Mères françaises

When war is declared in 1914, everyone is in the fight, even those who remain behind. Someone has to raise the food for the soldiers to eat. However, all three members of the noble D'Urbex family are at or near the front: Georges Deneubourg, who is a commandant at a major post; his son, Jean Angelo, a lieutenant on the front lines; and Deneubourg's wife, Sarah Bernhardt, who nurses at an aid station. When word comes that her son has been killed, she breaks down and returns to her own village.... where she must rally those in the back lines to fight for Mother France.

The print is in pretty good shape for a movie that was missing for ninety years, and the chance to see Madame Bernhardt acting, even in her old age, is not to be missed. She seems to be in every scene. Yes, she's old and fat and missing one leg, but she knows how underplay for the camera, and her immobility looks like determination.

It's remarkable how dark a story this undeniable propaganda film tells. People die in mazes of trenches, unseen beneath an exploding shell, or under the collapsed barricades; those who survive come home blinded, and those who return whole come down with cafard and are anxious return to the front. It is only by facing the reality of the war, the dirt and suffering and death that the earnestness of the situation becomes real. It's less a performance than a command.

"Monsieur, you have put me in pickle forever!" said the great French actress Sarah Bernhardt to a film producer, after she saw herself on a movie screen. Her starring vehicle "Mères françaises" (literally, "French mothers") was filmed in France during the Great War, late in Bernhardt's life. But the remnants of her faded beauty are still there, and this film gives some glimpses of the talent that had dazzled theatregoers thirty years earlier,

Madame Sarah plays a nurse in an army hospital at Rheims. Her son is a poilu (French infantryman) who has been wounded in action, Sarah locates him in a first-aid station just in time for an emotional scene at his deathbed. Then her husband, an army major, is killed in action. Eventually she ends up in the front-line trenches, where she delivers some powerful lines (via silent-film titles) such as "France never dies." She also refers to France as "our mother".

Even more interesting than Bernhardt's performance is the location footage. This movie was filmed in wartime France, and there are many views of actual trenches, munition depots, infantry revetments. The peasant women and the provincial chateaux are astonishingly real: this France is gone forever. Bernhardt plays her climactic scene standing before the statue of Joan of Arc in the Cathedral of Rheims: in the background, we can see the actual damage to the cathedral that was caused by German artillery fire.

Bernhardt injured one knee during her adolescence, and the injury became steadily worse through the long years of her stardom. Eventually the leg was amputated above the knee, a few years before this film was made. Wearing a long frock to conceal her amputation, Madame Sarah plays this entire film by turns either sitting down or carefully standing near something to lean on. We never see her walking.

Most modern viewers will find "Mères françaises" a dull film, but its views of wartime France and Bernhardt's performance make this film required viewing for Francophiles. I'll rate this movie 7 out of 10.

Marked by a directness in the storytelling, rough edges in the editing (whether for deterioration of surviving prints or, as I'm guessing is the case in this instance, limitations of the time), and the especial division of the narrative into discrete scenes, there's no mistaking this for a film of the silent era, even setting aside the obvious lack of sound. Easier to take for granted over a century later is that this tale, set during World War I, was filmed and released while the conflict was still raging. With that contemporaneous quality in mind, though, it becomes clear before long that no small part of the impetus for the picture was to inspire viewers to contribute in any way they could to the war effort. Wherever emphatic messaging is woven into art, and narrative fiction in particular, one is quite accustomed to seeing the art (or narrative) suffer as a result. It's subsequently to the credit of the creators in this instance that in my opinion 'Mothers of France' ('Mères francaises') never lets itself get bogged down by the intent. It remains above all a movie devoted to the engrossing human drama of its tale, and to excellence in craftsmanship in all regards. For whatever nits one may pick, I think that at least in some ways this succeeds where other titles in all the years since have struggled.

This is hardly to say that the film is perfect and essential. Though the subject matter is ripe for exploration - mobilization, death and loss, dedication to the cause and preserving life - a steady pace, and declination to pause for effect, mean that the utmost weight of the saga is not passed on to the audience. Smoothness and fluidity do not aid gravitas; even at its best, I don't think this strikes the deepest of chords that it could have. Still, by and large this is well made, and it's apparent how much care went into its construction. The sets, costume design, and filming locations were well considered; though relatively modest, effects are executed well. One might argue that in instances where a scene takes place in battle, or on the frontlines, the feature fails to capture the very real filth and horror of such scenarios - though in fairness this is hardly the only title to ever have that problem, and moreover, it's not the focus in this 1917 production. Meanwhile, if not altogether remarkable, I think 'Mothers of France' can claim strong writing, direction, and acting across the board. No one or no one facet leaps out, but all do a fine job of bringing the picture to life.

Not least given the pacing and lack of accentuation, one might note that these 73 minutes pass rather quickly. The film is fairly well done all around, and the story is modestly compelling, even if its impact is never fully brought to bear. In the orchestration of shots and scenes, and in the editing, one perhaps wishes that the filmmakers were more mindful so as to let beats linger; perhaps beats could also have been fleshed out more in their conjuration to let them ring out all the more. The unwelcome, unnatural ease with which dire drama is allowed to transpire is the certainly the gravest flaw here, and it inherently diminishes the whole, and makes it less memorable. All the same, one could also reasonably say that much bigger movies have done worse with more. When all is said and done I think this falls rather short of specifically demanding our attention, but above all for those who are already enamored of early cinema, it's definitely not a bad way to spend one's time. Don't go out of your way for 'Mothers of France,' and be well aware of its weaknesses, but it's decent enough if one does have the chance to watch.