Pépé le Moko

I feel like I’m coming to this film at exactly the wrong time — or is it exactly right? Duvivier is my focus, and this is his most famous and acclaimed film; my focus is not French poetic realism or film noir, though quite by coincidence those are two directions I plan on heading toward. I mean to say that if this is the seminal work to film noir, descended from the American crime films of the early 30s and influencing the techniques and mood of the later noir style, I have no background on either side of the continuum to bring to a viewing and full appreciation of this film. I like placing things in context, I like following threads; taking Forster very much to heart, only connect has long been a motto. All that’s to say, I’m sure this film makes a great starting point, but for now I feel I’ve only half experienced it.

But as half experiences go, this was a most fulfilling one! Oh, what a rapturous, vital thing this is, as teeming with life and cross-purposes as the streets of the Casbah, which itself comes so richly alive in the opening montage of location shots, narrated contemptuously by the local police chief explaining to reinforcements just how treacherous the proposition of catching revered outlaw Pépé le Moko is in such a place. Pépé’s knowledge of the lay of this labyrinthine land and the protection he receives from the locals keeps him free, but only half-free: he cannot leave the Casbah, neither to return to his dreamed-of Paris nor even to venture to the city of Algiers, and Gabin’s portrayal of this pent-up animal of a man is resonant and true: he says as much in quiet moments — perfectly stoic, quietly expressive in close-up like a male Garbo — as he does in his drunken rages. One of the more fascinating elements in films of this type, to my mind, is the sort of subjective morality that emerges and which the audience embraces, a personal code of honor among thieves, well on display here both as it is carried out and as it begins to crumble. Pépé’s reign is coming to an end: the many faces of the law closing in on him, his friends beginning to turn to informers. Only dreams of Paris hold promise for him now, embodied in the arrival an upper-class businessman’s companion, thrilled and frightened by this exotic land and by Pépé, and Pépé in turn, the unlikely romantic, looks past her jewels, past even her beautiful features, to see Paris behind her eyes; when left alone to fantasize about her, his mind drifts to, of all things, the Metro. Ultimately, the film is a romance, and a tragedy, and as he is drawn to her he is drawn to his doom, culminating in a virtuoso sequence of swirling images as Pépé descends from the Casbah.

(Its racist aspect — implicitly, casually racist, rather than clearly articulating any particular racist standpoint but just as harmful — should not be ignored but is a subject for an essay on colonialism in its own right, and I haven’t felt a need to inject social responsibility into my viewing for some time.)

A film of exceptional power and style, one I expect to continue exploring in its many descendants. First up, and most obviously, the American remake Algiers with Charles Boyer. That casting, also obviously, piques my interest, although after viewing the side-by-side comparison of the two films on the Criterion disc extras I must say my excitement for it has been reduced to almost zero. The remake appears to be a self-conscious shot-for-shot remake, with some footage stolen directly from Duvivier’s, and most casting decisions made to resemble the original players. Boyer alone will stand out from Gabin’s original, but I worry in a glaring way: he can play the romantic Pépé at least as convincingly, but do I see him as a rough gangster type? Plainly not, but still I expect plenty of sex appeal and that alone is reason aplenty to watch any 30s Hollywood film, so no complaining really.