From Napoleon magazine No. 110
The recent release of Ridley Scott's film has shed light on previous adaptations of Napoleon's life. Over some hundred and thirty years of production, numerous films have been made, each presenting different episodes. Since the invention of the Lumière brothers, the destiny of the Emperor has never ceased to fascinate filmmakers worldwide.
David Chanteranne / Editor-in-chief
The relationship between Napoleon's image and cinema has been paradoxical for over a century. How can we capture the immortality of this personality and the enduring nature of his reign through film and immediate popular media, which are known for their temporary nature? What an impossible love, one might think at first, between the original and a copy, between the man and his reflection, even if it is as striking and talented as all the actors who have succeeded each other in the role of the little corporal.
As we know, Napoleon possesses the essential allure inherent to any character destined for the screen. Thanks to lithographs by Raffet or Charlet, the image of the Corsican hero dressed in his frock coat, wearing his bicorn hat, booted and gloved in leather, hand in his waistcoat, with a proud or disillusioned look depending on the events, has become iconic. He is perfectly identifiable, like a "brand," one might say today, almost akin to advertising.
Among the possibilities of discovering another facet of a man, moving images remain one of the most interesting. Especially when introducing a young or non-specialist audience, wasn't this the principle of La caméra explore le temps or Arte's Thema evenings a few years ago, which frequently aired films about the epic, preceded by documentaries? However, a significant problem arises from the considerable mass of movies that portray an ideal profile.
The Pioneers
From its inception, cinema found material in historical scenes. While Méliès was expected, the creators themselves. These Lumière brothers first offered a Signature de Campo Formio in 1896 (with the famous porcelain cabaret), followed by the Meeting with the Pope the following year. A single gesture and a look are enough.
In the first ten years of production, with other directors as well, famous paintings by David and Gros were transferred onto the big screen, or Caran d'Ache's shadows for Moscow: the viewer thus does not need words; they immediately understand the whole, somewhat akin to the men of the Middle Ages who admired stained glass windows in churches. Napoleon Bonaparte is seen crossing the bridge at Arcole without any trouble in a Gaumont production, pulling the ear of a soldier in 1903, sacrificing the Duke of Enghien, and then making Pichegru disappear in front of Mitchell and Georges Denola's cameras in 1911. The spectacle is more important than historical accuracy. Cinema, like its subject, "flies like lightning and strikes like thunder." These are "technical impositions."
In 1925, Abel Gance's Napoleon knows how to take this lesson to heart. The director initially envisaged six episodes. Before his screenplay for Lupu-Pick's film in 1929 and his own Austerlitz in 1960 with Pierre Mondy, he conceived a complete epiciffith's The Birth of a Nation as an attentive spectator of Gr. But nothing beats his first opus. Abel Gance surpasses the limits proposed until then and invents. We can recall the famous triple screen, the seven hours and twenty-seven minutes presented at the Opera, the superimposition of images, the cameras mounted on horseback or swings, Honegger's enchanting music... Above all, the preparation for the advent of sound: Gance had anticipated sound synchronization and had all his actors articulate their lines, starting with Albert Dieudonné. In 1934, he added all his dialogues post-synchronization, allowing him to immortalize his masterpiece.
On the other hand, the first to create an entirely "speaking" Napoleon was John Ford, in 1928, with Napoleon's Barber. The director of Stagecoach and Rio Grande presents in a sound film a far-fetched story where the Emperor, defeated at Waterloo, takes the time to confide in his barber and even, a blatant anachronism, hopes to reunite with Empress Josephine quickly...
