L'HOMME DU TRAIN (US: MAN ON THE TRAIN). France 2002.

Dir. Patrice Leconte. Scr. Claude Klotz. Prod. Philippe Carcassonne. Music Pascale Esteve. Cast: Jean Rochefort, Johnny Hallyday, Jean-Francois Stevenin, Charlie Nelson, Pascale Parmentier, Isabele Petit-Jacques, Edith Scob.

Or, how the human klaxon dreamt of becoming Ayers’ Rock. And vice versa.

L’HOMME DU TRAIN’s premise is disarmingly simple. Taciturn, ageing gangster Milan (Johnny Hallyday) arrives by train one evening in a small French town, there reluctantly to join two criminal cohorts (Jean-Francois Stevenin and Charlie Nelson) with the intention of pulling a bank job in three days time. But things are complicated by a chance encounter, in a pharmacy, with retired schoolteacher Manesquier (Jean Rochefort), who invites Milan to lodge with him in his rambling family homestead. A momentous occasion awaits Manesquier, too, at the end of these next three days: a heart bypass operation. Gradually, these two polar opposites, both at turning points in their lives, find themselves drawn towards the contrary lifestyle of the other, and begin to dream of how their lives might have been in the other’s shoes.

There’s an irresistible, lyrical elegance about L’HOMME DU TRAIN which proves, along with the likes of Jacques Audiard’s SUR MES LEVRES, Lucas Belvaux’s TRILOGIE and Dominik Moll’s HARRY, UN AMI QUI VOUS VEUT DU BIEN, that French cinema is, for this fallible viewer at least, as vital a force today as it’s ever been. (I hope the Philippe Noiret who decried the state of his homeland’s film industry at the close of Michel Blanc’s 1994 film GROSSE FATIGUE has noticed the improvements, too.) It’s the twentieth film from prolific director Patrice Leconte, currently filming CONFIDENCES TROP INTIMES, and in many ways a fine summation of his favourite themes, friendship, regret and the joy of haircuts chief among them.

Scanning Leconte’s intimidating broad flexography reveals a restless, genre-hopping zeal -- there are road movies (TANDEM, TANGO), comedies (LES VECES ETAIENT FERMES DE L’INTERIEUR, LES BRONZES, LES GRANDS DUCS), action-adventure movies (LES SPECIALISTES, 1 CHANCE SUR 2), historical dramas (RIDICULE, LA VEUVE DE ST.PIERRE), nostalgic romances (THE HAIRDRESSER’S HUSBAND, RUE DES PLAISIRS, love stories (GIRL ON THE BRIDGE, FELIX ET LOLA) and unclassifiable character studies (MONSIUER HIRE) -- but magnifies also a couple of notable genre omissions: Leconte, regrettably, has professed total disinterest in SF (I’d love to see this droll tragedarian’s take on, say, Vonnegut’s SIRENS OF TITAN), and feels incapable of addressing the emotional enormity of a war film.* At least, not yet. And, some day, he hopes to realise his long-cherished dream of making a spectacular musical; one wonders if his enthusiasm for such a project was extinguished or rekindled by Francois Ozon’s recent 8 WOMEN.

But, returning to the present, L’HOMME DU TRAIN is Leconte’s Western, albeit an accidental one according to the director, who purports to have no particular affinity for the genre: “It was totally involuntary,” he claims, acknowledging it reluctantly as “a Western without movement.” Leconte may have been unaware of the parallels, but savvy viewers will suspect that scenarist Claude Klotz knew exactly what he was doing; L’HOMME DU TRAIN is, in fact, a redressed update of Sergio Sollima’s 1967 political spaghetti FACE TO FACE - note, for example, how Hallyday‘s character name of “Milan“ alludes subtly to his FACE TO FACE namesake Tomas Milian - and a further exploration of the always-popular “odd couple”/collision-of-opposites concept, one which Leconte has already touched on before in films like LES SPECIALISTES, TANDEM and (in expanded triptych format) TANGO. The inspirational notion to contrast the impish solemnity of Jean Rochefort (his fifth film with this director) with the saurian impassivity of that grand-pere of rock-et-roll Johnny Hallyday, works like a dream, and the only churlish complaint one is left with as the credits roll is that it has all zipped by far too quickly. In contrast with many of his fellow countrymen (Jacques Rivette, Bruno Dumont, Olivier Assayas, par example), Leconte appears to subscribe to the Corman cutting-room ethos: rare indeed is the Leconte film that exceeds 90 minutes. With typical self-deprecation, Leconte attributes this to his horror of boring an audience. (“Or if I do bore them, at least it’s not for very long.”**)

The director first worked with Klotz way back on THE HAIRDRESSER’S HUSBAND, when the writer generously collaborated with Leconte on the original screen treatment. (Not a lot of people know this, but under the simple pen-name “Klotz”, Leconte’s scribe-of-choice also penned the original novel whence sprang Edouard Molinaro’s Chris Lee comedy DRACULA, PERE ET FILS/DRACULA AND SON.) They repooled their talent with less success on the poorly-received FELIX ET LOLA (2001), but the gods were smiling once more when Ayers’ Rock - or, to be less surreal, its human incarnation Johnny Hallyday - contacted the director, expressing a desire to initiate a film project together. And so, in contrast to his usual working process, Leconte conceived the basic concept for L’HOMME DU TRAIN specifically around the two leads: without Rochefort and Hallyday, this film simply couldn’t exist. And the on-screen rapport between the two is formidable, aided in no small part by the deadpan wit of Klotz’s dialogue. (To Hallyday’s casual enquiry as to whether he was a good schoolteacher, Rochefort straight-facedly affirms: “Not one pupil molested in over thirty years.”)

