`Germinal' Has Outgrown Movie Format

FILM

Germinal

directed by Claude Berri

starring Gerard Depardieu

on general release

The opening and closing shots of "Germinal," considered in isolation, suggest quite a different trajectory than what which the film actually takes. The first shot would give the static impression of a painting depicting a mine at the deal of night, except for the constantly reconfiguring shapes of the fires set to dissipate some of the darkness. We see Le Voreux, the mine around which much of the film's action revolves, from the vantage point of Etienne (Renaud), a newcomer who also looks at the scene for the first time.

At the close of the film, Etienne departs once again, leaving the site of the film at the same time as the audience. The atmosphere differs considerably from that of the first scene; while everything was enveloped by darkness at the commencement of the movie, and industry was the only thing visible, at the end the sun is bright and spring burgeons on screen, nature budding everywhere. From the contrast, one might assume that the characters of the film ascend from the depths of despair to at least a moderate altitude of happiness. On the contrary--what the audience undergoes could only be positively construed as tragic catharsis, where multitudes perish for the audience's emotional benefit.

Although the cast includes several stars, most notably Gerard Depardieu and Miou Miou, the characterizations are almost uniformly incomplete and it is difficult to comprehend each individual's motivations. While in Zola's novel Germinal Etienne is depicted as passionate if misguided, it is impossible for the audience to fathom why, after sojourning, it seems, only a few days in the mining town of Montsou, he incites the workers to strike despite obvious indications that this action will have no positive effects. Renaud, a French folk singer, plays the part stiffly and as an observer, creating a character unsympathetic in the extreme.

Other protagonists also suffer from one-sidedness. The owner of the Jean-Bart mine, who in the book is painted as a decent man sacrificing much to ameliorate the conditions of his workers, comes across in the movie as merely another dirty capitalist, while the daughter of the owner of Le Voreux is not in the film shown to be sufficiently repellent. Depardieu, in the role of Maheud, is the only principal who, as usual plays his part convincingly, and, for the most part, Zola's purely verbal descriptions far surpass the living, breathing renditions of the movie.

This is particularly evident in the representation of animals. Zola from the beginning establishes a symbolic correspondence between the condition of the animals who work in or near the mine and the state of the human beings reduced to the status of animals in the mine. This correlation is articulated most pronouncedly in the case of a white stallion who is lowered into Le Voreux towards the commencement of both movie and book. The film reveals how the pure white of his coat is quickly soiled by the coal of the mine, and effectively relates this corruption to the human realm in the person of Catherine.

Catherine (Judith Henry), the eldest daughter of Maheu and Maheude (Miou- Miou), a mining couple who have taken Etienne as a boarder, is courted by a brutish miner named Chaval (Jean-Roger Milo) although she and Etienne are actually in love. Chaval, in a rather ridiculous scene, approaches Catherine, who is attired in white, on the street, and asks where she is going. She responds that she intended to buy a ribbon, but doesn't have sufficient funds. He offers to purchase it for her with the ominous phrase, "Pay me back if you don't sleep with me." In a touch reminiscent of The Scarlet Letter, she then proceeds to adorn her hair with a red ribbon, suffusing with symbolic shame her formerly pristine attire. Although this connection is played up in the movie, the emotional state of the horse, at this and later points, something Zola describes with painstaking precision in his book, is lost.

Light and sound are, of course, the building blocks of any movie, and "Germinal" is no exception. Deprivation of the former and an incessance of the latter combine to make this movie a misery. The audience is constantly thrust into the dim pits of the mine, lighted only by occasional hell-fires, and thrown into unillumined cottages with at most a single candle burning in the corner. By the end of the film, everyone in the audience is not only familiar with the nuances of pre-electric lighting but feel that they have experienced it first hand. The movie grates constantly on the ear as well. Coughing, pickaxes, water pouring and children's sobbing provide a constant drone which all else must surmount to be heard.

Indeed, "Germinal" real accomplishment is to show that naturalism doesn't translate well into film. When confined within a book, the excesses of naturalist imagery are effective, forcing each reader to envision even the most appalling sights. When overwhelming a movie, this excess--ceaselessly flogging the senses--deadens, and the audience emerges from the darkness of the film to the darkness outside stultified, not enlightened.