"Nobody kills me until I say so..."

By Russel D McLean

Regular readers of DSD will know that I have a weakness for French crime films*, so it should come as little surprise that – having missed it during its all too brief appearance in Dundonian cinemas (in fact, did it appear at all?), I was down to me local video emporium to get grab a hot-on-the-shelf copy of Mesrine, France’s biggest movie(s) of last year. And yes, you’re right, I said movie(s) because his story is so big they had to split it into two hour chunks subtitled, Killer Instinct and Public Enemy Number One***. This was not the first time they had attempted to make a film of the man’s life, but I think it’s the version that has so far made the most impact.



Jacques Mesrine (pronounce it Meh-Reen; apparently even the French don’t always get it right) is a real-life French gangster whose career ran from the early sixties through to his death in 1979. His crime crossed borders and he served maximum security jail time not only in France but also in Canada. But even maximum security jail wasn’t enough to hold Mesrine, and he staged a series of spectacular escapes, going back at least once to try and rescue some of his fellow inmates.

I went into the first movie knowing little about Mesrine beyond his reputation as a criminal and found myself quickly dragged into the mind of a man whose very nature was that of the sociopath. What is fascinating about Mesrine, as portrayed here, is the way he constantly tries to justify himself. For every act of brutality is an odd act of kindness that almost makes you warm to him – Mesrine is played as charismatic and yet never once do you edge over into sympathy with him. For all his talk of being akin to Robin Hood, we know the dangerous man who stares out contemptuously from behind the charming façade.

Does any of this have to do with his experiences in Algiers prior to his return home and his involvement with organised crime? The movie implies this once or twice, flirting with the guilt in modern French film-making over what happened during the war with Algeria, but does not offer quick and easy answers. It lays out events in a matter of fact manner with little editorialising, allowing the viewer to do much of the work.

But don’t think that this is a slow burn movie experience. When Mesrine moves into action set-pieces – the hold ups that start the second part, or the incredible return after his first prison break in part one – the film-makers show their power with some incredible bursts of adrenaline. Even on the small screen, I was wincing and tensing up with each bullet wound, with every smash of metal, with every drop of blood. The direction is assured, here, and when you combine that assuredness with the chameleon-like nature of its star, you have something very special indeed.

Mesrine is an incredible movie. Hands down one of the best crime movies I’ve seen in a long time, helped by a central performance that is chilling, charismatic and ultimately doomed. Mesrine’s attempts to reconcile his true nature with the man he wishes he could be result in a strange empathy between character and viewer. When Mesrine publishes a “fictional” novel of his life and crimes, you can see the thin line he has to walk to maintain his own sanity and self image and despite everything, you feel you can perhaps understand something of what drives him. But never once do you feel sympathy. You come to know him too well for that.

Mesrine took the French box office by storm, and its easy to see why. This is powerful, confident and compelling film-making at its finest.


*they may also know that Dave White has an objection to subtitles**
**and unnecessary footnotes
*** Or, if you want to be exact about it, L'instinct de mort and L'ennemi public No. 1

Policiers

By Russel D McLean

I figure I been writing a lot about writing lately, and since I’m supposed to be doing the writing instead of yakking about it I figured I’d take a break and let you in on what’s been entertaining me during the down time, the breaks between current redtafts…

My obsession of the moment…

French crime movies (and TV shows). I mean, seriously, its getting bad. The French seem to be writing stuff that hits me where it hurts. And yes, Mr White, I watch ‘em with the subtitles on. No dubbing chez McLean.

It started about a year ago with a random purchase of a movie called 36, Quai des Orfèvres. Billed as The French answer to Heat, I think that’s a strange comparison, but what it does do is take two of France’s biggest stars (Depardieu and Daniel Auteil) and put them in one hell of a crime drama as two Parisian police detectives whose personal war starts to bleed over into their professional lives. Its bloody brilliant as a movie, beautifully shot, wonderfully written and has two barnstorming performances in the lead roles.

It was from there, I started seeking out French crime movies where I could. At the moment, they seem to be on a role at taking what might seem typical Hollywood fare and twisting it round to make it pretty damn smart. Even Le Serpent, based loosely (and I mean loosely) on Plender by Ted Lewis, manages to engage the viewer (unless, like my agent, they’re expecting some faithfulness to the original material) through what is a pretty mental and OTT psycho movie. Its something to do with the way that the French ground the spectacular in the mundane. Their films have an undercurrent of reality that seems to play through the most ludicrous plot twists. Which is probably why Harlan Coben’s Tell No One translated so bloody well, despite a third act that was mostly a long explanation of what had happened before.

And then there was 13, Tzameti.

This movie blew me away. Black and white and foreign, it probably put off a whole swathe of people, but 13 is one of the bleakest and most tense movies I had seen in a long time. Its also tough to talk about without giving things away, but once you realise what’s happening, it’s a terrifying ride to the final shot (and yes, the director is Georgian, not French, but since much of the dialogue is in French and it was produced there…)

From here, I was jonesing, finding a whole swathe of stories I’d never considered before. The French crime fiction scene is a broad church, ranging from straight procedurals like 36, through to noir like 13 and even absolutely insane thrillers like the Jean Reno vehicle Crimson Rivers (a fascinating thriller right until the appalling third act where clearly the producers decided to emulate the worst of Hollywood). Even their social movies are infused with crime. L’Haine is precisely the kind of street level examination of culture I love to see, dealing with Paris’s darker side, and even the bizarre Hidden has much to recommend it, although I still don’t know whether I actually enjoyed or understood it.

Its funny, but since I started watching French crime movies – many of them on faith – I’ve started taking more chances with my DVD buying. Right down to trusting Daniel Auteille to deliver the goods in a PI thriller called THE LOST SON, which turned out to be a fairly schizophrenic and uninvolving British thriller with a French actor in the lead.

But the crowning jewel for me has to be Spiral – not a movie, but a TV show co-produced by the BBC, which far outstrips any of the BBC’s own efforts. A gritty French drama that takes apart the justice system and exposes its inherent corruption and self-interest while still delivering a commentary on drugs trafficking and illegal activity that could apply to almost any modern country. Spiral is a kind of beautiful mix between the case of the week crime shows that dominate US TV just now and the ongoing arcs of shows like The Wire which tells one story in a way that refuses to tie everything up in a neat little package. And it is Spiral that has cemented my obsessions with French crime fiction, policiers, as I believe they would call the genre (not noir, as some might expect!). We’re nearly finished season 2 just now, and while I loved the first go round, the writers and the actors seem to have suddenly found their rhythm; for the first time in years, last night I was yelling at the screen as events took a rapid… spiral… towards a violent and inescapable climax.

Here’s a thing, though, the name of the show actually translates (I believe) as gears and not Spiral. Its as good a metaphor, though, for the way in which its shows the characters and their effect on each other and of course the analogy for those gears of justice.

Of course, I know I’ve only been exposed to a cherry-picked selection of French crime and thrillers, but on the evidence of what I’ve seen so far, and given the column inches devoted to Scandinavian crime and thrillers of late, French crime fiction – at least on screen – is certainly, tres-bien.