Adaptation of Classics
In 1931, Erik Charreil's Le Congrès s’amuse, a story set against the backdrop of a Viennese waltz, serves more as a pretext for the face-offs between Talleyrand and Alexander than as a rational and diplomatic explanation of the year 1814. Then, Roger Richebé's Agonie des Aigles, featuring Pierre Renoir, reminds us of the courage and loyalty of the Demi-Soldes. Adapted from Georges d’Esparbès' novel, it depicts General Grandaye's plea: "I have come to talk to you about these men. For fifteen years, I have walked alongside them on the roads of Europe. I know them. There is an absurd, intolerable word in the accusation. That word is 'betrayal.' In 1815, these officers refused to remain in the army. They refused to swear allegiance to the new flag. If they could attack the regime, they cannot be said to have betrayed it. They are also accused of crimes against the Fatherland. It is a lie. Politics is one thing; the Fatherland is another. There are no crimes in politics, only mistakes. Their mistake, we know. They did not side with the strongest. Is that what you want to punish? Be careful that in striking them, you do not strike at the highest virtues of men: loyalty, generosity, courage. But the most difficult of all is fidelity in adversity. It is not them that I defend here; it is the honor of our country."
Great literary texts and the "standards" of Napoleonic theater find the conditions for their success in cinema. Madame Sans-Gêne, starring Réjane (by André Calmettes in 1911) and Gloria Swanson (by Léonce Perret in 1925), up to Arletty (under the direction of Roger Richebé in 1941), had talented interpreters. The character and tone are admirably served, awaiting Sofia Loren (with Christian-Jaque) twenty years later. L’Aiglon, by Tourjansky in 1931, remains very faithful to Rostand, with memorable scenes (the ghosts on the battlefield, a moment of anthology) before Boissol follows suit in Napoléon II and rediscovers the prisoner of Schönbrunn on screen, revealing his love for a pretty dancer. Even in this 1961 film, we notice the fleeting appearance of Jean-Marc Thibault, who manages to make an impression despite the script's limited space. Flambeau always retains his line: "And we, the small ones, the obscure ones, the nameless ones / We who walked weary, wounded, dirty, sick / Without hope of duchies or endowments; / We who walked always and never advanced; / Too simple and too beggarly for hope to deceive us / Of that famous stick one has in one's knapsack..."
Let's not forget Colonel Chabert, who lost his arm at Eylau and whom Balzac made a fallen hero. Returning home, he learns that his wife preferred Count Ferraud to his memory. René Le Hénaff wondered in 1943 who to entrust with the role. Raimu, obviously, as in La Femme du Boulanger, knows how to portray the courageous but deceived horse rider admirably. He will be imitated nearly forty years later by Gérard Depardieu in this tale of belated revenge.
Another famous revenge story, The Count of Monte-Cristo, has had numerous adaptations. Napoleon makes a few appearances in this novel that begins during the Hundred Days. Many have offered their finest profiles to the silhouette of the exile from the island of Elba: Maximilien Charlier in 1914, George Campbell in 1922, and Paul Irving in 1934.
A Timeless Star
Another form of adaptation or reinvention, Sacha Guitry's cinema, comprises memorable lines. From Le mot de Cambronne to Les Perles de la Couronne (1937), Remontons les Champs-Élysées (1938), and up to Si Versailles m’était conté, he stages the Emperor on several occasions. But his grand Napoléon in two parts from 1954 benefits from a dream cast. Le Diable boiteux features actor Émile Drain (a champion with seven appearances) as the Emperor alongside Guitry playing Talleyrand. Napoleon has become a luxurious foil, as in Le Destin fabuleux de Désirée Clary, merely repeating or hearing the famous lines. In particular, we find him during the renowned tirade delivered during the council on January 28, 1809: "You are a thief, a coward, a man without faith; you do not believe in God; you have, all your life, failed in all your duties, you have deceived, betrayed everyone; there is nothing sacred to you; you would sell your father. I have showered you with benefits, and there is nothing you would not do against me. [...] What do you want? What do you hope for? Dare to say it! You deserve to be crushed like glass; I have the power to do so, but I despise you too much to bother. Oh, you are dirt in silk stockings." After alluding to Talleyrand's wife's affair with the Duke of San Carlos, he concludes with these words: "Learn that, if a revolution were to occur, wherever you were involved, it would crush you first."
