It comes as no surprise that a film created in France during 1939, under the cloud of impending war, would be doom-laden and pessimistic in tone, but since it’s a film directed by Marcel Carné and written by Jacques Prévert, it's something of a certainty in any year.

Historical Background: Marcel Carné, born August 18th, 1909 in Paris, knew a bit about craftsmanship. As a youth, he served as an apprentice to his father, a cabinetmaker, before becoming an insurance clerk and studying film at night in a technical school. He began work in cinema as an assistant cameraman to Georges Perinal and then became an assistant director under René Clair, on the film Sous Les Toits de Paris. He later assisted Jacques Feyder on three films in the mid-thirties. During this period of apprenticeship, he also wrote about film for several French magazines and co-directed a short.

Carné made his debut as a director in 1936 with Jenny. Carné quickly rose in prominence and became identified with the school of French filmmaking known as "poetic realism." The late thirties were a bleak time in Europe, with the rise of fascism and Nazism. Carné formed a close working relationship with screenwriter Jacques Prévert (1900-1977) and their early films together were characterized by romantic fatalism, reflecting the mood of the people in France. The collaboration of these two men began with Bizarre (1937) and continued next with Port of Shadows (Le Quai des Brumes) (1938). The later film was so bleak that the French government and military took to saying, "If we've lost the war, blame it on Quai des Brumes." When Carné and Prévert next created Daybreak ("Le Jour se lève") (1939), it was suppressed by the military censors. A few short weeks later, the Germans invaded Poland and World War II was underway. During the occupation, Carné and Prévert made Les Visiteurs du Soir (1942) and Children of Paradise (1945). The release of the latter film coincided with liberation, so the three films beginning with Daybreak can be readily seen as reflecting three critical moments of European history: immediately before, during, and immediately after World War II. These three films also represent the peak period of creative success for both the director and the scriptwriter.

The Story: The story begins dramatically with the sounds of two men arguing behind the closed door of an upper-story apartment. The sound of a single gunshot is suddenly heard. A few seconds later, the door opens and a man, clutching his gut staggers out, looking incredulous, gasps, and tumbles down the stairwell to his death. A blind man on the stairwell hears the sound and searches the landing with his walking stick, soon locating the body nearby. The blind man might as well be us – the viewers – because like him, we are wondering what has happened and why.

The police arrive and question some of the tenants. The two policemen gingerly approach the door of the apartment where the shooting occurred. The man inside yells at the policemen, tells them to leave him alone, threatens to shoot, and fires a few rounds through the door. The police quickly depart, awaiting backup. The man, François, (Jean Gabin) emerges onto the landing outside his door and then retreats back inside his apartment, barricading himself inside. He lights a cigarette and begins to mull over the recent weeks that have led to the present situation.

François, we soon learn, is a pleasant, honest, and hard-working laborer at a plant. It is a dirty job that exposes him to sand and fumes, but he makes a living wage. One day a woman, Françoise (Jacqueline Laurent), comes by the plant. She is carrying a bouquet of flowers for delivery to the plant manager's wife and stops to ask François for directions. While chatting, François and Françoise discover that they have not only similar names, but the same birthday and both were raised in orphanages. More importantly, they take a bit of a shine to one another. Soon, they are spending time together, though without commitment. Françoise observes that her new friend has "one laughing eye and one sad one." After three weeks of seeing one another, François begins to talk of marriage. "We'll buy a bicycle and at Easter we'll go to the country and pick lilies," he says. Françoise certainly cares for him, but is not yet ready for such a serious development in their relationship. Besides, she is still seeing another man, which she openly acknowledges to François. François states that he is not jealous and that they had made no promises to one another, but he takes the first opportunity to follow Françoise to her rendezvous with the other man, to discover who he is.

The other man turns out to be M. Valentin (Jules Berry), a vaudeville performer working at a local club. His act consists of a routine with trained poodles. He has a female assistant named Clara (Arletty). More precisely, he had a female assistant, since she has just reached the point of quitting. She's had her fill with Monsieur Valentin – as she animatedly volunteers to François over drinks at the bar. Clara is in need of a lover and François strikes her as just what she needs. He's pleasant, doesn't talk too much, and emotional attachment is not prerequisite. When François sees Françoise leaving with Valentin, he decides to accept Clara's offer of a friendly affair. Valentin returns to pester Clara, but François sends him packing.

During the next few weeks, François continues to visit Clara now and then while also continuing to court Françoise. Both women know about the other. There's nothing duplicitous in the triangle; it's just how things are sometimes done in France! After all, Françoise is seeing two men as well. Valentin is a somewhat older man but a slick seducer. He lies without compunction and keeps a supply of brooches so that he can give each of his young female conquests the same "badge." Valentin confronts François, trying to intimidate him into abandoning Françoise. Valentin claims, during the discussion, that he is Françoise's father and has a right to look after her well-being. François , he says, is not a good prospect for his little girl. He's a convincing liar, and François believes him, but it makes no difference anyway. He could not have been much of a father if he abandoned Françoise to an orphanage.

Later, Françoise tells François that she has decided to break it off with Valentin, who is not her father, and informs François that she loves him. Soon, however, Valentine shows up at François's apartment to try again to talk François into relinquishing his claim on Françoise's affections. Valentin has even brought a gun with him, though he admits that he is too weak-willed to actually shoot François. He lays the gun on the table but continues to taunt François, talking in detail about how he seduced Françoise. François tells him to shut his mouth, but when Valentin continues, François loses his cool, picks up the gun, and shoots Valentin – which is where the film began.

