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""Mind you, it's very hard to work with a foreign language crew and cast. It's a double effort, But I did it because Philippe de Broca came over to London and just talked to me about it, and the idea appealed to me so much that I didn't even read the script before I agreed. And of course, I liked his films -- I'd seen about three.

He was very disappointed that "Le Roi de Coeur" wasn't at all received in France. That was strange -- it did very well in New York and London in the limited art areas.

I think it was slightly too fantastic. The mad element of those people should have been more intense, more real. Then the moral of the film would have really worked. It was a bit too much of a fairy story. Beautifully done, of course -- very light. And the sequence of the mad people taking over the town was marvelous. That poetic style wasn't really held right through. It was full of smashing things, but it came scene by scene and one lost the thread, and only in that sequence did it fully realise itself. The madman going into the church and putting on the bishop's robes and sitting alone there with a pigeon -- that was a marvelous image, very movingly done."

...I don't think the full backward nudity was completely new to cinema then; but to Bates... "It felt new, I can tell you. To me it was a very witty way to end that story. It seemed absolutely right, although it was a bit hair-raising at the time, in the middle of a French town on location, with as many people watching as could get near enough."

- Alan Bates
Films & Filming,
June 1971
.

 

f i l m

Le roi de coeur
(King of Hearts), 1966

KING OF HEARTS is a whimsical comic parable by French director Philippe de Broca. Set in the French countryside during World War I, the film focuses on a Scottish soldier, Private Plumpick (Alan Bates), who comes to prefer the charmingly eccentric insanity inside a local lunatic asylum to the full-scale insanity of modern civilization at war outside.

KING OF HEARTS is undoubtedly the best and the best-known film of French director Philippe de Broca. Although it was a commercial failure and received mixed reviews when it was first released, KING OF HEARTS became a cult classic. Audiences took it to heart, returning to see it again and again at revival cinemas; the film reportedly played for several years at one theater in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and became a similar favorite in Seattle and Portland.
The antiwar sentiments of de Broca's World War I parable certainly contributed to the film's popularity at the time of the United States' disillusionment with Vietnam, but these sentiments do not entirely explain it. The appeal of KING OF HEARTS has transcended contemporary vogue or passing political trends, touching a chord in the hearts and minds of those who have fallen under its spell and enduring through the years.
The genesis of KING OF HEARTS can be traced to de Broca's own military experience, when he served as an army newsreel cameraman. He claimed that it was Algeria that shifted his interest to comedy, after which he decided that the real world was simply too ugly. The actual idea for KING OF HEARTS came from a brief news article about fifty French mental patients who had been killed by the Germans during World War I after their hospital had been bombed. They had dressed themselves in the uniforms of dead American soldiers and were wandering through the countryside when the Germans shot them by mistake.
As with many of his films, de Broca spins an enchanting story from the slightest of premises. The opening credits of this film appear over the sounds and dark shapes of clockwork gears, as the titles synchronously wind into view in a clever visual design. The dimly lit, ominous figure of a knight in armor is recognizable in the shadows and strikes the hour with its mace, thereby planting a clue at the outset about the solution of the mystery which runs through the film.

