Ombre et lumière (1951)
Directed by Henri Calef

Film Review

Maria Casarès and Simone Signoret are like the black and white notes on a piano keyboard in this brooding psychological drama, so well cast are they as contrasting half-sisters.  Black suits Casarès, the introspective brunette, as well as white fits Signoret's sociable blonde - they are night and day in human form.  Ombre et lumière is aptly titled, and it is easy to spot the similarities with Robert Siodmak's The Dark Mirror (1946), except that here the sisters are played by two separate actresses, the tenebrous Casarès making a dazzling contrast with the luminous Signoret.  The sisters appear to be opposites, but as the story unfolds it becomes apparent that they are not so dissimilar after all - Signoret's Isabelle has a darker, more sinister side and Casarès's Caroline is shown to be the more vulnerable and sensitive of the two.

There is no stronger argument for watching Ombre et lumière - one of the better films directed by the now virtually forgotten Henri Calef - than to savour the mesmeric performances of its two remarkable lead actresses, both of whom are at their most utterly entrancing.   Casarès's character has something of the cool venality of the one she had previously played in Robert Bresson's Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne (1945), but here her portrayal is far more ambiguous, and we can never be sure whether it is a desire for revenge that motivates her or a genuine concern for her sister's state of mind.  Love takes many forms and it may well be Caroline's fear of losing Isabelle after her lover Jacques discards her that leads her to do what she does, an act of cruelty born out of kindness and desperation rather than mere spite.

It is just as wrong to mistake Signoret's Isabelle as the more saintly sister, an innocent victim of another woman's cruel machinations.  At the time, Signoret was pretty well established as the archetypal femme fatale, through such grim noir offerings as Marcel Blistène's Macadam (1946) and Yves Allégret's Dédée d'Anvers (1947).  The casting of Signoret in the double faceted role of Isabelle was a masterstroke, and we see in the same magnificent portrayal both the romantic charmer of Casque d'or (1952) and the monstrous villainess of Les Diaboliques (1955).  In virtually every scene in the film there is a mirror, and every time we glimpse Signoret's reflection we cannot help seeing her character's other side, the shadow persona that threatens to tear her world apart.

Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 serves as the satanic invocation that releases Signoret's darker side, exposing the monster within - first in a shocking expressionistic flashback sequence, then in the film's nerve-racking conclusion.  In the latter case, what initially feels like a duel to the death between the two sisters (you can actually feel Maria willing Isabelle to fail) turns into a frenzied tussle between the two opposing sides of Isabelle's persona - the light and the dark locked in a life-and-death struggle, harmony and discord thrashing it out in the wild turmoil of Tchaikovsky's manic composition.

Jean Bourgoin's seductive noir-like photography starkly underscores the personality split and gives it a chilling realism, but what makes the film so disturbing and so memorable is Simone Signoret's frighteningly convincing portrayal of a woman struggling to hold onto her identity, visibly tormented by the fear that her sanity is slipping from her grasp.  Rarely in cinema has an individual's personal terror of mental collapse been more graphically and authentically rendered as it is here.  Ombre et lumière takes you into the darkest of dark places and then quietly chills you to the bone.

Film Synopsis

Isabelle Leiritz was a world class pianist before a nervous breakdown imposed a temporary break on her career.  Leaving the rest home where she has spent the past few years convalescing, Isabelle visits her half-sister Caroline and contemplates her future.  One day, she meets a man of her own age, Jacques Barroy, and soon realises she is in love.  Jacques is equally smitten with Isabelle and so brings a definitive end to his affair with his present girlfriend, not yet knowing that she is Isabelle's half-sister.  When she realises that her sister has stolen her lover, Caroline sets her mind to prevent Jacques from marrying Isabelle.  She begins by revealing to her sister the truth about her breakdown, which left her temporarily insane.

Fearing the worst, Isabelle consults the doctor who treated her and accepts his assurances that she is cured.  Jacques and Isabelle set out for a romantic break in the country, in the area where Jacques runs a timber business, but now their relationship is visibly strained by mistrust.  Meanwhile, Caroline urges her sister's former impresario, Schurmann, to begin preparations for Isabelle's comeback tour, knowing full well that this may result in a recurrence of the pianist's breakdown.  Schurmann does his best to break up the couple's relationship by revealing to Jacques Isabelle's true identity, but by now the bond of love is so strong that nothing will separate them.  Caroline patiently awaits her moment of triumph as Isabelle prepares for the concert that will assuredly drive her insane...