Friday 20 September 2013

The Life of Emile Zola, Film, No. 5



From now on this pre-World War II Hollywood film on “The Life of Emile Zola” becomes a depiction of the Dreyfus Affair, except that what it has to be say about Alfred Dreyfus is almost nothing and it puts Zola in the centre of history.  This is an American perspective.  Because Alfred the Jew was quickly put out of the way of the important events from his first court martial in 1894 to the second revision of that military tribunal in 1899, the movie-makers do not see his life, his character, his writings or his relationship with his wife as meaningful in terms of how Americans should prepare themselves for the impending world conflagration.  It is Zola who they shift to centre-stage.  The individual,. According to the American myth, rouses himself from his lethargy, puts himself on the line, and thus following his dream of ideals—Truth and Justice—bravely saves France, that is, the world.  However much they distort the images and words of real history, the power of Dreyfus’ refusal to capitulate to the demons within his soul and his wife’s loyalty to him, never doubting for an instant his innocence, that reality cannot be totally squashed out of the film.

Scene 24
Anatole France reports to Zola on what he has seen at the degradation ceremony and that he is convinced such a man who could maintain his dignity under such circumstances cannot be a traitor.  Zola is still unmoved.  To him the case against Dreyfus has no significance: a little Jew found guilty by important military men, what is there to get excited about?  Then the screen fills with a photograph of Dreyfus seen on front page of newspaper.[i]  This whole scene seems a total concoction to set Zola up as the reluctant prophet and hero, and yet the picture of Alfred Dreyfus lingers in the mind as a reminder of what is really at stake: not the preservation of the old national values of France, but the new principles of tolerance, integrity and the need to confront evil head on.

Scene 25
In a prison, perhaps the Cherche-Midi where the prisoner was really kept before and after the court martial, until he began his journey into exile. Dreyfus summoned by a guard, looks for glasses and goes anxiously to meet Lucie.  They are, however, kept apart by cruel regulations.  Lucie is worried about Alfred’s appearance and she begs the attendant to be able to embrace her husband.  Why are these jailors cruel and uncaring? Is it merely normal; protocol to treat prisoners like beasts, or is there something more sinister, in the hatred of Jews, the confirmed prejudice that they can never be trusted, that there is a need for good Frenchmen to treat these aliens with contempt?   Lucie denounces their conduct.  Then, knowing that her husband is depressed and that the higher echelons in the Army want to provoke him into a suicide that would confirm his guilt, she begs Alfred to keep strong and not give in to despair.  She tells him, “As long as we have each other and the children to love,” they will survive.  This articulate Lucie should be the centre of the film—not Zola’s reluctant and awkward denunciation of the offenders in his famous J’accuse (I accuse) open letter.  The couple vow love to one another, but nothing is cleared up about what kind of love it is that  will keep Alfred sane, his mind active, and preserve and enhance their struggle to vindicate his name.  Dreyfus marched back to his cell, given a bundle, and told he is being sent into exile. This whole scene seems fairly accurate but more in spite of itself than as an intentional exploration of the motives behind the persecution or the inner strengths of the Dreyfus family to maintain their dignity and commitment to Jewish values; and yet here more than anywhere else the film hints at the inner strength and love of the couple which is otherwise neglected in the overt action and explicit speeches.

Scene 26
The screen fills up with a map of Devil’s Island off coast of South America, though there is hardly time enough to see what it shows: not a prison colony on the mainland or even a small cluster of huits where transported criminals live out their exile through hard labour, but a tiny rocky plade, once a leper colony, and now reconstituted for Dreyfus as the one and only priosner, alone except for wardens who are forbidden to speak to him but instructed to keep a close record of everything he does and writes..  Then a photograph of his little stone hut, lacking in almost all amenities, and designed to be uncomfortable, insalubrious and humiliating.  Later after a false rumour of a plot to effect an escape for Dreyfus, he is moved to a smaller hut, surrounded by a high palisade so as not to view the Atlantic Ocean, and where he is to shackled to his bed at night, while still under constant surveillance. Then caption of 1895 and a sketch of the second hut with palisade to block view of the sea.  Then a caption of 1896 with more guards assigned to watch over him.  Then the caption of 1897, and an image of Alfred, a broken, white-haired man, who shouts “I am innocent.”  These highly stylized images seem to come out of George Méliès’ early mockumentary films.  Again, against the apparently overt theme of the motion picture to see in Alfred Dreyfus merely the occasion for Zola’s courageous stand at his trial, these unrealistic fabrications by the pioneer film-maker Méliès provide a different matrix of reality, one that takes account of the agony Alfred lived through and his supreme intellectual efforts to maintain his mental equilibrium. 


