La Chanson d'une nuit (1933)
Directed by Pierre Colombier, Anatole Litvak

Film Review

Anatole Litvak is best remembered today for the films he directed in Hollywood in the 1940s and '50s - crowdpleasers such as All This, and Heaven Too (1940) and Anastasia (1956), as well as impressive war films like Decision Before Dawn (1941) - but before he even set foot in the United States he had already made a name for himself as a director, first in Austria, then in France.  In the 1930s, he made several notable French films, including L'Équipage (1935) and Mayerling (1936) - and it seems odd that such an obviously capable helmer should have started his career by making lightweight musical comedies like La Chanson d'une nuit, a flimsy concoction that has no greater ambition than to distract a Depression-weary audience.

Litvak actually directed three versions of the film, all made at the same studio in Austria with the same lead actors - Jan Kiepura and Magda Schneider.  There was also a German version, Das Lied einer Nacht, and an English version (now lost) Tell Me Tonight.  The French version was scripted by none other than Henri-Georges Clouzot, who was mostly engaged on this kind of film in the early years of his career - it would be another decade before he made his directing debut proper with L'Assassin habite au 21 (1942).  There is no hint of the doom and gloom that we associate with Clouzot's work (Le Corbeau, Les Diaboliques) - just a frenetic madcap farce that crams in as many musical numbers as the laws of physics and good taste will permit.

Litvak clearly wasn't put off by the lowbrow nature of his brief, nor by the film's totally derivate plot, which (like just about every other film comedy of this era) revolves around yet another case of mistaken identity.  His penchant for long tracking shots, artful dissolves and fast editing are as evident here as they are on his worthier cinematic offerings, and these lend the film a visual sophistication that sets it apart from comparable comedies of this era.  For a time when most films looked like filmed stage plays, with the actors all lined up in front of the camera, acting and talking like wooden marionettes, La Chanson d'une nuit is remarkably fluid and well-paced, showing a spark and vitality that so few films of the early 1930s possess.

The slick dynamism of Litvak's mise-en-scène is matched by the ebullient performances from the trio of lead actors, who comprise one world famous singer - Jan Kiepura - and two rapidly rising stars - Magda Schneider (mother of Romy) and Pierre Brasseur (father of Claude).  Kiepura supplies the vocals (which are remarkably well-preserved in spite of the mediocre sound recording equipment), Schneider the eye-popping beauty (she is her daughter's image in every shot), and Brasseur the unrestrained tomfoolery he was apt to indulge in at this stage in his career.  It is an unlikely ensemble but somehow it works a treat - it is hard to think of another film in which Brasseur has such an effective comedy rapport with another actor.  If the director and his lead actors were not depressed by the excruciating silliness of the plot then neither should we be.  La Chanson d'une nuit is a manic comedy romp that can hardly fail to please.  Highlights include Kiepura's over-enthusiastic attempt to simulate a gramophone recording of his own voice and probably the daftest courtroom scene you'll ever see outside the Benny Hill Show.

Film Synopsis

Enrico Ferraro is a world-famous tenor who has grown tired of being shuffled from one venue to another by his domineering, money-obsessed manager.  So, whilst on the way to his next recital, he gives her the slip and secretly climbs aboard a train bound for the idyllic resort of Monève, where he hopes to pass an agreeable holiday in complete anonymity.  On the train, he strikes up a friendship with a young man of his own age, Koretzky, not knowing that he is in fact a con artist on the run from the police.  Accompanied by Koretzky, Ferraro checks into a comfortable hotel in Monève, but by now the town has got wind of its celebrity visitor.

The town's mayor, Pategg, duly turns up at Ferraro's hotel suite, but mistakes Koretzky for the famous singer.  The error suits Ferraro, who is now free to drive off and enjoy his holiday.  Koretzky is more than happy to continue the charade so that he can make a conquest of the mayor's beautiful daughter, Mathilde, who has fallen in love with Ferraro's singing voice.  The deception backfires when the mayor insists that Koretzky performs in the town's forthcoming operatic production.  Ferraro is in even deeper water when he is arrested for Koretzky's past crimes and finds that there is only one way to prove his identity - he must sing to the jury!