Mirrors are the doors through which death comes and goes. Look at yourself in a mirror all your life and you'll see death do its work.
Jean Cocteau

Although the opening narration informs viewers that what they are about to see is the old Greek legend of Orpheus updated into a more or less contemporary context, Cocteau has taken such liberties with the original as to alter its meaning entirely. The film is perhaps better viewed as a variation on the Orphic theme. Cocteau was known to be an opium user, if not an outright opium addict, and I would suggest that what we’re watching in Orphée can best be understood as a drug-enhanced fantasy on the famous legend. Watching this film is like getting a buzz on with Jean and weaving some wild riffs of the imagination.

Historical Background: This middle piece of the so-called “Orphic Trilogy”, consisting of The Blood of a Poet (1930), Orphée (1949), and Testament of Orpheus (1959), certainly qualifies as a centerpiece. It is fully capable of standing alone without the other two pieces – the only one of the three, really, for which that is the case.

The Story: Orpheus (Jean Marais), in Cocteau’s version, is a middle-aged poet rather than the musician of the original. He is extremely popular with the general public, but at the Poet’s Café in Paris, he is scorned by the younger generation of poets for whom he is out-of-date. One of the most popular of his younger rivals is Cegeste (Edouard Dermit), who shows up drunk, behaving obnoxiously, in the company of his patroness, an elegant Princess (Maria Casarés), and her chauffeur, Heurtebise (François Perier). From a table at some distance, Orpheus watches as a fight breaks out in response to Cegeste’s inebriated exuberance. The police arrive and arrest a number of the young people involved in the altercation. Cegeste is taken into custody by two of the policeman but breaks away by biting one of them. Dashing away, he is struck down in the street by two speeding motorcycles. The Princess convinces the police to allow her to take the unconscious Cegeste to the hospital in her Rolls Royce and demands that Orpheus come along as a witness. Orpheus reluctantly agrees. As they drive along, Orpheus notes that they have by-passed the hospital and that Cegeste is, in fact, dead. He is even more dumbfounded when the Rolls links up with the two motorcyclists who had earlier struck Cegeste. The cyclists become, in effect, an escort. The car radio of the Rolls Royce periodically plays something suspiciously like gibberish but which strikes Orpheus as poetic fragments that could provide priceless inspiration for a poet. The party ends up at the chalet of the Princess, who dismisses every effort by Orpheus at inquiry or comprehension. Orpheus then watches as the Princess resurrects Cegeste, asks him if he know who she is (he replies that she is his death), and leads him through a mirror into the underworld. Orpheus, however, finds the mirror quite solid to his touch and faints in confusion. He awakens to find himself staring into a puddle rather than a mirror and dazedly wanders until he encounters Heurtebise with the Rolls. Heurtebise has been instructed to drive him home and wait there with him.

Meanwhile, at home in distress is Orpheus’s wife, Eurydice (Marie Déa). He has been out all night and seen in the company of an exotic Princess and she is thinking the worst. She is in the company of a Police Inspector (Pierre Bertin), who is reassuring, and Aglaonice (Juliette Greco), an officer of the “League of Women”, who is not reassuring. Orpheus walks in on this party but is in no mood to explain what has happened, being both mystified and intrigued by his night's worth of experiences himself. Orpheus has Heurtebise park the Rolls in the garage, out of sight, and takes every spare moment he can obsessing over the messages broadcast over its radio. Orpheus even ignores his wife’s plea to let her tell him some news. He refuses to listen and obliviously steps on the baby booty she accidentally drops. Heurtebise, on the other hand, is very moved by Eurydice’s devotion and innocence and falls in love with her.

At night, while Orpheus and Eurydice are sleeping, The Princess (who we now understand to be an instrument of death) appears via another mirror to stare at Orpheus, with whom she has fallen in love. In fact, she is so jealous of Eurydice that she decides to bump her off. Heurtebise questions whether she has, in fact, authorization to do so. Heurtebise also vainly entreats Orpheus to turn off the damn radio and check on Eurydice, who is in trouble. Orpheus dismisses this as just another attention-grabbing scheme on the part of his wife. The Princess escorts Eurydice into the underworld leaving behind only her mortal coil for Orpheus to discover later.

Heurtebise suggests to Orpheus that there is one last hope to save Eurydice – a journey through the mirror into the world of the dead. The Princess, in her haste, has left behind a pair of the gloves that provide the ability to pass through mirrors into the underworld. Orpheus is raring to go, though he is noncommittal when pressed by Heurtebise as to whether he is going after Eurydice or The Princess, for whom he has now developed an obsessive fascination. Led by Heurtebise, who glides through the underworld effortlessly, Orpheus struggles forward. The netherworld, in Cocteau’s rendition, appears suspiciously like the rubble of a bombed out city shrouded in mist.

Meanwhile, The Princess has gotten herself into some deep poop for meddling in the affairs of the living. She is no almighty Death with scythe and hooded shroud. She’s got bosses, too, it seems. In fact, she’s just one cog in some complicated necrotizing machinery and is bound and limited by her “orders.” She has been brought before a tribunal to answer for her unauthorized initiative in the death of Eurydice. As luck would have it, Heurtebise and Orpheus suddenly pop in right in the midst of these proceedings. Under questioning, The Princess admits that she loves Orpheus and Heurtebise similarly admits to loving Eurydice. Sent into an antechamber to await the verdict, Orpheus smooches with The Princess in celebration of her confession of love.