Scene 27
The focus shifts back to Paris.  Out of the blue, it seems, Col. Picquart reveals to the Head of Staff that he has new documentary proof of Dreyfus’s innocence in the matching handwriting of Esterhazy and that on the borederau.  The general refuses to hear of it, says there will be no more trials of espionage in the Army, and orders Picquart to keep silent.  After Picquart leaves the room, furthermore, the general confers with fellow officers, who all decide to have Picquart sent to Algeria to get him out of the way.  They also decide to do something about Esterhazy, not to have him punished for the crimes Dreyfus was accused of, but to give him a mock court martial to clear his name and thus to divert public attention away from their own subterfuge and corruption.  Though some of this scene is partly based on the facts of history, it is done without explaining what kind of man Piquart was and why the turn from being a pure anti-Semite like his fellows, this commitment to duty—and the respect for the truth as against his instinctive prejudices against the man Dreyfus—did so much to reverse much puboic opinion in favour of the Jewish officer.   He moves to the centre of the film as the co-heroic figure along with Zola, but only for a moment; his ordeal, his court martial, with a guilty verdict, and his dismissal from the Army are not disclosed to the audience.  Certainly the scene casts the generals into a very wicked light, though it  is a work of fiction, however: another case of condensation and distortion in order to simplify the situation. 

Scene 28
In the next scene, a court martial finds Esterhazy innocent of treason; he is congratulated by crowd of fellow officers. The grotesque irony is patent.  Yet there are huge gaps in the story of the Affair so that this whitewashing of Esterhazy is without a proper context.  He is being set up as a melodramatic stage villain.

Scene 29
In this last movement of preparation for the climactic and thematic core of the film, Lucie is seen arriving at Zola’s house to plead for his help on behalf of Alfred.[ii]   Inside, seated at his desk, Zola is reading a note from Anatole France confirming he will be elected a member of the Académie Française, the height of his life-long ambitions.  Emile tells Alexandrine now he has “nothing more to desire”.  He is smug and self-satisfied.  However, at this precise moment, a butler announces the arrival of Madam Dreyfus.  Zola is clearly upset because he has studiously avoided any involvement with the whole case, now already known as the Dreyfus Affair, but feels as a gentleman he must welcome her.   She pleads that no one else will talk with her and that she has a large number of documents proving Alfred’s innocence, including Picquart’s papers.  Still annoyed by her intrusion, Emile asks what she wants him to do; and she says “Nothing but to speak the truth.” As he is dismissing her, Zola says, “Only a fool would accuse the whole general staff.”  After her departure, he stares at the packet placed on his desk and convinces himself he must act. He reads the documents Lucie leaves behind, and then weighs up his ambitions and his old ideals of duty.[iii] While a nice view of Lucie’s astute sense of how to win over Zola and a tribute to her love and loyalty to her husband, this is pure fiction.  But it allows the director of the film to show Zola undergoing his conversion from bumbling fool to hero of the cause.




[i] Here the radio play condenses and cuts down many scenes from the film.  Anatole France, after finding Zola at first reluctant to be interested in Dreyfus, remarks of the courage in the degradation scene, that “all he needed was a crown of thorn”, that is, to appear as a Christ-like martyr.

[ii] In the radio play this scene occurs right after Anatole France’s visit.  There is no reference to Zola’s probable election to the Académie française. Most importantly, Lucie argues her case to Zola who then also talks himself into giving aid.  She stresses her despair, outlines the concerns of her family, especially the two young children, and develops the thought of her dear husband condemned to a living death.  Then, breaking whatever link there might be from this vision of Lucie acting as the instrumental agent of Zola’s turn-about from smug ness to zealous commitment, immediately after reading the documents Lucie left behind, he writes J’accuse, which he then reads out, in part, to Alexandrine.  He recalls to her Cézanne’s words, concludes his old friend was right, so that it is now time to act.  He completes the scene by pronouncing “Truth is on the march.” 

[iii] This follows immediately on Zola’s reading of his famous letter as an attack on his house rather than on the newspaper office.

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