After his departure, Talleyrand allegedly added the pun-like retort that Guitry later included in all his plays and films: "It's a great pity, gentlemen, that a great man is so poorly educated!"
Once again, Napoleon doesn't have the best role. To illustrate this theory, one need only look, for example, at Charles Boyer delivering lines opposite the immense Greta Garbo, who becomes Marie Walewska in Clarence Brown's Conquest in 1937. The Meeting of the Future Lovers is an anthology at the Bronie relay in Poland.
Political Echoes
From the 1930s until the late 1980s, the Second World War and the Cold War left their mark on Napoleonic filmography. For the First Empire, from Campo di Maggio (the Field of May) by Forzano in 1931 (several versions in German, notably), it was evident that Mussolini found it helpful to revisit the history of the Empire. He participated in writing the script with his son. Churchill saw what could be gleaned from Young Mister Pitt by Carol Reed in 1942, which recalled Britain's refusal of invasion by the English Channel. Just as Stalin did with Kutuzov and Hitler with Kolberg, in which each recognized the defense of Stalingrad and Berlin. Not to mention Franco, who was not immune to the symbol of Agustina de Aragon in 1950, which evoked the 1936 war by drawing a parallel with Saragossa.
The image thus becomes national. Abel Gance, in 1960, reinterprets the myth of the savior (the consular years, the coronation, then Austerlitz) and makes a pointed nod to de Gaulle, notably during the confrontation between Napoleon, played by Pierre Mondy, and the Canot, played by Jean Marais. The dialogue is particularly evocative: "- Ah, my dear Canot. I am glad to see you. Why do you remain in opposition? Am I not as much of a Republican as you? - I fear that it may not be for much longer. - A statesman who governs that has not been seen since '89. Governing France after twelve years of such extraordinary events is difficult. - Certainly, but you have remained a military man, my friend, and that is your excuse. And to confuse governing with commanding... — Do you forget, Carnot, that I have brought peace to the Earth and obtained the freedom of the seas from the English. Thus saved French industry, signed the amnesty of 140,000 emigrants, and created the Civil Code. Do you forget all that? - No, but I do not forget you are here thanks to the Revolution. - The Republic was looking for a leader. - A military one? - A military one, yes. It found one. - The people, alas, always wish for strength after disorder. - And no one has ever prevented you from using yours... You were more famous than I was. - The Revolution does not like being used for one's benefit."
In Europe, it is primarily the anti-Napoleonic hero who takes the spotlight: in Germany, Queen Louise, the bandit Schinderhannes, and General York (Ucicky, 1931); in Italy with Pope Pius VII and the famous Fra Diavolo; in England with Wellington (the Iron Duke) and Nelson (Lady Hamilton, 1941); in Poland with Marie Walewska (after Garbo, in 1967 with Maria and Napoleon) and Andrzej Wajda's lancers in Ashes (original title: Popioly); in the United States with Betsy Patterson (Franck Borzage, 1936). Two exceptions, however: a Murat is made in Italy (Ligaoro, 1909), and Pauline, played by Gina Lollobridgida, charms Jean Delannoy's camera in Imperial Venus in 1962.
At the heart of geostrategic debates
But it is through the battlefields that opinions are thought to be won. In Russia, Tolstoy's War and Peace (Voina i mir) has been adapted since Vladimir Gardine in 1915. Despite the competition (thanks to the Cold War) from King Vidor in 1956 with Audrey Hepburn, Mel Ferrer, and Henry Fonda, director Sergei Bondarchuk crushes everything in his path. Breathtaking natural settings, splendid reconstructions served by Red Army extras, and a hallucinated direction form an explosive cocktail. Patriotic sentiment is heightened. To such an extent that Hollywood awarded a prize to the Soviet filmmaker. This prompted producer Dino de Laurentiis to propose a Waterloo to the same Bondarchuk in 1969. It is a film glorifying Wellington (Christopher Plummer) and not favorable to Napoleon, with a sick and sweating Rod Steiger, humanist and sentimental (much like Marlon Brando in Desiree in 1954).
