The transition from silent to sound proved quite a challenging one for French cinema. Considering that Leon Gaumont started to experiment with sound at the turn of the century, it is rather unfortunate that by the 1920s, practically all attempts to bring sound to film had ended in France. And by 1926, when Warner’s Don Juan came out in America, most French production companies still did not have the foresight to understand the full implications of Fox’ Movietone or Western Electric’s Vitaphone.

But foresight was not the only thing lacking within the French film industry throughout the 1920s. Indeed, several factors contributed to a slow transition to sound and to a passiveness that would result in ‘silent movies persisting well into the 1930s, and even towards the end of 1931 it has been estimated that less than a quarter of France’s 4500 cinemas had been converted to sound’.[1]

One of these factors was linked to the experiments in sound undertaken by Gaumont up to World War I. Certain types of sound films had therefore been showed in France for some years, but their substandard quality and the poor reaction that they engendered is exactly what prevented the whole industry and the populace from getting excited about it the second time around. Thus, because ‘France already knew sound films through Gaumont’s sound on disk experiments’[2], a sense of lethargy, a reluctance to jump into the race dominated the minds of French movie producers in the 1920s. Another contributing factor is that by that decade, France had become completely dependent on foreign sources for its film stock, and whereas in America and Germany, the powerful new electrical industries had been behind most of the push for innovation in the sound field, the French electrical industry in comparison was extremely slow to develop.[3]

In spite of all this, Leon Gaumont did make an attempt to join the race. But, not wanting to be dependent on foreign systems, he developed his own with two Danish engineers working in France. While technically adequate for a time, the Gaumont-Peterson-Poulsen system would quickly prove not commercially feasible. And even though the system did enable Gaumont in October 1928 to present the first French sound film (Marcel Vandal’s L’eau du Nil) before any American sound films could be released in France (Paramount showed Wings in December 1928 while Warner would only release the Jazz Singer in France in January 1929), the excitement would prove short lived.

The ever-increasing production of sound films by the Americans would increase demand by the French public to such levels that ‘French film producers were forced to initiate sound film projects as a regular feature of their production features. As a result, French film production fell steeply from 94 films in 28 to 52 in 29’.[4]

Towards the end of the 1920s, the largest French production companies became entangled in a series of takeovers and consolidations that would restructure the industry dramatically. While supposedly positioning the two newly formed conglomerates as powerful movie houses capable of competing with the Americans, this overhaul would also unfortunately contribute dramatically to their slow reaction towards the advent of sound. Even front-page articles entitled ‘Attention! We must not lag behind!’[5] as published by the French press of the time, would not be enough to change the situation.

Finally, perhaps more so than in any other countries, the arrival of sound had many critics in France. Talks of ‘savage invention’ were common and many feared that the treasures of the past would be lost. Rene Clair was one of those critics. Initially bashing the coming of sound as a ‘redoubtable monster, an unnatural creation’, and talking of  ‘the deplorable use our industrialists will not fail to make of it’[6], he nevertheless quickly understood that sound films were inevitable and that silent films would very soon become obsolete. In 1929, Cine Miroir quotes Clair as saying:
‘The current situation for producers and directors is a difficult one. On the one hand, the appeal of the talkies is such that silent films run the risk of being ignored by buyers. On the other hand, a French talkie cannot be sold abroad, and in France, there are only 3 theatres equipped to handle such movies. Talkies are the future…I admit it, I loved silent films, where visuals and movement were everything…Very soon, surely, all films will be films with sound. This is fine, and I am sure that we will get used to it quickly…’[7]

He thus turned his criticism away from the technology itself, and towards the way in which he thought sound should be used. Sound became a way for him to fight what he saw as a repetitious, conventional and non-creative trend in many French films of the 20s, a form of realism, which he believed the use of conformist and synchronous sound would only exacerbate.

In A Nous La Liberte, directed in 1931 (and, it is worth noting, produced by Tobis, the German film concern), Clair would put his theories into practice, as he had done with Le Million and Sous les Toits de Paris. Considered by many a masterpiece, many critics have focused on the film’s denunciation of capitalism and its attack on the dehumanization of the individual as a result of the advance of mechanization. The famous conveyor belt scene and its use five years later by Chaplin in “Modern Times” remains a classic way to highlight the repetitious and mind-numbing effects of Taylorism. And while many other aspects of the film are certainly deserving of praise, it is undoubtedly its use of sound that has contributed the most to its status as a masterpiece.

