences: the hunt itself (with unblinking views of absolute massacre eerily foreshadowing the mayhem to come once war was officially declared and symbolically forewarning the death of a major character who drops in much the same way as the slaughtered rabbits do here), a good-night sequence in a long hallway in which people come in and out of frame in such complex profusion that the staging is just breathtaking, and the after-dinner entertainment complete with a “dance macabre” (another dire prophecy of the events to come), the Cheyniest’s humble pride at unveiling his latest toy (an enlarged music box that Renoir shoots in loving and exquisite detail), and the farcical chase sequence which is inarguably wild but never dissolves into an incomprehensible melee.
If the film has any weakness at all, it’s with Nora Grégor’s uncharismatic performance as Christine. To be the object of so many men’s devotion and the envy of so many women, she’s quite forgettable in the role and outclassed especially by the captivating maid Lisette of Paulette Dubost. Here is a performance filled with charm and flirtatious moxie making her mistress pale dreadfully in comparison. Mila Parély as the cast off lover Geneviéve is a bit too brittle and arch (Renoir had not wanted any characters to serve as the antagonists of his film, but Parély’s performance makes that difficult). Marcel Dalio walks away with the male acting honors as the tenderhearted Marquis who wears his heart not only on his sleeve but in every expression that crosses his most animated face. Jean Renoir certainly gave himself the film’s showiest role as the effusive Octave, everyone’s friend and confidante, and he’s simply wonderful throughout, especially as he struggles to get out of his bear costume after the stage performance. Gaston Modot has the physicality to pull off the burly gamekeeper but retain audience sympathy by not using his brutishness to overwhelm his rival for his wife’s affections in a quite affecting portrayal. Julien Carette pushes perhaps a bit too hard to be the outrageously obvious roué out to steal Schumacher’s wife if he can.
Video Quality
3.5/5
The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 theatrical aspect ratio and features 1080p resolution using the AVC codec. This 106-minute version featured here is a miracle reconstruction given the film’s ill-treatment over the decades since its initial release, but even magicians would be hard pressed to offer up a perfect picture. Sharpness varies depending on the sources used to cobble together this close approximation of the original release together with added scenes, and grayscale offers more impressive whites than blacks (which, to be honest, are more dark gray than black most of the time). There are occasional scratches, but given the circumstances, the film looks far better than it has any right to look. The white subtitles are usually easy to read (but not in the couple of text pages which open the film). The film has been divided into 28 chapters.
Audio Quality
3/5
The PCM 1.0 (1.1 Mbps) sound mix is very much a product of its era. Dialogue is certainly easy to hear, and sound effects and the occasional music is mixed together with decent smoothness and only occasional bits of distortion. The audio track is very light on bass, and everything has a trebly sound to it. There is fairly constant hiss present along with some attenuated flutter from time to time but nothing too distracting.
Special Features
5/5
The audio commentary is an essay by film historian Alexander Sesonske and is read on the track by Peter Bogdanovich. It’s a masterful examination of the film featuring both background on the director and actors and explanation of the scenes as they happen and is a must for thorough understanding of what Renoir achieved with this classic.
All video featurettes are presented in 1080i.
An introduction by director Jean Renoir runs 6 ½ minutes.
“Playing by Different Rules” is a comparison of the 81-minute and 106-minute versions of the film by critic Chris Faulkner. His comparison comments and excerpts run 13 minutes. Also offered is the shorter ending of the 81-minute film version which runs for 8 ½ minutes.
A scene analysis of three sequences in the picture is divided into two parts. The beginning and ending of the movie are discussed in a 5 ½-minute piece. An examination of how Renoir used blocking, light, and deep focus photography in a corridor sequence runs for 2 ¾ minutes.
“Jean Renoir, le patron” is a 31 ¼-minute episode from a French television program in which the director discusses the script, his techniques of acting and directing at the same time, the brilliant ensemble he cast, and the use of improvisation in the movie. There is also an interview with actor Marcel Dalio as the pair reminisce about the movie.
“Jean Renoir” is the first half of David Thompson’s biographical look at the director covering the period from his birth to the beginning of World War II. It runs 60 minutes.
Three short pieces detail the film’s production and reception. Chris Faulkner’s short history of the production runs for 8 ¼ minutes. Olivier Curchod’s more detailed discussion of the film’s background and ultimate reception (including shooting down some rumors which have swirled around the movie since its premiere) runs 29 ¾ minutes. Jean Gaborit and Jacques Durand discuss their reconstruction of the movie in 1959 which brought the film to its present 106-minute current length in a 10-minute interview.
Three people involved with the original production give brief interviews about its making. Production designer Max Douy speaks for 9 minutes. Actress Mila Parély has a 16 ¼-minute interview. Son of Jean Renoir Alain (who served as second assistant cameraman) speaks for 18 ¼ minutes about his father and about the production.
The enclosed 41-page booklet contains cast and crew lists, stills from the movie, movie historian Alexander Sesonske’s celebratory essay on the film, a couple of Jean Renoir essays on the movie, and tributes to the film by assistant director Henri Cartier-Bresson, Bertrand Tavernier, Francois Truffaut, and many others.
The Criterion Blu-rays include a maneuvering tool called “Timeline” which can be pulled up from the menu or by pushing the red button on the remote. It shows you your progress on the disc, the title of the chapter you’re now in, and index markers for the commentary that goes along with the film, all of which can be switched on the fly. Additionally, two other buttons on the remote can place or remove bookmarks if you decide to stop viewing before reaching the end of the film or want to mark specific places for later reference.
In Conclusion
5/5 (not an average)
Jean Renoir’s The Rules of the Game is yet another cinematic masterpiece that comes to Blu-ray courtesy of the Criterion Collection. With better picture and sound that one has any right to expect given its checkered past and a treasure trove of bonus materials, this is simply a movie lover’s must have. Highest recommendation!
Matt Hough
Charlotte, NC