The Actor's Studio allows one to immerse oneself in the myth. The dialogue with the aide-de-camp before the battle of June 1815 leaves no room for doubt: "- La Bedoyere, do you have children? - Yes, sire, I have a little boy. A little boy no taller than your boot. - Today, would you like to have him by your side? - Yes. - And why? - He would see you, sire. - Really? I have a son, too. I would give anything to have the joy of seeing him; I would give my heart and my life, but... not here. I would not want him to see the battle about to take place..." So we are not far from the version of the German Karl Grüne, who gave the leading role forty years earlier to Blücher this time (Otto Gebühr) and left aside Charles Vanel in his second film in a frock coat.
After 1968, filmmakers worldwide took a new path. Individualization and intersecting destinies became central to creation. The character who was once a mere extra in Abel Gance or Sacha Guitry's films became the antihero of modern times (we lament the unfinished projects of Charles Chaplin and, more recently, Stanley Kubrick). Ridley Scott's The Duellists and the confrontation between General Caffarelli and a young Egyptian in Youssef Chahine's film moved the Cannes Film Festival in 1977 and 1985, but not necessarily Napoleon enthusiasts.
However, the film Farewell Bonaparte, even today, is noteworthy not only for the sumptuous oriental costumes recreated by Yvonne Sassinot de Nesle or for Mohsen Nasr's cinematography (between the Nile and the Mediterranean) but also for the dialogues penned by the director along with his partner Mohiedine. Subsidized by the French and Egyptian Ministries of Culture in 1984, the film seeks to reveal, like no other before it, the convictions of Chahine, representing a vanished multi-ethnic Alexandria. The character of General Caffarelli, played by Michel Piccoli, attempts to reason with the conqueror of the East before the massacre of his people. The Republic's general's response is relentless: "- The Mamelukes must be punished. - By massacring the Egyptians and Syrians! - You and your learned colleagues, what enlightenment for them! - Ah, what a joke! It's like the balloon... what a failure! - Your ardent desire to continue yourselves in others, the glory of France. - Yours. General Bonaparte is dead, Rambeaud, 600 men. Horace, the admirable Horace... all dead for the glory of France." The expedition serves as a pretext for a beautiful story between Aly and Caffarelli (until the latter's death during the siege of Saint-Jean d'Acre), in a paradigm and symbol of the rich encounter between two centuries-old cultures. Chahine, in a way, composes an apology for tolerance, in contrast to the tragedy of the fellahs exploited by the Mamelukes of Beys Ibrahim and Mourad, whose betrayals and massacres brought eternal fame through the portraits of the young Aly and his brother Yehia, natives of Alexandria but refugees with their family in Cairo. The director seeks to capture the emotions of the French landing during which scientists, engineers, artists, and military personnel were united. Neither the violent battles in front of the Pyramids nor the friendships forged by the French with the inhabitants of Cairo are forgotten.
Recent Developments
Grenadier Roland (Maggi, 1911), Brigadier Gérard (Haldane, 1915 and Crisp, 1927, then 1970), and Colonel Durand (Chanas, 1948) seem more critical than Napoleon himself. Especially from these years onwards, cinema ultimately seeks to caricature, mock, and ridicule the Emperor. How can we not think of Aldo Maccione and Ursula Andress in La Grande Débandade? How can we not mention Woody Allen with his Love and Death in 1974, Monty Python's with Time Bandits: Bonaparte, in imperial uniform (one more anachronism), is at Castiglione, depressive and inactive, alongside... Marshal Ney. We should also note (with much reservation) the intimate scenes involving Napoleon from 1969 in certain erotic films...
