It's a story as old as cinema, a friendship leaping over sixty years of age. It's a theme infused countless times into war: childhood, the age of innocence colliding with the very time of its very negation.
Sure there's nothing remotely original in Claude Berri's "The Old Man and the Child", but it's personal and what it lacks in originality, it makes up in sincerity, warmth, humor, poignancy and the one privilege of autobiographical movies: truth. It's precisely because the whole story is uneventful, even anecdotical, that as viewers, we can measure the gravitas floating all around.
That's what separates great movies like "Schindler's List" to personal masterpieces like "The Pianist", Spielberg knows how to build up momentums but Polanski who lived in the ghetto, knew the narrative of the war was so dramatic it didn't need the artifice of a plot.
Polanski had to hide his Jewishness to be sheltered by Catholic people, at risk of being called out by some malevolent souls. There was also the famous French barber Joseph Joffo who wrote "A Bag of Marbles" (a book I've read countless times as a kid) chronicling his 'adventure' during the occupation whose culmination was his life in the house of a pro-Nazi Frenchman. And there was Marcel Gotlib, my comic-book idol, who at 8 lived in the countryside. He made a magnificent two-page story called "The Goat" (the farmer looks like a meaner version of Pepe Dupont).
And there's Claude Berri (1934-2009), whose real name was Langmann, like in the film, a name that could pass for Alsacian to those who wanted to know as little as possible. While Claude Langmann is a version of Berri as a child is almost irrelevant, he's a Jew but he's a normal boy first and foremost: his establishing act consists of stealing miniaturized tanks. The father played by Charles Denner, can't believe the boy would be so oblivious to the situation. But Claude felt like taking the toys, just like he felt like smoking or fighting; in a lesser film, the act would have a meaning, anger or defiance while it's even more significant as pure infantile detachment.
But Claude is too stubborn to realize that he's a liability to his family desperately trying to keep a low profile. A friend suggests to put Claude in her parents' house, in the countryside, he's warned about Pepe, he's a brave man but he must never knows he's a Jew. Claude is smart enough to spot the contradiction. And so Claude Langmann becomes Claude Longuet who must be able to spell his name and recite his Christian prayers and there's something almost comical in the constant (sometimes overplayed) distress of his father, downplayed by the mother -a foreigner- who's more patient and looks like the source of the kid's spoiled manners.
Anyone would then get ready to see Claude facing a tougher crowd but Pepe (Michel Simon) and Meme Dupont (Luce Fabiole) are more than pleased to welcome him. Pepe's establishing moment shows him feeding his 15-year old dog with a spoon and not raising an eyebrow when Claude's surname and its spelling don't match. He's the prototypical old curmudgeon who likes hearing himself talk, sharing his views with a little tyke who would only listen. Talking about the mathematical age of dog, proudly asserting his vegetarianism (calling meat eaters cannibals), a specialist in pranks and games but still an Antisemite.
And the question is indeed: does he believe in them? Or like these French people from "The Sorrow and the Pity", he accepted the surrendering as a necessity in the great scheme of that patriotic fantasy when the enemy turned out invisible and sneaky. But Berri doesn't care for intellectual interpretation and is more concerned with Claude's life in the farm and at school.
There are two moments though where the kid is at the brisk of showing his 'masculinity', but it's handled in the same matter-of-fact way that the other events, the couple doesn't suspect him, because why would every boy be eager to show his 'little bird'? That doesn't prevent Claude to cry alone and to interpret any sign of hostility as a proof that they 'might knew... but when the school kids bully him, it's the city boy who's targeted, not the Jew.
Alain Cohen is remarkably able to convey the most subtle and nuanced emotion, displaying wits but never precociousness. One of the film's most delightful touch if one of the boy's pastime: making Pepe talk about the Jews. He feigns a traumatizing effect to his words: he might be one, but Pepe reassures him until it backfires at him; he's got a big nose and wavy hair. One of Claude's triumph is to toy so playfully with Pepe's prejudices they become grotesque. When at the end, Pepe says about Jews "they can't be as bad as the other", it's a modest victory from the side of tolerance.
It's one of these miracles of acting that Michel Simon could play such a larger-than-life character so naturally, the man who looked 50 in his 30s can finally let his talent implode so loudly it could only dwarfs the rest of the cast except for the little one who could reach that gargantuan heart (and its rotten corners). Simon, with his gargoyle-like mug, his sad eyes and his distorted face was a treasure for French cinema and it's fitting that one of his last performance, maybe his best one, coincides with the rise of a great directing career. And when the kid kisses him, it's one of the warmest and tenderest moments ever captured on a film.
The film keeps up in a constant state of anticipation: everything goes so well, there must be a catch, they will know, he will tell them... but it's like Berri could only tell a happy story, true or not, it doesn't matter, it's just the heart of an adult being overruled by a child's vision.