But supporting characters are equally well-served by screenwriter and director; take, say, the character of the getaway driver, Sampo***, who only speaks once every day at 10 a.m. precisely, and is given to gnomic utterances like “Revenge is misfortune’s justice.” An air of stoic fatalism hangs over the gang members, as though they are becomingly gloomily aware of their transitory status on this earth, revenants wandering through a lethal dream-state towards their inevitable end. (As if to emphasize this oneiric malaise, Leconte employs some melancholic editorial transitions, with characters literally fading away from a scene like dematerializing phantoms.) Perhaps relenting from the Nabokovian temptation to leave his characters’ desire to exchange roles unrequited, Leconte permits a PERFORMANCE-style transference of identity only during a mystical and poetical final montage of images, a truly beautiful sequence which puts L’HOMME DU TRAIN at the pinnacle of this director’s achievements.

A word on the superb leads. There’s not a lot I can add to the decades of praise that Jean Rochefort has already accumulated, except to state the obvious: he’s flawless in the role of Manesquier, the first he took after severe illness compelled him to abandon Gilliam’s infamous MAN WHO KILLED DON QUIXOTE, and to judge from his effervescent on-set antics in the behind-the-scenes documentary on Pathe’s French region 2 DVD, this self-confessed “acteur zoologique” is now fighting fit and ready to howl at the moon. And I mean that literally: before each take, in an effort to put the nervous Hallyday at his ease, Rochefort (Le Klaxon Humaine) would emit a disquieting, hooting cry, to the general hilarity of the crew, particularly when delivered directly into Patrice Leconte’s defenceless lughole. (To judge from this footage, a Leconte film set is the happiest workplace on earth. There‘s a charming little scene on the DVD, too, of the shooting of Rochefort‘s emblematic haircut scene, a delightful nod to the first Klotz-Leconte collaboration THE HAIRDRESSER‘S HUSBAND, an echo which extends to the casting of Rochefort‘s barber, favourite Leconte bit-player Maurice Chevit. When the scene wraps, there‘s genuine emotion all round the set.)

Critics (Claude Klotz included) may not have taken him seriously before he earned his Jean Gabin Award for L‘HOMME DU TRAIN, but his iconic status has enabled Johnny Hallyday to work with some notable film heavyweights in his time: Sergio Corbucci in GLI SPECIALISTI (a title later spookily echoed by Leconte’s own LES SPECIALISTES from 1983), Godard in DETECTIVE, Costa-Gavras in CONSEILLE DE FAMILLE and (in his humble pre-rock idol days) Clouzot in LES DIABOLIQUES. Not bad. (Of course, he did also appear in that French MAD MAX 2 imitation with Karen Allen, TERMINUS; I haven’t been lucky enough to see it, but those who did have charitably described it as a “Euro-pudding”.) Having metabolized enough critical venom himself to develop a lifetime immunity, perhaps Leconte welcomed a collaboration with the singer-slash-actor as a further means by which to signal his well-documented disregard for the French critical establishment. Whatever their motives, it was bloody good judgement from all concerned when this Gallic, weather-beaten Charles Bronson signed on the dotted line to play the grizzled, crewcut Milan. (My favourite Hallyday scene? Where the hard-boiled gangster tries on his first pair of slippers, with Rochefort’s enthusiastic encouragement.)

Pathe’s French region 2 DVD special edition of L’HOMME DU TRAIN is an absolute must for admirers of the film and of its director. The feature is presented in the expected anamorphic widescreen (2.35:1, and looking stunning), with optional English subtitles. As with several of his other films on DVD, Leconte supplies a running commentary (unsubtitled, alas), the other main additional feature being a fascinating 50-minute “Making Of” documentary that’s easy to follow despite the lack of sous-titres anglais. There are also video interviews with Leconte, Rochefort and Hallyday, a 5-minute featurette on the creation of composer Pascale Esteve’s atmospheric guitar-and-orchestral score (Ry Cooder meets Schubert, per Leconte‘s instructions), trailers and a photo gallery. (Beware the UK region 2 edition from Pathe, by the way: while it no doubt sports the same high-quality video transfer, all the special features present on the French disc have been mysteriously junked.)



* From an interview with Peter Lennon in The Guardian.

** Director’s Notes, HAIRDRESSER’S HUSBAND DVD (Tartan, region 2)

*** Another film-buff reference by Klotz, perhaps, this one an oblique tip-of-the-hat to Aleksandr Ptushko‘s Soviet-era Sinbad?