A lyrical, novelistic tragedy/love story, Les Enfants Terribles was the second film by Jean-Pierre Melville, but only made it under the collaboration of Jean Cocteau (the two basically wrote and produced the film together), who had already made a few films, and was highly acclaimed for his poetry, painting, and drug addictions. For this story, it's actually a bit of a departure from Cocteau (even though it contains elements from past works, such as the snowball fight and a few notable props from Blood of a Poet), as well from Melville's later, more notorious crime films. It's an unusual story about siblings, and the kind of love that seems to stretch somewhere between incest and regular brother/sister love. For Cocteau, it's one of his most provocative works, and for Melville, it's safe to assume that it is a work that is assuredly set aside from anything he did before or after.
The story is in a sense almost classical and romantic from literature, with Cocteau providing narration that sounds like it could be even more beautiful to read on paper than to hear. Paul (Edourard Dermithe, perfect at being stubborn) gets hit with a rock during a snow-ball fight, and on and off for the rest of the film he's confined to a bed. While in his decorated 'room', he is nursed, in an intense and often begrudging manner, by his sister Elisabeth (Nicole Stephanie, perhaps her best performance in a small career) who sometimes plays a 'game' with his brother. While this 'game', when showed in action with their dim friend Michael (Martn), may be a little off-putting, or rather it may distance someone from their total immaturity, what makes it work for one is how Cocteau brings in conflict with these situations, how everything they argue about (even the ridiculous things) have some level of importance. Then, when the first turn comes (their mother dies), Elisabeth tries to move on to another man, which leads to another (diminished) tragedy, and soon four of them (also a woman taking care of Paul, played sweetly by Cosima) are living in a huge house.
Then comes a third act (if it is a third act, I was not sure how his original play was structured or fit by him and Melville into the film), and that packs some of both filmmakers best creative strengths. There's a conflict set-up that richly, strongly gives a larger weight to not only Elizabeth, but also Paul, who for a good lot of the film has been rather stand-offish and crude. What comes out is something that, even if it's not extraordinary, is what one likes to see in a basic tragedy- character development, a sense of suspense in what will happen, and (as it is Cocteau) a kind of poetic license with the narrative.
Melville, meanwhile, is rather expressive with his camera-work, with a few angles in scenes that are some of his most unforgettable (there's one involving an over-head near a staircase revealing the director's pure experimentalism). Not to mention (when used) a sensational soundtrack with Bach and Vivaldi, adding that classical/romantic feel. It's not either filmmaker/artist's absolute triumph, but it is certainly under-appreciated in terms of being available in the market (I had to reach out through ebay).
Some of the film is quite dark, some of it is quite light and cynical. It simply is one of the more notable post WW2 collaborations- themes and characters that make you think long after the film ends, while not over-staying its welcome.
The story is in a sense almost classical and romantic from literature, with Cocteau providing narration that sounds like it could be even more beautiful to read on paper than to hear. Paul (Edourard Dermithe, perfect at being stubborn) gets hit with a rock during a snow-ball fight, and on and off for the rest of the film he's confined to a bed. While in his decorated 'room', he is nursed, in an intense and often begrudging manner, by his sister Elisabeth (Nicole Stephanie, perhaps her best performance in a small career) who sometimes plays a 'game' with his brother. While this 'game', when showed in action with their dim friend Michael (Martn), may be a little off-putting, or rather it may distance someone from their total immaturity, what makes it work for one is how Cocteau brings in conflict with these situations, how everything they argue about (even the ridiculous things) have some level of importance. Then, when the first turn comes (their mother dies), Elisabeth tries to move on to another man, which leads to another (diminished) tragedy, and soon four of them (also a woman taking care of Paul, played sweetly by Cosima) are living in a huge house.
Then comes a third act (if it is a third act, I was not sure how his original play was structured or fit by him and Melville into the film), and that packs some of both filmmakers best creative strengths. There's a conflict set-up that richly, strongly gives a larger weight to not only Elizabeth, but also Paul, who for a good lot of the film has been rather stand-offish and crude. What comes out is something that, even if it's not extraordinary, is what one likes to see in a basic tragedy- character development, a sense of suspense in what will happen, and (as it is Cocteau) a kind of poetic license with the narrative.
Melville, meanwhile, is rather expressive with his camera-work, with a few angles in scenes that are some of his most unforgettable (there's one involving an over-head near a staircase revealing the director's pure experimentalism). Not to mention (when used) a sensational soundtrack with Bach and Vivaldi, adding that classical/romantic feel. It's not either filmmaker/artist's absolute triumph, but it is certainly under-appreciated in terms of being available in the market (I had to reach out through ebay).
Some of the film is quite dark, some of it is quite light and cynical. It simply is one of the more notable post WW2 collaborations- themes and characters that make you think long after the film ends, while not over-staying its welcome.