Throughout the film, Clair uses a mélange of various sound and musical techniques to create a rhythmic and wonderfully paced ballet. The movie is not a talkie in the sense that it relies on very limited and carefully chosen dialog. The dialogue comes in sporadically and usually serves only to explain the action or the plot, and only if necessary. This is the case for instance in the scene in which Louis, in a shoe store, decides to fake an attack on himself. This is the first time in the film that we hear spoken dialogue. However, even in this scene, the dialogue is far from being simply the ‘natural recording of a pre-existing reality’[8]. The voice calling for help is an acousmetic voice. A visualized acousmetic voice[9] to be precise, since we are already familiar with Louis’ character at the time. However, for a brief moment, it is unclear whether the voice comes from him or someone else, which only enhances the overall subterfuge. As Clair himself indicated: ‘It is often more interesting to see the face of the listener than that of the speaker’[10]. Over reliance on dialogue and dependence on the voice to explain the image turned out to be a standard practice in the early sound films, robbing most of these films of some or all of the magic they carried in the silent days. This overly literal application of the new sound medium was exactly what many critics feared in the late 1920s. In 1927, an article in Close Up speaks of the arrival of sound as a robotisation and argues that ‘the screen image, a mask, a sort of doll or marionette was somehow mechanized and robbed of the thing behind the thing that has grown to matter so much to the picture adept’[11].

By minimizing the amount of dialogue, Clair managed to keep the movie flowing at an appropriate rhythm and pace without loosing any of the narrative quality. During the prison scene at the beginning of the film, it is interesting to note that there is actually no dialogue, only singing and sound effects. And when the guard asks Emile a question, he immediately adds ‘quiet!’ before a response can be provided, thereby letting us know not only that prisoners are not allowed to talk, but also that the story does not need Emile’s answer to proceed. Just as visual designers are taught early on to welcome the use of negative space, Clair shows that directors must not fear silence in sound movies.

‘For the first time in a film, the talking comes in when it should and there isn’t too much of it. The action is so well integrated with the talking that it plays an indispensable role in the film without becoming obtrusive’.[12]
The musical score by Georges Auric is another powerful contribution to the overall innovation in the use of sound in A Nous la Liberte. Its upbeat tone perfectly accompanies the narrative, never taking over the visual image, but always enhancing it. Its rolling drums during the prison and factory scenes complement seamlessly the feeling of repetition, structure, and militaristic-type dehumanization already pressed upon us by the camera shots of the conveyor belt or of the men sitting, working and walking in unison. The score conveys menace, joy, excitement, confusion, sadness, apprehension but without never losing its overall sense of hope and freedom. More importantly, it never tries to carry the movie on its own or to offer explanations independently from the image.

Sound effects, perfectly integrated into the score, are used wisely, in generic ways such as wind, a siren, a whistle, an ‘ouch!’ or a royal trumpet to signal the arrival of the boss, or in more innovative ways such as the chants, cheers or clapping of an unseen crowd not immediately related to the image on the screen. New employees registering with the company must follow certain instructions given by what seems at first to be a singing voice. Based on the way in which singing has been used so far in the movie, we are initially (and for a brief moment) inclined to think that the voice comes from the men in the room, either the guards or the new employees. But its repetitious and automatic tone, in fact half sung, half spoken, brings about the realization that we, and the men, are dealing with recorded instructions. By playing with the human voice, Clair turned it into that of a robot’s. And when Emile finally does escape from prison, there is a brilliant scene in which he becomes mesmerized by the voice of a woman. This voice, coming from a building across the street, is like the chant of a siren, putting Emile in a state resembling a trance. From that moment on, all external sound is cut off. Only this enchanting voice remains. However, we soon find out, as does Emile, that the voice actually comes from a Phonograph. And when the record ends, Emile’s dream like state ends with it, and external sounds come back into the picture. By switching off all other sounds, Clair allowed us to be Emile, not to simply hear the singing as he did, but to perceive it as he did. ‘The image may retain the tempo of the world, while the sound strip follows the changing rhythm of the course of man’s perceptions, or vice versa. This is a simple and obvious form for counterpoint of sound and image.’[13]

Non-synchronous use of sound is really the overarching principle in this movie. Whether through turning all sound off and letting the image speak for itself, or by getting rid of the image while a song or sound continues or even by letting voices at times not being mapped to the lips showed on screen, Clair almost uses every trick in the book to move away as much as possible from a ‘realistic’ use of sound. And the result is pure delight. Towards the end of the movie, the speech about Louis and how remarkable he is, is adroitly cut and continued by comments from a different person located somewhere else, who is speaking of Louis’ weaknesses. This trick, so common today, is indicative of the creativity showed by Clair throughout the movie. And, at the end of the movie, as the camera rolls from the factory to the river, from the moment the camera crosses the prison walls silence turns into singing, indicating how freedom only lies on the outside. ‘It’s the alternate use of the image and of the sound it produces- and not their simultaneous use-which creates the best effects in the sound and talkie film’[14] Clair said.

