The setting: World War II. The Germans have occupied France. The Nazi propaganda machine has helped establish the Continental Films studio, charged with producing viewer-friendly concoctions for the French populace, anything to keep them happy and content and controlled. Enter Henri-Georges Clouzot (Diabolique), a director who gets his start under the Continental umbrella, producing nice films but gradually creating more subversive, darkly symbolic films that, while celebrated, eventually brought him condemnation and lasting governmental blacklisting. Le Corbeau is perhaps the most potent of Clouzet's social commentaries, cloaking inside a noir mystery a pointed attack on the distortion of French society under German rule.

In the quiet French town of Saint-Roman—actually, the film insists with a wink, this story could happen in any small town—moody Dr. Remy Germain (Pierre Fresnay) presides over the local hospital and quietly enjoys an adulterous relationship with Laura Vorzet (Micheline Froney), the young wife of an older doctor, Michel Vorzet (Pierre Larquey). The affair seems to be common knowledge to everyone in the town, even the cuckolded husband, who speaks in seemingly bemused tones with Germain, occasionally skirting the subject. But mostly, we get a vibe of disapproval from the frowning townspeople, particularly embodied by Laura's sister, Nurse Marie Corbin (Héléne Manson). After the nosy nurse finds a letter to Laura in Germain's jacket pocket, a black cloud seems to descend on the town—in the form of The Raven (Le Corbeau), an anonymous poisoned pen who writes vicious to key residents of Saint-Roman, exposing nasty secrets and fueling gossip.

Who's the culprit? What's the identity of the person infecting the town with hate and paranoia? Is it Denise Saillens (Ginette Leclerc), curiously hobbled glamour girl who's also pursuing Germain? Is it the always-lurking schoolgirl (Liliano Maigné) with the crooked smile? Is it Germain himself? The mystery at the film's surface—loosely based on a true story—serves as an effective top story, but the real meat of Le Corbeau is to be found in its dark heart. As paranoia mounts and hysteria rises, all because of a number of anonymous letters, the people of the town surge into antagonism and murderous intent and turn on each other like animals. Clouzet was clearly commenting on the Nazi concept of informing, as well as the hateful consequences. In the film, as well as in society at the time, an anonymous letter could destroy a person's reputation and, at worst, his life.

The cast is uniformly terrific. Fresnay is a brooding fellow, perfect as the target of the town's wrath. Manson radiates petty evil in her role as the suspicious nurse. I was especially taken with Maigné, who does a sensational job as a young girl who seems innocent but who finds herself the target of our own suspicion—and she's got a weirdly disturbing weeping scene that casts her in a particularly strange light.

Criterion presents Le Corbeau in an accurate full-frame transfer of the film's original 1.33:1 theatrical presentation. I was pleasantly surprised by the level of detail in this effort—particularly close-up detail. Although you get inevitable grain and flicker, sharpness and clarity are quite impressive. Criterion has digitally restored this old film—getting rid of flaws and excess grain—and the results will bring a smile to any fan's face.

The disc presents the original French mono soundtrack, which Criterion has also spent some restoration effort on. This track won't impress you as thoroughly as the video presentation. Although imperfections have been smoothed over, there's no getting around the fact that the track's fidelity suffers. This is a tinny, hissy effort, with often-distorted highs. Thankfully, though, dialog (of which there's quite a lot) has a natural feel and succumbs to harshness only at the high end.

You also get retranslated English subtitles.

Criterion gives us an illuminating but modest selection of extras. First up is the 21-minute Bertrand Tavernier Interview, conducted in 2002. Tavernier is a French film director who made Safe Passage, a film about the French film industry during the German occupation of France. He has some very illuminating things to say (in English) about how the film was attacked and misunderstood when it debuted. The film was too accurate a profile of liberation-era French citizens, and they were reluctant to be reminded of their character during the war as "informers." Tavernier also talks about the state-mandated censorship that the film endured, and devotes some of his time to Clouzet's direction—the man definitely had an eye for social context. Unfortunately, this piece is presented at an extremely low volume, so you'll have to crank up that knob.

The 8-minute Excerpts from The Story of French Cinema by Those Who Made It is a French TV production from 1975, and although it's not quite as illuminating as the Tavernier interview, it features a rare glimpse of Clouzet himself. Clouzet talks about his use of suspense to keep his audience involved with his message, and interestingly, he talks about how the Germans hated the film because it warned against informing.

Criterion also provides a Trailer that has seen better days, as well as a fascinating selection of critical essays in an included booklet.

Social commentary cloaked in film noir, Le Corbeau is a fascinating piece of French intrigue—particularly in light of the history behind it. Criterion gives us a terrific presentation, with as-good-as-possible image and sound quality, and a few enlightening extras.