Sure there's nothing remotely original in Claude Berri's "The Old Man and the Child", but it's personal and what it lacks in originality, it makes up in sincerity, warmth, humor, poignancy and the one privilege of autobiographical movies: truth. It's precisely because the whole story is uneventful, even anecdotical, that as viewers, we can measure the gravitas floating all around.
That's what separates great movies like "Schindler's List" to personal masterpieces like "The Pianist", Spielberg knows how to build up momentums but Polanski who lived in the ghetto, knew the narrative of the war was so dramatic it didn't need the artifice of a plot.
Polanski had to hide his Jewishness to be sheltered by Catholic people, at risk of being called out by some malevolent souls. There was also the famous French barber Joseph Joffo who wrote "A Bag of Marbles" (a book I've read countless times as a kid) chronicling his 'adventure' during the occupation whose culmination was his life in the house of a pro-Nazi Frenchman. And there was Marcel Gotlib, my comic-book idol, who at 8 lived in the countryside. He made a magnificent two-page story called "The Goat" (the farmer looks like a meaner version of Pepe Dupont).
And there's Claude Berri (1934-2009), whose real name was Langmann, like in the film, a name that could pass for Alsacian to those who wanted to know as little as possible. While Claude Langmann is a version of Berri as a child is almost irrelevant, he's a Jew but he's a normal boy first and foremost: his establishing act consists of stealing miniaturized tanks. The father played by Charles Denner, can't believe the boy would be so oblivious to the situation. But Claude felt like taking the toys, just like he felt like smoking or fighting; in a lesser film, the act would have a meaning, anger or defiance while it's even more significant as pure infantile detachment.
But Claude is too stubborn to realize that he's a liability to his family desperately trying to keep a low profile. A friend suggests to put Claude in her parents' house, in the countryside, he's warned about Pepe, he's a brave man but he must never knows he's a Jew. Claude is smart enough to spot the contradiction. And so Claude Langmann becomes Claude Longuet who must be able to spell his name and recite his Christian prayers and there's something almost comical in the constant (sometimes overplayed) distress of his father, downplayed by the mother -a foreigner- who's more patient and looks like the source of the kid's spoiled manners.
Anyone would then get ready to see Claude facing a tougher crowd but Pepe (Michel Simon) and Meme Dupont (Luce Fabiole) are more than pleased to welcome him. Pepe's establishing moment shows him feeding his 15-year old dog with a spoon and not raising an eyebrow when Claude's surname and its spelling don't match. He's the prototypical old curmudgeon who likes hearing himself talk, sharing his views with a little tyke who would only listen. Talking about the mathematical age of dog, proudly asserting his vegetarianism (calling meat eaters cannibals), a specialist in pranks and games but still an Antisemite.
And the question is indeed: does he believe in them? Or like these French people from "The Sorrow and the Pity", he accepted the surrendering as a necessity in the great scheme of that patriotic fantasy when the enemy turned out invisible and sneaky. But Berri doesn't care for intellectual interpretation and is more concerned with Claude's life in the farm and at school.
There are two moments though where the kid is at the brisk of showing his 'masculinity', but it's handled in the same matter-of-fact way that the other events, the couple doesn't suspect him, because why would every boy be eager to show his 'little bird'? That doesn't prevent Claude to cry alone and to interpret any sign of hostility as a proof that they 'might knew... but when the school kids bully him, it's the city boy who's targeted, not the Jew.
Alain Cohen is remarkably able to convey the most subtle and nuanced emotion, displaying wits but never precociousness. One of the film's most delightful touch if one of the boy's pastime: making Pepe talk about the Jews. He feigns a traumatizing effect to his words: he might be one, but Pepe reassures him until it backfires at him; he's got a big nose and wavy hair. One of Claude's triumph is to toy so playfully with Pepe's prejudices they become grotesque. When at the end, Pepe says about Jews "they can't be as bad as the other", it's a modest victory from the side of tolerance.
It's one of these miracles of acting that Michel Simon could play such a larger-than-life character so naturally, the man who looked 50 in his 30s can finally let his talent implode so loudly it could only dwarfs the rest of the cast except for the little one who could reach that gargantuan heart (and its rotten corners). Simon, with his gargoyle-like mug, his sad eyes and his distorted face was a treasure for French cinema and it's fitting that one of his last performance, maybe his best one, coincides with the rise of a great directing career. And when the kid kisses him, it's one of the warmest and tenderest moments ever captured on a film.
The film keeps up in a constant state of anticipation: everything goes so well, there must be a catch, they will know, he will tell them... but it's like Berri could only tell a happy story, true or not, it doesn't matter, it's just the heart of an adult being overruled by a child's vision.