Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno

Documentaries rarely come more fascinating than this. Clouzot's lost masterpiece, abandoned when the director suffered a heart attack during the interminable shooting of it. The interviews with Catherine Allégret, Costa Gavras and other participants in Clouzot's project are informative, particularly on the subject of the experimental sound track and the innovations in use of film stock that turned water red. But it is the human drama, not the technological wizardry that fascinates here. Clouzot simply took on too much: writing, directing and producing, as well as overseeing all aspects of casting, music, art direction... The American studio gave him too much money and power for this project, and this almost destroyed him.

Jacques Gamblin and Bérénice Bejo take over the parts Reggiani and Schneider played, and they flesh out the story well enough. (See Cluzet and Béart in Chabrol's remake for a really great experience.) I went to see the footage with Romy Schneider, and I wasn't disappointed. She was the most beautiful of European actresses, and Clouzot's camera adores her. Romy smoking, Romy with a blue tongue, Romy trussed naked on a train track, Romy being followed through the town by Reggiani. Rest assured, I will be getting the DVD.

Presuming that you have not yet seen it, here is a description.

Henri-Georges was a remarkable filmmaker. Though contemporary with those normally tagged new wave, he was interested not in ideas but the effectiveness of cinema. His special talent was internal perturbations of reality. After a long period of silence, he embarked on his most ambitious project: a film about a jealous man, showing his torture through practically achieved cinematic effects.

He got a huge budget from Hollywood and lavished it on the film, not on sets, costumes, actors. Much was shot, and then the thing unraveled, largely because of the filmmaker's own obsessions. Production halted.

Later, in 2009, this film was made about the making of the previous one, weaving the movie and the making of the movie together. The format is superficially simple: we have seated interviews with people who were involved, while relevant footage runs behind them. We see much of that footage without the original sound, though some slight, small effects have been added. Most of the footage are strange optical experiments. Some is the action in "reality." We also, separately, have two contemporary actors reading the lines from the shooting script so at least we know the story such as it is.

The result is remarkable. As collaborators, one after the other, testify to the growing madness of Clouzot, or apparent madness. Or perhaps genius. It is effective as a documentary, perhaps unique in its form. It merges fiction and non-fiction, story on story, folded so that it matters. The main actor walks off, the filmmaker has a heart attack, the lake on which filming occurs literally disappears. Trains come. Anxieties mount as loves and the obsession to create clash.

We wonder about projects started but unseen from Welles, Hopper, Kurosawa. Like unimagined dreams we might reach, they perhaps have more power without us encountering them. Frankly, I never heard of this failed project before. I am grateful to have encountered it now, in this way.

Unfortunately, you may find the optical effects strange, dated. They all are "real" in the sense of being generated according to physical laws and properties. These days, we normally denote the unreal by effects done virtually and supposedly unconstrained by reality. So the shock is reverse: the film we are examining (in black and white) is the fiction, while the madness within that film (in color) is real.

"You have to see the madness through," is the last line of this. Clouzot could not. Let's hope you, dear reader, do.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

A view of Henri-Georges Clouzot's filmography cannot be complete with at least acknowledging his lost, partially shot film, Inferno. Production began in the summer of 1964 and fell apart in about a month. Incomplete and unable to find funds to continue, Clouzot abandoned the film, eventually adopting some of his ideas into Woman in Chains, his final feature film. The story of the disruption of the film remained something of a mystery to the more casual of film goers until 2009 with the release of this documentary by Serge Bromberg. Part re-creation, part rediscovery, and part behind the scenes documentary, it's a fascinating look at a filmmaker gone, potentially, as mad as his main character.

After the relative success of La Verite and the murk that was the changing French film industry brought on by the rising French New Wave, Henri-Georges Clouzot decided to embark on his most experimental film based on his large, 300-page script titled L'enfer. The story of a middle-aged man, Marcel (Serge Reggiani), who married a younger woman, Odette (Romy Schneider), and the hell he goes through as he suspects her of infidelities in their vacation in the small town French town they honeymoon. The driver of the film, in Clouzot's mind, was the experimentation he could bring to the film's subjective point of view from Marcel as he sees what may or may not be happening. The parts of the film that were unquestionably in objective reality would be filmed in black and white, and the films tainted by Marcel's point of view would be in color.

The documentary lays out Clouzot's working process, explicitly called out as one of his great strengths on his previous films. There are some contrasts with the French New Wave filmmakers who prioritized improvisation over planning, one of the main reasons that they rejected Clouzot (though they loved Hitchcock who did the same thing...whatever) as representative of the old way of doing things. Clouzot would retort with the idea that his improvisation happened on paper. He would plan to such a degree that he could focus purely on the actors on set, having meticulously pre-planned camera angles, lenses, and framing before they ever showed up to set.

