Made in 1968, Maurice Pialat's debut
feature L'Enfance Nue (Naked Childhood) remains
an affecting portrait of an under-discussed social issue that has never
been amenable to easy answers or even comfortable dialogue. Processing
certain aspects of the French New Wave through his own rather spartan
cinematic prism, Pialat, who began his filmmaking career as a documentarian,
portrays the turbulent youth of a foster child in a sequence of contrasting
events that highlight both the promise of a human life and its fragile
need for unconditional love. Pialat's film retains its painful
immediacy both because it was crafted with such careful, touching restraint,
and because the topic of "unwanted" children remains a near-taboo
in the public sphere.
A simple plotline conveyed in an economical
83 minutes, L'Enfance Nue tracks François Fournier
(an appropriately enigmatic Michel Terrazon) from one foster family
- the Joignys, who fear him - to another - the Thierrys, a pair
of grandparents who provide closer, more caring attention. Despite
a criminal streak that he can't quite fully shake, we witness François
develop the ability to (mostly) distinguish right from wrong and identify
who has his best interests at heart. Helping him along this path
is the ardent bond he forms with Mrs. Thierry's ancient mother, Nana
(Marie Marc), a spirited old woman who sees François for who he is
- an intelligent young boy, not just a problem to be "solved."
And in this last thought lies the crux
of Pialat's argument - a position that is suggested ever so gracefully
and without an ounce of uncinematic pedantry or polemic. Yet the
treatment of François as a "problem" can arguably be seen as the
root of his unspoken inner struggle. Between the agency responsible
for his foster care and his first set of foster parents - not to mention
his birth parents, who are evidently still around but unwilling or unable
to raise their son - François is surrounded by an adult atmosphere
of mistrust and anxiety. No one, until the Thierrys come along,
is willing to treat him like the 10-year-old boy that he is. Instead,
he is handled like a volatile time bomb that could go off at any minute;
and that, indeed, is how he accordingly behaves - terrorizing cats
and schoolmates, stealing watches, and throwing rocks at passing cars.
Terrazon was perfectly cast.
His cute, ferret-like face has an elasticity that can simultaneously
harbor charm, love, and the desire to commit potentially dangerous mischief.
His François is as unpredictable as the film's adults believe him
to be, but when he is in the presence of that all-important unconditional
affection - as with Nana - we see the unmitigated goodness beneath
a troubled surface.
Despite Pialat's belief in a basic
goodness at Francois's core, this does not emerge in an easy-to-swallow
way. The film concludes on a note of skeptical hope. Although
François shows signs of a growing maturity, he remains erratically
misbehaved, and the Thierrys come close to giving up on him. Still,
his native intelligence and regard for the Thierrys give him something
to build on - we only hope that the faceless institutions he must
rely upon will not let him down once again.
This beautiful enhanced 1.66:1 transfer by the folks at The Criterion
Collection boasts rich color amid the gritty suburban settings chosen
by Pialat. Costumes and interior walls are often brightly colored,
in contrast to the grim outdoor locations. Detail is extraordinarily
strong, as well, with no digital artifacts to speak of. The tight
photography by Claude Beausoleil is efficient and deceptively simple.
This low-budget, 42-year-old film looks fantastic.
The monaural soundtrack has been attentively cleaned of hiss and
other signs of age. It's a spare, clear track that favors dialogue
and gets the job done.
The Criterion Collection has assembled a very nice selection of
extras for this single-disc release. We begin with the 1969 documentary
Autour de "L'Enfance Nue" (52:29), which parallels the
production of the feature with a report on the state of the French foster
care system. It's eye-opening journalism, and is itself clearly
indebted to the New Wave style. Next up is a short documentary
directed by Pialat in 1960 called L'Amour
Existe (19:53) that chronicles the depressingly stagnant life of
young people growing up in the suburbs of Paris. It's thoughtfully
photographed and intelligently constructed. Next is a short video
discussion by Kent Jones (11:13) of L'Enfance
Nue. This is followed by an interview of Maurice
Pialat (15:35) himself, dating from 1973. The filmmaker talks
about his approach and his purpose in making L'Enfance
Nue. Finally, Arlette
Langmann and Patrick Grandperret (6:24) talk about Pialat in a piece
made in 2003, on the occasion of Pialat's death. Langmann co-scripted
L'Enfance Nue and Grandperret was an assistant director.
In content, style, and significance,
Maurice Pialat's L'Enfance
Nue hasn't aged a day. It remains an emotionally potent
portrait of a childhood on the cusp of disaster. Pialat leaves
François's fate open-ended, just as the nature of foster care systems
everywhere remain fraught with unanswered questions of purpose and efficacy.
The Criterion Collection has put together a stellar technical and supplemental
package in addition to the fine feature. Highly Recommended.
Casey Burchby lives in Northern California: Twitter, Tumblr.