Ah, Sweet Mystery and Love

WITH THE POSSIBLE exception of Alfred Hitchcock, Philippe de Broca must be Cambridge's favorite director. After all, it was de Broca's universally acknowledged masterpiece King of Hearts that ran in Cambridge for over five years, gathering a dedicated following and becoming something of an initiation rite for nascent Cantabrigians, from 1971 until 1976. But no one had heard from de Broca in the past few years; the man who brought us King of Hearts and, once upon a time, That Man from Rio, seemed to have disappeared. Well, de Broca fans can rest assured that their man is alive and fairly well, as his latest film, Dear Inspector, demonstrates.

Dear Inspector (formerly titled Dear Detective, but the name was changed when it became apparent that it would be released in America at about the same time as The Cheap Detective typifies in many ways the elements of style and wit that have made de Broca a perennial favorite in more places than just Cambridge. It is the rather silly, but nonetheless pleasant, story of a high-ranking Parisian police inspector who just happens to be a woman. Funny thing, that--it appears the protagonist of almost every new film nowadays has to be female. While there is surely nothing wrong with that, the sudden shift away from the predominance of male leads a few years ago is somewhat surprising [see below]. At any rate, Annie Girardot plays Inspector Lise Tanquerelle with an undeniable charm and self-assurance. She is something of a superwoman, what with a successful career in a male-dominated world, a child (she is, bien sur, divorced), and a beautiful home in the suburbs. Not to mention the fact that she is inordinately attractive for a woman in her mid-40s.

Dear Inspector revolves around two plot strands, which interweave effectively until the end of the film. The first involves a big mystery case that is assigned, of course, to Lise. Someone, it seems, has fallen into the rather distasteful practice of murdering members of the National Assembly in crowded places--and with an awl, no less. Lise and her squadron of affectionate detectives must find and stop this madman while Paris reverberates with the crimes.

The second plot, the one that dominates the film, concerns the inspector's blossoming romance with one Antoine Lemercier, played by Philippe Noiret. M. Lemercier teaches classical Greek literature at the Sorbonne, and after a (literal) chance run-in on the streets, he a Lise discover that they were college buddies who even dated a few times, 20-plus years earlier. He is instantly attracted to Lise, and begins a rather humorous pursuit that is complicated by her unwillingness to tell him that she is a detective working on the biggest case in France. So Antoine's romantic pursuit is frustrated by Lise's continual disappearance into black cars full of unfriendly-looking men. He can't figure it out, and--in perhaps the best scene of the film--makes a complete fool of himself by entering into a sarcastic diatribe against the police while riding with Lise and her unknown law-enforcement buddies.

And so Dear Inspector moves on. The mystery, while definitely the secondary plot element, becomes more interesting. The film is certainly helped along by the presence of the achingly beautiful Catherine Alric, who dimwittedly plays the central figure in the unraveling story: as the mistress of at least two of the victims and one police inspector who is assigned to the case after Lise is temporarily taken off it. In the end, though, the mystery dissolves into silliness--save for one scene suffused with skillful tension in an abandoned factory housing both murder weapons, murderer and a body. Here, de Broca displays the full range of his directorial talents. It is at once scary, funny, and filled with a series of excellently chosen and effective shots and camera angles. Nonetheless, the elements of suspense fall by the wayside as Antoine and a series of dumb jokes combine to cinch the case.

ALTHOUGH the mystery becomes ultimately unsatisfying, it is not the important part of this charming film; the romance between Lise and Antoine takes over, leaving the viewer happy in the knowledge that there is love in middle age. Noiret, a bearish, bemused-looking type, brings a wonderful sense of middle-aged bewilderment with the trappings of everyday life that complements his intelligence and humor. His winning portrayal of an academic bachelor suddenly rekindling his interest in the outside world charms the audience and negates the possible adverse appeal of his tubby, if otherwise endearing, figure.

The romance stumbles through a series of confusions, delays and double entendres, but love, of course, wins out over all odds. The couple walks happily off into the sunset, and the audience walks happily out onto Mass Ave, pleased by a rather thin but nonetheless amusing film.

Technically, Dear Inspector displays a sure competence, but not much else. While nothing is marred, the camera work is generally unspectacular, and the selection of shots shows proficiency but a similar lack of excitement. De Broca's direction, however, more than makes up for the everyday technical side of his film. He knows how to get the most out of a comic situation, and fortunately for this film, he can interplay a mediocre mystery with his major plot, as he did so well with Jean-Paul Belmondo in That Man From Rio.

Finally, non-French speaking filmgoers will be glad to know that Dear Inspector features a really good set of subtitles. Usually, English-bound viewers of French films get the feeling that they are definitely missing something, but this time the titles capture most of its dialogue and all of its meaning. And though Dear Inspector is just another in a continuing series of films featuring "successful" women, it should not be stereotyped as such. Rather, it is an amusing and satisfying, if slightly dumb, romantic comedy in the true French tradition. Philippe de Broca is definitely back perhaps back to stay.