I won't reveal the story's resolution. The final shot of the film is one of those perfect endings, imbued with a pathos that defies verbal recounting. You need to see it for yourself as the ending, by itself, is worth the time invested in this film.

Themes: The overt theme is the struggle of the working class. François, a good and honest man, is being slowly worn down by the conditions under which he exists. His workplace exposes him to sand and fumes which are damaging his health. Then, he is taunted by the bourgeois Valentin as unworthy of Françoise. Love is all the working class can hope for in the way of rewards in life and even that is seemingly denied to François. The essence of romantic fatalism could be summed up as "Life rots, especially for the lower class." I have one problem with the primary theme of this film. It's what I call the issue of "proportionality." My problem is that although Valentin is a very unlikable character, nothing that he has done warrants "capital punishment." Death is not a proportionate penalty for his transgressions. Therefore, François was guilty of murder, not only legally but morally. From that vantage point, he brought on his downfall himself, which spoils the intended "romantic fatalism." I would have been delighted to see François walk over to Valentin and punch him in the nose for his nasty remarks about Françoise, but shooting him dead was more immoral than Valentin's provocations. I suspect that most viewers don't worry about proportionality and are satisfied whenever the bad guy gets any payback, no matter how severe. I personally feel that it's critical in society that we not get into the habit of thinking that unpleasant, unlikable people deserve whatever mistreatment befalls them, no matter how severe.

Equally important, thematically, is what's implicit in the film in relation to the political context that existed at the time. The police, in the film, start shooting at the apartment without first making any effort to negotiate or reason with François. It's only a small stretch to see them as representative of the rising fascism in Europe. A bigger stretch, in my opinion, is the claim of one reviewer of an anti-Semitic message in this film. Valentin, it is argued, is intended to be seen as Jewish. I will defer on this question to anyone with more knowledge of Jewish customs or mannerisms than I possess, but I saw nothing that would lead me to believe that Valentin was supposed to be seen as Jewish. There is no mention of religion and no obvious stereotyping that I noted. The name "Valentin" sounds more French to me than Jewish, though obviously many Jews have names that are not especially "Jewish" sounding. The one tangible argument provided by the critic claiming an anti-Semitic bias in the film was based on drawing a parallel between Valentin giving out brooches as an "emblem" of his conquests and the Nazis forcing Jews in Germany and occupied countries to wear insignia indicating their Jewish identity. The logic of that parallel is all wrong, however. If there were a parallel implied, Valentin would be equivalent to the Nazis and his female conquests equivalent to the Jewish people. So, I see no evidence that the film is anti-Semitic. What may be anti-Semitic is the claim that Valentin was intended to be viewed as Jewish, if the claim is based on nothing more than Valentin being an unappealing character. I am prepared to listen to credible arguments to the contrary and my view of the film would change entirely if I truly thought it to be anti-Semitic.

For a film made in 1939, this one is quite open about the issue of sexual freedom. Although the plot hinges on the notion of a romantic triangle, it is not the multiplicity of relationships that is at issue. François and Françoise are seeing two lovers apiece and Clara is a woman who openly enjoys sex independent of attachment. Nevertheless, only Valentin is depicted as despicable and that's because his seductive activities are based on lying, deceiving, and boasting about his conquests.

Production Values: This film's greatest strength is the splendid script written by Prévert. The script for this film is sheer genius in both its structure and in the quality of the dialog. Prévert was one of the greatest writers of dialog to ever grace the screen with his work. The framing of the story with the two versions of the murder – the first from outside the apartment and the second from within – is highly effective. In between, the story is told through three lengthy flashbacks, interspersed with brief returns to François in the apartment and the crowd gathering in the street below, to keep us grounded in the present. The story itself is a grim classic of romantic fatalism. That such a fatalistic tale should emerge just weeks before the invasion of Poland by the Nazis seems almost prescient. Prévert makes highly intelligent use of recurrent props as symbols, such as the brooches as a symbol of Valentin's insincerity and a teddy bear given to François by Françoise as token of their love.

Another outstanding element of this film is the fine expressionistic sets created by set-designer Alexander Trauner. The mise-en-scène in the apartment, the streets, and the barroom is outstanding in each case. Carné then complements the facades with his ever-fluid camera movements and elegant black-and-white cinematography.

Jean Gabin was an outstanding actor, revered in France much to the same extent as Humphrey Bogart in America. Gabin had previously worked with Carné in Le Quai des Brumes (1938). A few of his many other film appearances include Pépé le Moko (1937), Grand Illusion (1937), La Bête Humaine (1938), and French Cancan (1955). His performance here in Daybreak is virtuoso. Arletty was younger and lovelier here than in her great performance in Children of Paradise (1945). I was very impressed with the combination of heartbreaking vulnerability and bravado that she projects in this film. Jules Berry is the kind of actor who can deliver a "bad guy" performance that makes you want to hiss. He was fresh off a performance as a murder victim in The Crime of Monsieur Lange (1936) for Jean Renoir and would soon play the devil himself for Carné in Les Visiteurs du Soir (1942). Jacqueline Laurent was unexceptional as Françoise, but certainly adequate.

Bottom-Line: Daybreak was remade by Hollywood as The Long Night (see eplovejoy's Review) with Henry Fonda in Gabin's role, Barbara Del Geddes in Laurent's role, Ann Dvorak in Arletty's role, and Vincent Price in Berry's role. As usual, the Hollywood remake doesn't hold a candle to the original. The ending was even ridiculously twisted into a happy one.

Daybreak ("Le Jour se Lève") is a beautiful film that served as something of a harbinger of World War II. It is well worth a look by all who enjoy classic French films. It is in French with English subtitles and has a running time of 89 minutes.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older