obsessions
By Douglas Messerli
Albert Valentin (scenario), Charles Spaak (screen adaptation and dialogue), Jean Grémillon (director)
Le
ciel est à vous /
1944
Jean Grémillon’s profound and uplifting
film, Le ciel est à vous, was the
third of his major works created during the Vichy rule of France. The movie
begins with a series of visual images and a song that quite strongly
establishes some of the underlying issues of this work. A group of orphanage
children, under the imperious observation of a priest, are “playing” in the
local countryside is Southern France. But the play is one of enforced
organization and the boys, holding hands, spin in two directions in an inner
and outer circle. Clearly one can read this as a kind of visual metaphor for
the wheels, tires, and machines at the center of this work; but the image also
suggests, in its two opposing rings, in a somewhat more subtle reading, a
country which is currently a kind of bigamist, its people married both to the
France of the past and the Germany of the present.
Soon after, the children are freed to collect their capes, before they
are collected by the priest into a kind of army formation, marching back to the
town where their orphanage lies, singing a song that is focused upon
“restrictions”: “No my daughter, you shall not go dancing.” Something is
clearly wrong in this kind of constricted playtime.
The very next scene reveals a family on the move, forced out for the
construction of a new air field. Although both the Gauthiers (Thérèse and
Pierre) seem outwardly in good spirits, we can see in their faces and in their
children’s actions their fears and simple weariness. Pierre (Charles Vanel), an
automobile mechanic, packs up a cart and his family auto, returning with his
son to gather up just a few more pieces of junk (“you never know when they may
prove useful”) while his wife (the marvelous Madeleine Renaud) and her always
complaining mother (Raymonde Vernay) drive off, more worried about her family’s
piano than anything else. Before they can even reach their new apartment, the
workers, finding it impossible to deliver the piano by the stairs, have raised
it by pulleys into the air in their attempt to deliver it through a window. Of
course, it drops and is destroyed.

With continued good spirits the couple
and their children move into their new place, which contains a garage. Will
they be able to afford the rent, they ponder. Although exhausted from the move,
Pierre has little choice but to take on the job of repairing a car a wealthy
man delivers up to them, working through the night with his wife at his side.
We immediately perceive, accordingly, just how hard-working this family is. A
few scenes later they have clearly made enough to settle in and even buy a new
piano along with the lessons from a local piano teacher for their talented
daughter.
The man whose car Pierre has repaired, it turns out, runs a garage in a
nearby village, and is so impressed by his abilities that we would like to hire
him. Yet the family stays put, Pierre working hard, but increasingly sneaking
off to the air field. He loves planes, so we discover, having been the mechanic
for a notable flying hero in World War I. Thérèse, however, does commute to the
nearby city, working for the gentleman as a very successful car salesperson.
She increasingly finds it difficult to reach her husband by phone, and,
ultimately, some rancor grows between the couple, particularly when she returns home to find
he has spent many of their days apart flying and teaching others how to fly. Not
only is she rightfully fearful for husband’s dangerous hobby, but she is
somewhat resentful for now being the major money-earner of the household, while
forced to spend time away from her children.
Her son, in her absence, is ill with a cold. Her daughter, studying as a
pharmacist, would prefer to attend the music conservatory, which she is
encouraged to attend by her teacher. Although Pierre has apparently given his
permission for her to change her life course, her practical-minded mother
refuses, ending the lessons and locking up the piano. Suddenly we note the
significance of the restrictions of the very first scene and a kind of
reiteration of the children’s song about dancing. This shift in the family’s
placid situation is most clearly expressed in Thérèse’s drive to the airfield
to collect her husband and bring him home.
Pierre, however, remaining calm, attempts to explain his love of
airplanes, arguing that the War has represented some of the happiest days of
his life. When he finally coaxes Thérèse to join him in a flight, he
immediately wins her over, as she is utterly thrilled with the brief voyage
into the sky.

Again the
film tilts yet in another direction, as the previously earth-bound mule of a
worker is suddenly obsessed with the freedom the sky proffers. She quickly
learns how to fly, and begins a series of spirals, spins, rolls, and tumbles
through the air, picking up prizes in aviation again and again.
Sadly, however, her daughter, equally obsessed with music, must secretly
visit her teacher in order to play the piano. He, for his part, assures her
that “small towns need girls like [her] so that the best things in life may
continue.” However, her obsession in this film is quite ignored as her mother
becomes determined to take on an even greater challenge of flying further that
any other aviatrix. In order to do that, the couple must purchase and retool a
plane. The piano is sold, other pieces of furniture going with it, as the two
apply for city loans and grants, supported for by a local town counselor, Noblet,
an admirer of aviation. But just as they complete their plane, Noblet dies, and
the grant is cancelled. Another noted aviatrix arrives in town, dominating the
press coverage and succeeding it going the distance.
Soon after, however, Thérèse becomes determined to make another attempt,
and in near silence, no press recording her takeoff, flies off for the record.
For days nothing is heard from her: the plane has no radio. Pierre returns home
to his children and his mother-in-law, she abusing home for allowing her
daughter to attempt the flight. Others call to criticize him as well, and he
forced to take the phone off the hook. Upon observing a crowd gathering outside
his home, he becomes determined to meet them, arguing, one presumes, his and
his wife’s viewpoints. The crowd, in turns out, has gathered to celebrate the
news they have heard: Thérèse has succeeded in going 3,000 miles, a distance
beyond any previous female flier!
So does Grémillon’s protofeminist hero symbolize all the unspoken
desires of occupied France, affirming the fierce spirit of French citizens. Yet
I could not help, despite this strong affirmation, noting the still unexpressed
desires of so many that remain unable to play out their obsessions,
like the Gauthier’s young daughter, Jacqueline, who has been told throughout the film, that she cannot go dancing. Surely the director,
himself trained as a musician, cannot have helped but have noted the painful
inequality between that young girl and her powerful mother. Perhaps only when
French freedom is achieved, he suggests, can Jacqueline also join the ball.
Los
Angeles, Memorial Day 2013
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