Where Clouzot broke from his previous method of work, though, was the experimentation. He spent several months with his core crew of cameramen and sound technicians just trying things out, whatever distortions and effects they could come up with wholly in the camera. This experimentation was free-flowing and seemingly never ending, helped not at all by Columbia executives seeing the tests and throwing money at Clouzot to continue. The central experiment we get a look at is a color sequence on a lake where Clouzot planned on having the water turn red but everything else in camera to retain their original colors. This could only be done chemically at the time through inversion of colors, so everything from makeup to costumes had to be replicated in the opposite color. Unfortunately, we only ever see tests of the effect and never what might have been the final product, but it does sound like a great idea.

And that was ultimately Clouzot's downfall. He preplanned everything minutely, but he got lost in the experimentation. That seems to have infected his entire way of doing things, and he spent days reshooting the same scenes over and over again. He was reportedly always an exacting director with his actors, demanding many takes to get exactly what he wanted (like Kubrick would later be known for), but he seems to have lost the plot during the production of Inferno. He had the idea of using three crews that he was responsible for, but if he spends all day with the first crew redoing the same stuff he did last week, he's just burning not only money on things he already has in the can but on two other crews who are just sitting around, waiting to be told what to do.

As the cinematographer, William Lubtchansky, says in his interview, Clouzot was always a workaholic, and even an insomniac, and would expect everyone to work at any time he demanded, day or night (this was why he rented a house several miles from the main production offices in the small town's hotel, to avoid that), but Clouzot strained himself until he had a heart attack on set. That was ultimately what shut the production down. In retrospect, Lubtchansky concludes, Clouzot needed a producer to direct his energies, to keep him on schedule and to stop the experimentation.

Inferno is going to be one of those mysterious what-ifs in film, and I think it might have been compelling even if Clouzot hadn't been reigned in and managed to somehow finish production on his own terms. It might have been a complete mess, but it might have also been an interesting complete mess. Claude Chabrol did make a film from Clouzot's script in the 90s, which I'll have to check out at some point, which combined with this documentary is the closest we'll ever get to seeing the final product Clouzot had in mind.

I'm a great admirer of Serge Bromberg. He is a man who will share and communicate his love for movies. But he is first and foremost a film collector, so he has too much respect for shelved and forgotten material, which I reckon is good to explain you how some rare silent newsreel is interesting, or to teach younger generations the importance of Meliès in pushing cinema beyond the mundane recording of live action.

Any movie buff will admire the work of Clouzot, so the pitfall was too much respect for a doomed project. There is very little insight about the unfinished movie. The answer comes late in the documentary, by that time we would have guessed by ourselves with all the clues, with all the experimentation and all the images and talk isolating Clouzot from the production reality. Sure Clouzot badly needed some kind of associate, be it a producer and/or a writer. In short, as a creative mind with lots of responsibilities he needed a sparing partner for his ideas. Someone who would stay focused and help sober Clouzot after an experimental binge. But everybody respected Clouzot as a genius, or feared him, and they didn't feel they could understand him, let alone speak up to him.

Now this is the main point with L'Enfer, and should have been the heart of the documentary. Instead we have a flat chronological montage of a prologue + prep + shoot. Such an approach would be OK for a 25min. runtime, but it's way overblown to 90min. Sure there were plenty rushes, fascinating images. The real homage would have been to tell a story with these images, inventing a context, not scholarly laying out the facts. At least the book Romy dans l'Enfer is much better since it chooses one approach, the one that stands out in all the presumably exhausting experimental work of Clouzot.

A most interesting film surrounding the making of Clouzot's unfinished, Inferno. Abandoned in 1964 ostensibly due to the director's heart attack, a substantial amount of filming remains and much use has been made of the original footage. Intended as a film about a husband's obsessive jealousy over his wife's apparent philandering, it seems Clouzot became himself obsessed. The b/w footage appears to have some promise but is without soundtrack so hard to judge, but no the real interest here is the experimental reels. Determined to make a film like no other, Clouzot recruited any number of technicians and artists to help create devices to give him surreal or psychedelic affects. Along the way the director has clearly fallen for the lovely Romy Schneider who for instance spent four days with a camera close up on her lips whilst exhaling cigarette smoke and wearing various colours of lipstick, including blue. Valuable as an insight into the attempted making of Inferno but a little frustrating in that it asks more questions than it answers, like the true mental state of the director and why nobody else might have carried on. It is possible that a lot was left out here because Clouzot's widow was to have last say on the film but it would be nice to know and maybe someone else one day will have another go, there seems enough footage.