- The Story -

It is October, 1918, in a small town in France. At dawn, several German soldiers finish running a line of wire from the clock tower in the village square, under the paving stones, to a concrete bunker in the center, in which several huge bombs are visible before the blockhouse is sealed with cement.
In an apartment nearby, the bald, monocled, mustachioed Prussian General von Krack (played by de Broca's screenwriter, Daniel Boulanger) is having his head shaved by the local barber while he confides his strategy to his adjutant, Lieutenant Hamburger (Marc Dudicourt). The Germans plan to evacuate the town, leaving it mined with munitions, then blow it sky-high when the advancing allies arrive to occupy it."Sir Lancelot chimes at midnight," they gloat secretively as they prepare to leave.(A young Private Adolf Hitler appears briefly, shouting, "Shall we burn the town, sir?" "Later, Adolf, later," the general replies, much to Hitler's disappointment.)
The barber, who has overheard the plans, spreads word among the townspeople of the danger, telling them to flee. Returning to his shop, the barber, who is a spy for the Resistance, uses a concealed wireless to contact the Allies. Using the code phrase, "Why don't mackerels like potatoes?" he communicates part of the message, including the warning, "Sir Lancelot chimes at midnight," before he is discovered and shot by the retreating German soldiers.
The commander of the Scottish regiment, who receives the warning, Colonel MacBibenbrook (Adolfo Celi), who is a red-haired, blundering, tea-sipping parody of a British officer, decides to send a scout to ascertain the situation, find the explosives, and disarm them. He chooses shy Private Plumpick (Alan Bates), an ornithologist who reads the works of William Shakespeare to his carrier pigeons.
Carrying a cage with two pigeons, Private Plumpick approaches the nearly abandoned village. He is spotted by a few remaining German soldiers and chased to an insane asylum, where Plumpick disguises himself as one of the inmates, who have been left behind by the villagers. Taking refuge behind a magnificent house of cards built by two patients who identify themselves as Bishop Hollyhocks (Julien Guiomar) and the Duke of Clubs (Jean-Claude Brialy), Plumpick tells the Germans that he is the "King of Hearts." The inmates instantly accept his word and proclaim to the others that the King has returned.
The Germans leave in fear, as though insanity were contagious, and Plumpick cautiously follows. The lunatics discover that the gates to the asylum have been left open and wander into the town as gleefully as children escaping from school, their wooden shoes clattering excitedly over the cobblestones. Georges Delerue's beautiful, haunting music begins as a wondrous transformation takes place. Bishop Hollyhocks enters a cathedral, finding the scarlet robes and miters in the sacristy. Another inmate, a wan, disheveled woman, Mme Eglantine (Micheline Presle), brushes the dust from a vanity mirror in a bombed-out building, peers at her face, and uses makeup from a drawer to paint her lips and eyes, magically becoming a seductive courtesan. A third invalid, clutching a naked doll whose hairless pate he had compulsively combed in the ward, goes into the abandoned barber's shop, dons a white smock and pompadour wig, and assumes his role. Another becomes a "general" in a circus ringmaster's uniform and opens the animal cages, setting the occupants free (just as he has been liberated). The "Duke of Clubs," elegantly attired in morning coat, top hat, and carrying a cane, escorts his lovely "duchess" (Francoise Christophe), shaded by a parasol (the two momentarily posing in one of de Broca's wonted still-life tableaux before strolling off together like an animated Impressionist painting). The music builds to a crescendo of rapture over several aerial shots of the tranquil town whose sunlit splendor makes it seem enchanted.
Plumpick finds the streets filled with peculiar inhabitants, including a dancing girl in circus costume, an aviator, vintage gendarmes, and an albino camel. Puzzled, he makes his way to the barber shop, where he assumes that the proprietor, M. Marcel (Michel Serrault), is the Resistance agent and gives him the code phrase, "Why don't mackerels like potatoes?" The crazy barber replies with equal logic that he would bet that some of them do. Plumpick finds it odd that the barber pays his customers and is told that he hates to see the shop empty. When Plumpick surreptitiously asks where the Germans are, the barber answers that he does not know, and shouts helpfully, "Any Germans here?" Plumpick shushes him, but the barber offers the fool's wisdom that "if one talks loud enough, no one ever listens."
Seeking more information about the hidden munitions, Plumpick finds General Geranium (Pierre Brasseur) at the circus, but fares no better in another nonsensical conversation. Plumpick gravely inquires what "Sir Lancelot strikes at midnight" signifies. The general strokes his beard and informs him that midnight is the middle of the night. Plumpick suddenly notices that the lion's cage is open and that one of the big cats is lounging inside, and he hurriedly slams the door shut. It is only then that the lion attacks, trying to get out as Plumpick locks the bolt in the nick of time. The general, however (like all the lunatics in the town), remains blissfully unaware of any danger, protected by his perfect innocence - a theme reminiscent of Marcel Carne's LES ENFANTS DU PARADIS (1945; CHILDREN OF PARADISE), when the wife of the mime Baptiste says that he is like a dreamer sleepwalking on the rooftops. If one calls to him and awakens him, he will fall, but leaving him alone will ensure that he returns home safe and sound.

- The Germans Arrive -

Plumpick soon realizes that all the town's inhabitants are strange dreamers, and sends two messages back to headquarters via his carrier pigeons. The first, describing what he has found, sounds like gibberish to the Scottish colonel, who believes that his campaign is now in the hands of a lunatic. The second message is intercepted by the Germans. They are alarmed to learn that the bunker has disappeared, and return to have a look.
In the village, Plumpick sees the men sneaking into Mme Eglantine's bordello and follows them. He tries to warn the courtesan of their danger, but she, too, is unfazed. She tells him that "all they have is the present, and there is nothing else to own." She offers Plumpick a young virgin, Columbine (Genevieve Bujold), to whom he is attracted. She asks him what he desires, and he replies, "A simple loss of memory." Columbine smiles and leads him upstairs, but before she can grant his wish, the King of Hearts is whisked away to the cathedral for his coronation, conveyed in a carriage that is festooned with ostrich plumes and drawn by a white camel.
The Germans arrive during this bizarre processional and are greeted with cheers and confetti. While the bordello whores sing in the cathedral choir for the coronation, Plumpick watches the soldiers, following them to the square where they check the tower and camouflaged bunker.
Meanwhile, the barber and the general hijack two of the German armored vehicles and race around the village, chasing each other. Plumpick watches from the tower as the soldiers take flight, then rings the carillon bells like Salvatore Quasimodo, laughing madly and descending to the ground on a rope. When he tries to break into the bunker and defuse the explosives, the blockhouse remains impenetrable. The lunatics gather to watch his futile efforts, and the king chastises them, yelling that they are all going to die unless he can find the clock wired to the fuse. His subjects dutifully bring him a vast array of antique timepieces, setting them at his feet.

