L’HORLOGER DE SAINT-PAUL (The Clockmaker) (105')
by Bertrand Tavernier
cast: Philippe Noiret, Jean Rochefort, Jacques Denis, Yves Afonso
France, 1974
Print courtesy of Studiocanal
Introduced by Michele Gottardi
L’Horloger de Saint-Paul marked Bertrand Tavernier’s astonishing directorial debut and its power has endured over time, for good reason: the story of a father and a son, its universal secret, is told in a language of cinema that is also pure Simenon. The meticulous analysis of an “ordinary” crime leads out of the abyss into an insight into the most important relationships in life. The focus of this “ordinary” story is the lack of dialogue between the clockmaker Michel Descombes and his son Bernard. The security guard of a factory has been killed, and Bernard has fled with his girlfriend Liliane, whom his father has never met. In other words, the father knows nothing about his son. The policeman understands something more, but has his limitations, as does the defence lawyer, who sees this as a “crime of passion” (as a reaction to harassment or even rape). When he is found, Bernard says only that the “pig” got what he deserved. The young fugitives are convicted. They talk about having a baby and establishing a family. Father and son finally make contact, through the prison bars. The chain of events remains fundamentally inexplicable. Words could only ruin an authentic form of closeness. A touching dedication appears in the closing credits: “To Jacques Prévert”. The title role is played by Philippe Noiret, fated to become Tavernier’s favourite actor. Trudging forward he seems almost expressionless, but this is precisely how he is able to effectively convey an inner chain of events. Equally essential is the contribution of the cinematographer Pierre-William Glenn: the all-encompassing presence of his camera, which moves fluidly ever deeper into the secret bonds between the characters, is compelling from the very first fascinating and enigmatic shot of an automobile in flames, seen from a train window, in the night. (Peter von Bagh)