The Emperor seems absent from the political chessboard despite the bicentenaries seized upon by historians—one exception in this evolution: Saint Helena. The mystery of his death fascinates me. It never disappears from the silver screen. After Caserini in 1911, Michel Carré in 1912, Lupu-Pick in 1929, Renato Simoni in 1943, and then Guitry in 1954, it was the turn of the Pole Jerzy Kawalerowicz in Jeniec Europy (The Hostage of Europe) to tackle the exile. Roland Blanche (Napoleon), alongside François Berléand in the role of Montholon, may be surprised but proves to be a constant. And Monsieur N. only confirms a trend. Antoine de Cannes follows a particular tradition. The film is expressionistic, like in the silent era, when Hudson Lowe arrives on the island or is abandoned in Paris in 1840, during Cipriani's agony, or with the solemn faces by the bed reminiscent of the scene with Steuben, symbolized by Ali. Theatricality and dramatization à la Guitry is found in the intimate scenes with Betsy Balcombe, in the bathtub at Longwood, and verge on grandiloquence during the ball with the English or at the moment of the return of the Ashes to the Invalides. Some combat scenes can be inferred during the duel between Gourgaud and Montholon or the failed escape on the beach at the foot of the rocks. Each individual leads their own life, but destinies are intertwined (between the last companions and Napoleon in Louisiana). Humor (with Cipriani or Gourgaud), eroticism (with Albine), and sentimentality (between Betsy and Heathcote, then Napoleon) are not forgotten. And always, every time, the mystery remains.
On other screens
Napoleon therefore serves more as a pretext for a story or staging in cinema than holding the spotlight. Except in Ridley Scott's recent film, he is no more than a partner, a character of relative importance, or even a supporting role. Another example on television is Yves Simoneau's Napoleon, starring Christian Clavier and Gérard Depardieu. Max Gallo and Didier Decoin discovered that "behind the bogeyman of the black legend, there was a man and a good man!" However, historical errors are legion, and the choice of actors raises questions. The debate also revolves around how France 2's series treated Napoleon, the man, and his work.
During the following shows, we hear various reactions: "Between the golden legend and the black legend, [the authors] have chosen: it is essentially the Bonapartist legend that they have adopted," their "clearly favorable bias" is evident. "France 2's Napoleon is essentially French: epic, tragic, patriotic, and full of humanity, by his legend." For others, it was "a hurriedly skimmed history manual, where only an arrogant tyrant, a megalomaniacal and bloodthirsty brute survives." Thus, anesthetized Gérard Depardieu and John Malkovich, like the Emperor, are light-years away from their models. The demystification is complete. Didier Decoin had declared his intention to do justice to Napoleon. Did the script escape its author? Unless the black legend of the Empire had conquered minds so much by 2002, a film as surprising as Yves Simoneau's could appear moderate and sympathetic. In reality, at the turn of the millennium, the time was no longer for reverence for the great men of history.
1968 - and curiously, the year 1969 and its remarkable Trial of Napoleon marked the beginning of the phenomenon - history gradually lost its place in our culture. The grand figure of the Emperor of the French was shaken along with national history. Progressive demystification was followed by desacralization. Entrusting the role of Napoleon once again to a comedic actor was already a clear sign of the desacralization of a central figure in our history. Still, the fact that Gérard Depardieu considered giving this role to Christian Clavier after seeing him play Thénardier, the most sordid character in our imaginary pantheon, shows how much the representations of the Emperor in 2002 are marked by two infamies, ridicule and moral disgrace.
The stage remains open for a credible sequel to Gance's majestic work to one day appear on the big or small screen. After the disappointment felt by audiences of Ridley Scott's recent film, it would only be fair to do justice to an extraordinary character.
Bibliography
David Chanteranne and Isabelle Veyrat-Masson, Napoleon on Screen: Cinema and Television, Paris, Nouveau Monde Éditions / Fondation Napoléon, 2003.
Hervé Dumont, Napoleon: The Epic in 1000 Films, Lausanne, Cinémathèque suisse / Ides et Caldendes, 2015.
Jean-Pierre Mattei, Napoleon and Cinema: A Century of Images, Ajaccio, Alain Piazzola, 2004.
Jean Tulard (editor), Napoleon Dictionary, Paris, Fayard, 1987.
Comments