Until the elusive day when I might put to cyberpaper my humble thoughts on Alain Resnais´ Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) I doubt I'll have again the opportunity of honouring the MacMahonian tradition of titling blog entries with song titles from the 2nd Golden Age of Pop (1978-1983, which The MacMahonian arbitrarily extends to roughly 1975-1985, when not further) eponymously. Another reason for me to thank once more the Institut Français Pékin.
Les Yeux sans Visage was the 2nd feature film directed by Georges Franju, otherwise lifetime archivist of the Cinematéque Francaise, in which capacity he did things for which film lovers have much more to thank than they normally suppose, since the limelight was mostly, if for admittedly deserved historical reasons, on Henri Langlois. Of Franju's previous output I recall seeing only the most violent film I ever saw, the harrowingly beautiful Le Sang des Bêtes (1949), about Paris's abattoirs.
Les Yeux sans Visage tells the faustian story of Dr Genessier (Pierre Brasseur), a medical doctor assisted by his wife (Alida Valli) in kidnapping and murdering young women with the intent of transplanting their faces into the Dr's daughter, Chistiane (Edith Scob) horribly disfigured in a car crash implicitly imputed to her father's compulsive control freakiness. Such state of affairs could of course never come to any good and Dr Genessier eventually (spoiler alert) literally goes to the dogs.
Les Yeux sans Visage needs to be seen to be believed. Almost totally nocturnal, it looks more like a 30s German movie than a 60s French one, although a deceptive layer of pre-Nouvelle Vague naturalism occasionally intersperses with the super exposed photography and contrasted lighting to devolve it its frenchness. Its wonders (script, photography, editing, acting) are legion, but to me the morceau de bravure is its ability to inspire sympathy for the Devil, his cruelty, stuffiness and self-sufficiency somehow somewhat redeemed by fatherly love. We don't meet Dr Genessier's demise with pity, for sure, but neither with glee, rather with a sort of ecce homo there but for the grace bemusement.
See Les Yeux sans Visage whenever you get the chance and live a little.