- "Who made you a king?" -

With no other recourse, Plumpick, seated astride a white horse, tries to lead the inhabitants away from the doomed town. As they reach the city gates, Dilerue's musical theme stops, replaced by the distant thunder of war, and the inmates shrink back, urging the king to stay with them. They warn him that the countryside is full of wild beasts, and that "there is murder in their hearts." Plumpick wants to leave, but cannot; the sight of the pitiful figures on the village walls causes him to return."Long live the king, on my word as a duke!" the duke proclaims."Who made you a duke?" Plumpick asks querulously."Who made you a king?" the duke answers evenly."But my poor friend, you were all in the nuthouse only a few hours ago," Plumpick continues, ruefully trying to pierce their complacency. "Jealous?" the duke inquires, "And where were you yesterday?" The logic of the lunatics is unassailable.
Unable to save them or abandon them, Plumpick resigns himself to enjoying the remaining time with Columbine in a bedroom before a crackling fireplace. The others promenade across the lawns in the setting sunlight, while the duke and duchess rest contentedly on a park bench. As midnight approaches, Plumpick sighs that he has only three minutes left to live. Columbine's face lights up at the wonder of such a precious gift. Then by chance she happens to tell him about the knight inside the clock who will strike the hour. Plumpick suddenly divines the mystery of Sir Lancelot and hurriedly climbs the tower. Struggling with the mechanical knight, he stops the fateful blow with his head and averts the catastrophe at the last moment.

 


The Scottish soldiers watching the town see midnight pass with no explosion and enter the village as victors, celebrating with a dazzling display of fireworks. The retreating Germans spot the skyrockets, and, believing that their plan has succeeded, also return.
At dawn, the Germans march into the square as the Scots move out, almost missing each other. Then Columbine tosses a fateful bouquet which draw the attention of both sides. They quickly form up and shoot at one another, down to the two commanders, whose horses peacefully gallop off together. The general remarks that they seem to be overdoing
it a bit.
Wearying of the game, and with more Allied forces approaching, the inmates return to the asylum, shedding their costumes along the way. The town is reoccupied and the townspeople take up their normal places again. Private Plumpick, the sole survivor of the massacre, is awarded a medal and sent back into action immediately. The Germans are holding another village, he is told by a new commanding officer, and they are going to blow it sky high.
This final irony is the last straw for Plumpick, who deserts from a troop truck. Shedding his uniform, as the inmates did their clothing, he rings for admission at the gates of the asylum, standing naked before the startled nuns and holding only his caged pigeon. Between the gentle insanities of those within and the horrifyingly real ones without, he prefers the former.

- Harmless Dreamers -

KING OF HEARTS has a gemlike quality, a poetic fragility as beautiful and evanescent as the elaborate house of cards the inmates build. De Broca's lunatics are harmless dreamers who are more eccentric than seriously disturbed. Like Shakespeare's wise fools, they possess a greater understanding of life than those who are supposedly sane. Their calm acceptance of impending death and their refusal to share Plumpick's fear demonstrate a nobility of soul. They cheerfully renounce the mortal obsession with tomorrow in favor of enjoying the moment. Unwilling to face a world which terrifies and confuses them, they retreat instead to the realm of the imagination, where they can be whoever and whatever they want.
De Broca artfully and cinematically differentiates their universe from the "real" one. Unlike the individualistic free spirits of the mental patients, the soldiers of both armies are bound by rigid conformity, following orders blindly, against their wishes and against common sense. Their drab uniforms and barren surroundings are photographed in dark, monochromatic tones as opposed to the colorful costumes and profusion of lavish fin de siecle ornamentation which surrounds the lunatics. Even the frenetic behavior of the military is counterpointed by the leisurely, florid nature and lilting poetic speeches of the mad. Plumpick, the man in between, who has found a doomed paradise, is both tender and whimsical, delightful and melancholy at the same time. This bittersweet contrast is a de Broca trademark, giving an unusual resonance to his pictures.
The film is built from a series of brief vignettes and episodes, approaching the story from every angle rather than attempting to tell a larger story on a broader scale. As with most of de Broca's works, the slender premise of KING OF HEARTS is deceptively simple. The fragments are strung together in chains of irony and humor, whose cumulative effect remains memorable as an epiphany in the mind of the viewer.

©Magill's Survey of Cinema, 06-15-1995.

 

 


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