French War Films and National Identity By Noah McLaughlin

mill about on an empty field and then swiftly form ranks to spell out the film’s title. “J’Accuse!” is a collective cry that simultaneously assaults with its acrimony and inspires spectacular awe with its scale. Personal and collective, it immediately provides a clue about both the film’s tone and content. Gance next proceeds to situate the film twice. After providing a subtitle of “Tragédie cinématographique des temps modernes,” he declares his raison d’être: “Puisque les poètes se taisent il nous faut de toutes pièces créer des tragédies pour les yeux.” J’Accuse is thus positioned in a variety of ways. It places itself within the tragic and poetic genres, albeit ones interpreted by the camera. Our temporal reference is also established. He certainly does not use the loaded term “moderne” casually; it is a time frame and a frame of mind.

The final portion of the opening sequence serves as poetic dramatis personae. ²⁸ The main characters are presented in a brief series of portraits, three of which are transformational in nature. First we see Maria-Lazare, whose stern image dissolves into a pair of crossed swords. Next, François Poitin’s manically laughing visage becomes that of a barking dog. Jean Diaz melts from a portrait of idle repose to his final state of a haggard madman. Edith and Angèle follow but are not treated to any kind of special effect. They are merely presented, though their emoting certainly gives the spectator a good idea of their archetypal conduct: Edith, the innocent and fearful maiden; Angèle, the happy little girl. The first three portraits are poetic because of their manner of signification, which is abstract and metamorphic, more paradigmatic than syntagmatic. Maria-Lazare is associated with swords, those weapons of officers and older wars: he is the Warmonger. François, already a menacing, chauvinistic figure, can be labeled the Brute. His violence is domestic rather than military. Jean’s transformation is the only one that gives the spectator a bit of foreshadowing, playing up the “tragedy” already promised. One is even tempted to read this triptych as a brief narrative: two sorts of violence serve to render a peaceful man (a poet, even) tired, alone, and insane. Jean is the Christ-like Victim.

J’Accuse commences by subtly showing all of its cards, from theme to content and form. It even gives away the ending! The beginning is a