The innovation with which Clair used sound in A Nous la Liberte is only as powerful as the creativity used in the visuals allows. Without Clair’s mastering of the visual medium and of the art of rhythm and narrative, this film would have never received the praise and recognition it did. In fact, it is likely that without Clair’s visual talent for storytelling and pantomime, the sound experiments in the film could have turned into heartless and soulless tricks, with an existence of their own, perhaps even regarded as the work of an amateur who did not understand the new medium. But it is probably this initial reluctance to embrace sound that actually provided him with the necessary desire to explore new possibilities and alternatives and to look at the strengths and weaknesses of the new medium in a way which was rare at the time.

Copyright © Eric Mahleb 2003

[1] Roy Armes, French Cinema (London: Secker & Warburg, 1985)

[2] Roger Icart, La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988). Translated by Eric Mahleb

[3] Argument discussed by Richard Abel in French Cinema, The First Wave 1915-1929 (Princetown University Press, 1984)

[4] Richard Abel, French Cinema, The First Wave 1915-1929 (Princetown University Press, 1984)

[5] ‘Attention! We must not lag behind’, Cinematographie Francaise, January 12, 1928 quoted in Roger Icart, La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988). Translated by Eric Mahleb

[6] Richard Abel, French Cinema, The First Wave 1915-1929 (Princetown University Press, 1984)

[7] Cine Miroir no. 218, June 7, 1929, quoted in Roger Icart, La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988). Translated by Eric Mahleb

[8] Roy Armes, French Cinema (London: Secker & Warburg, 1985)

[9] Michel Chion, The Voice in Cinema (N.Y, Chichester: Columbia University Press, 1999)

[10] Colin Crisp, The Classic French Cinema 1930-1960 (Indiana University Press, 1993)

[11] Close Up, Vol. I, no. 5, November 1927, quoted in James Donald, Anne Friedberg and Laura Marcus, Cinema & Modernity (eds) (London: Cassell, 1998)

[12] Jean Variot, Revue Bleue Politique et Litteraire, Nov. 5, 1932 quoted in Ronald H. Blumer (ed), The Critic’s view of Rene Clair, May 14, 1965

[13] V.I. Pudovkin, Asynchronism as a Principle of Sound Film

[14] Roy Armes, French Cinema (London: Secker & Warburg, 1985)

Bibliography

Abel Richard, French Cinema, The First Wave 1915-1929 (Princetown University Press, 1984)

Armes Roy, French Cinema (London: Secker & Warburg, 1985)

Blumer Ronald H. (ed), The Critic’s view of Rene Clair, May 14, 1965

Chion Michel, The Voice in Cinema (N.Y, Chichester: Columbia University Press, 1999)

Crisp Colin, The Classic French Cinema 1930-1960 (Indiana University Press, 1993)

Icart Roger, La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988)

Irby Franklin S., ‘International Relations in the Sound Picture Field’, Journal of the Society of Motion Picture Engineers’, p 739-748, December 1930

Ogle Patrick, ‘The Development of Sound Systems: the Commercial Era’, Film Reader, p198-211, 1977

Pudovkin V.I., ‘Asynchronism as a Principle of Sound Film’

Cinematographie Francaise, ‘Attention! We must not lag behind’, January 12, 1928 quoted in Roger Icart, La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988)

Cine Miroir, no. 218, June 7, 1929, quoted in Roger Icart (ed), La Revolution du Parlant, vue par la Presse Francaise (1988)

Close Up, vol. I, no. 5, November 1927, quoted in James Donald, Anne Friedberg and Laura Marcus, Cinema & Modernity (eds) (London: Cassell, 1998)

Birrel Francis, The New Statesman and Nation, February 20, 1932 quoted in Ronald H. Blumer (ed), The Critic’s view of Rene Clair, May 14, 1965

Eisenstein S.M., Pudovkin V.I., Alexandrov G.V., ‘A Statement’, quoted in Elizabeth Weis and John Belton (eds), Film Sound (NY: Columbia University Press, 1985)

Marshall Margaret, The Nation, June 8, 1932 quoted in Ronald H. Blumer (ed), The Critic’s view of Rene Clair, May 14, 1965

Variot Jean, Revue Bleue Politique et Litteraire, Nov. 5, 1932 quoted in Ronald H. Blumer (ed), The Critic’s view of Rene Clair, May 14, 1965

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