The tribunal declares that Eurydice and Orpheus have been improperly brought to the world of death without due authorization. They are to be returned – with stipulation. You knew it was coming! Orpheus most not look at Eurydice or she will immediately disappear and return to death’s lair. Heurtebise will be sent along to monitor events. In the most humorous segment of the film, viewers observe a series of near peeks. Despite Heurtebise’s best effort to prevent the lethal eye contact, it happens, in all places, via the rearview mirror in the Rolls Royce.

Meanwhile, outside the walls of Orpheus’s estate, an angry mob of young poets has gathered. They blame Orpheus for the disappearance of their hero – Cegeste. In an ensuing scuffle, Orpheus is shot with his own pistol. The cops arrive but so too the motorcyclists. Heurtebise whisks Orpheus’s lifeless body away in the Rolls behind the motorcycle escort. Once more into the breach, through the looking glass, and into the underworld go Heurtebise and Orpheus. They soon encounter The Princess and Cegeste – and by now it's like an old homecoming. Orpheus and The Princess swear their undying devotion to one another and Orpheus swears to obey her in all things. The Princess and her two henchmen, Heurtebise and Cegeste, undertake a concentration of will-power kind of thing that somehow reverses time and soon has Orpheus galumphing backwards through the mirror into his bedroom, where he finds his beloved Eurydice, alive and well. They snuggle a bit and he apologizes for spending so much time working.

Themes: I rather much take Cocteau at his word when he declared that “There is nothing more vulgar than works that set out to prove something,” adding that Orpheus “avoids even the appearance of trying to prove anything.” This is not a work that should be overanalyzed or taken too seriously. It is largely a free-floating fantasy – an improvisation on the theme of Orpheus. Oh sure, there is some banal dialog here and there that gives the faint impression that something important is being said, but it's really pretty much like the poetry-mimicking gibberish coming over the radio of the Rolls Royce.

There are many relationships between the film and Cocteau’s own life. Consider that the love interest, Orpheus was played by Cocteau’s homosexual lover, Jean Marais, and that the young upstart, Cegeste, was played by Cocteau’s adoptive son, Edouard Dermit. Or, consider the fact that Cocteau was an aging poet and artiste, revered by the public, but falling out-of-fashion with the younger generation of artists. Some of what we’re observing in Orphée, in other words, are autobiographical in-jokes.

There are a few interesting themes, perhaps, though not of earth-shaking importance. One point, I think, is Cocteau’s substitution of a poet for the musician of the original. I imagine Cocteau chatting with some friends about the Orpheus myth and commenting, perhaps, that it was a good thing that Orpheus was a musician and not a poet, because, had Orpheus been a poet, he would have become fascinated with the underworld and forgotten all about Eurydice. Cocteau then let his imagine run wild with that basic idea. A second broad theme is the idea that artists can get so caught up in their art that they lose contact with the people in their lives and basic human interaction. The same point, by the way, could be made about people engaged in any kind of highly abstract, intellectual pursuit – scientists, philosophers, religious types, or computer programmers, for example. Cocteau also mocks the faddishness of the arts in Orphée. Every generation of artists, filmmakers, and poets has to create an identity for itself and so rejects what went most immediately before, pretty much regardless of the artistic merits of the work of the preceding generation. Finally, I think, Cocteau is making a pitch for letting the imagination run wild – getting high on fantasy. Cocteau even gets into some rather kinky sexual fantasies in the Orphic trilogy, with the dominatrix-like Princess and the fetishistic leather-clad motorcyclists in Orphée and the young males in briefs playing the part of a dog in Testament of Orpheus.

Production Values: The artistic merit of Orphée lies not in what it has to say but in the magic and enchantment with which it presents its ideas. Cocteau is all about fantastic surreal images. He was a master of special effects before special effects had been developed as a special branch of filmmaking. Cocteau is especially a master at running film backwards to create awe-inspiring but believable sequences: corpses springing into an upright position, broken glass recomposing as an intact mirror, and rubber gloves slipping effortlessly onto a hand, for example. The fascinating images are nicely complemented by the music of Georges Auric.

The performances in Orphée were all quite good. I especially liked François Perier as Heurtebise and Maria Casarés as The Princess. Roger Ebert thought Maria Casarés the weak link in the film, but I disagree. In fact, I’d say she’s the most memorable character in the film. Perier’s other credits include Nights of Cabiria (1957), Testament of Orpheus (1959), The Organizer (1964), Le Samourai (1967), Z (1969), and Stavisky (1974). Maria Casarés’s resume includes Children of Paradise (1945) and Testament of Orpheus (1959). Jean Marais was quite highly regarded in his day – a matinee idol of sorts. I thought him an excellent actor but not my idea of exceptional good looks. He’s best known for his roles in La Belle et la Bête (1946) and Les Parents Terribles (1948). Marie Déa was quite good in the portion of the film where Orpheus must avoid looking at her character, Eurydice. Her comedic timing was impeccable.

Bottom-Line: This is a pretty satisfying film so long as you don’t hope to get some kind of deep intellectual insights from it. This movie provides mainly the kind of “insights” one might expect after passing around a few joints. If, however, you’re in the mood to cut back and party with ol’ Jean Cocteau for an hour-and-a-half, you’ll find that he’s got a pretty darn rich imagination and the artistic skills to give expression to it. Orphée is in French with English subtitles and has a running time of 95 minutes. You can get this film separately on VHS, but I highly recommend the Criterion DVD set called the “Orphic Trilogy.”

Recommended:
Yes

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