Yet, despite its relatively low-key style and straightforward narrative, Le beau Serge bears many of the most important hallmarks of the New Wave, some of which were recognized at the time (in a laudatory review, Truffaut referred to it as a “turning point” in French cinema) even if the film itself was not given its proper due (it played out of competition at Cannes and had a hard time finding a distributor). An intimate and personally charged character study set against the backdrop of wintry provincial life in rural France, Le beau Serge was shot entirely on location in Sardent, a small village in central France where Chabrol’s mother had been born and where he had spent much of his childhood, including his early teenage years during World War II. The film’s general production approach, which included a small crew, location shooting, and a cast of mostly unknown actors and local villagers, as well as its narrative focus on ordinary characters in realistic situations reflects the influence of Italian neorealism in the mold of Vittorio de Sica, whom the Cahiers critics greatly admired. Chabrol, who was 27 years old at the time and had never made a film nor apprenticed in the industry, did not limit himself only to the neorealist palette, but instead incorporated aspects of expressionism and an obsession with the overwhelming nature of guilt, which for Chabrol was key to the films of Alfred Hitchcock (he and fellow Cahiers critic Eric Rohmer had recently published the first book-length study of Hitchcock’s films).

Like many of Chabrol’s later films, Le beau Serge is built around doubles, the primary one being the two main characters, twentysomethings François (Jean-Claude Brialy) and Serge (Gérard Blain). When the story opens, François is returning to his hometown of Sardent after being away for many years living in Paris. Having suffered from what we can only surmise is tuberculosis, he is there to rest and recuperate. And, while he is received warmly, it is clear that his being away has made him somewhat alien to the longtime villagers, virtually all of whom have lived there their whole lives. Upon his return he learns that his best friend Serge, with whom he has not been in contact, has descended into an alcoholic stupor following his marriage to a local girl named Yvonne (Michèle Méritz) whose pregnancy (the catalyst for their marriage) resulted in a child with Down Syndrome who soon died. François and Serge are opposites in just about every way imaginable: While François is respectable but somewhat ordinary, a decent guy who is making his way through life, Serge is handsome and rebellious, a failed golden boy drinking his misery away.

François wants to help Serge, but like many who are in the pits of despair, Serge does not want to be helped. He is content drinking the days away with his father-in-law Glomaud (Edmond Beauchamp), a bitter old man who represents Serge’s possible future self if he stays on his current course. François is also distracted by Marie (Bernadette Lafont), Yvonne’s seductive and flighty 17-year-old sister who stills lives with Glomaud, who rumor has it is not her biological father. Yvonne has already been romantically involved with Serge, so her presence always creates tension in an already fractured family dynamic. Her relationship with François only complicates things, as it raises the jealousy and ire of both Serge and Glomaud.

Shot by cinematographer Henri Decaë, who began his career with Jean-Pierre Melville and would go on to work with several other French New Wave directors, Le beau Serge is a stark, direct film that presents deeply complicated and flawed characters with a strong sense of compassion and grace. Chabrol does not soften the edges of Serge’s alcoholism or the monster it awakens inside him, as he acts abusively toward Yvonne, purposefully humiliating her in front of others, and rejects François’s earnest attempts to help him with a sense of contempt that borders on the pathological. Yet, Chabrol makes it clear that Serge is a suffering soul, and the film’s final moments offer him what could be interpreted as redemption--a second chance enabled by the creation of new life.

Cynics will say that the film’s final shot is decidedly open-ended, but the manner in which Chabrol builds to it and the overall tone of the film suggests otherwise to me. On a related side note, Le beau Serge has been described as both a Christian and an anti-Christian film: The former reading emphasizes the themes of grace and forgiveness, while the latter points to both the pathetic lives of desperation led by so many of the characters and the overt depiction of the village priest (Claude Cerval) as an ineffective presence ignored by the villagers. Given that the film was produced at a time when Chabrol was finding himself increasingly distant from Catholicism, it is probably best described as a film that embraces traditional Christian values while questioning how those values are embodied in organized religion.

In its best moments, Le beau Serge evokes a somber and deeply felt sense of shared humanity, as François tries to close the gap created between him and Serge in his absence and somehow heal the damage in his best friend’s life. It is tempting to see his actions as being driven primarily by guilt, and while that is certainly part of the mix, it is also clear that there is an overriding sense of love that compels him to keep trying even when everyone around him is telling him to leave. Jean-Claude Brialy gives François’s stubbornness a gentle quality that is easy to appreciate, even as we recognize it could lead to tragedy, just as Gérard Blain imbues Serge’s worst moments with an edge of sadness that makes him impossible to hate. At its best, Le beau Serge taps into and touches our inherent desire to see damage undone and sins redeemed. It is, at its heart, about being a better person.

Copyright ©2011 James Kendrick

Thoughts? E-mail James Kendrick

All images copyright © The Criterion Collection