Melville’s Le Silence de la Mer / The Silence of the Sea

Humane Individual, Heinous Regime: the portrayal of the enemy in Jean-Pierre Melville’s

Le Silence de la Mer / The Silence of the Sea

Ching Yan Clarissa Lee, University College London (UCL)

In early post-WWII films produced in the French cinematic scene, the enemy is often portrayed in a clear-cut, unambiguous manner: the audience is made aware of the distinction between the ‘good’ resistance fighters of French origin, and the ‘bad’, sadistic German soldiers. These films serve to reinforce the Résistancialisme, a term coined by historian Henry Rousso in 1990: the French myth of resistance emerging after liberation, which creates the illusion of unanimous resistance during Nazi occupation, and exaggerates the scale and significance of armed methods of resistance in occupied France. In order to create an overwhelmingly ‘us versus them’ narrative, these films often demonise the German enemy to an inhumane extent, and contribute to the erasure of local collaboration with the foreign enemy by neglecting to portray any sign of French collaboration or the Vichy government’s enablement of the Occupation. In Le Silence de la Mer (1949) directed by Jean-Pierre Melville, the once-univocal enemy figure is humanised, resulting in the depiction of a more multi-dimensional enemy, as opposed to earlier resistance films. However, though it does not portray scenes of armed resistance, and thus does not contribute to the resistance myth directly, Melville’s film does not undermine the resistance myth either, as it focuses upon a different kind of resistance: the refusal of those who cannot join the frontlines to collaborate with the enemy. The film, for all its tight adherence to the original novel, also inserts additional scenes which deliberately undermine the officer’s goodness. Through surveying the representation of Werner von Ebrennacc in Le Silence, I will argue that, though Melville’s representation of the individual enemy is sympathetic, the ‘humanised’ nature of the individual enemy ultimately amplifies the barbaric nature of the ‘inhumane’ enemy regime he chooses to serve. Furthermore, though the film’s portrayal of the enemy is progressive for that moment in time, Melville still participates in the erasure of French collaboration during the Occupation, as the enemy portrayed is still solely shown to be the Germans. Ultimately, this problematises larger questions of who decides what aspects of war are to be erased and what aspects memorialised.

Firstly, Le Silence’s characterisation of the ‘good’ German soldier contrasts the stereotype of the barbarous Nazis, introducing a more rounded representation of the enemy. Von Ebrennacc, the German officer in Le Silence, is portrayed as a well-mannered individual with a sensitivity for music and a genuine passion for French culture. Taking the Uncle’s first impression of von Ebrennacc for example, the older man remarks to his niece: “Thank God, he seems quite decent” (Le Silence 00:11:19 – 00:11:21), seeming to have taken von Ebrennacc’s introduction fairly well, as contrasted with his scathing comments regarding two other German officers he had encountered earlier: “they spoke to me in what they thought was French…I didn’t understand a word” (Le Silence 00:04:05 – 00:04:10). Von Ebrennacc is respectful to the two home-owners, always knocking before entering the drawing room, and is further shown to be a cultured, well-read man throughout the film by his monologues, which showcase his knowledge of French literature: “Balzac, Baudelaire, Corneille, Descartes, Fenelon, Gautier, Hugo… What a line-up! And I’ve only got to ‘H’” (Le Silence 00:23:21 – 00:23:27), and reveal his love for music: “I’m a musician […] I compose music” (Le Silence 00:19:09 – 00:19:15). By accrediting von Ebrennacc with a love for the Arts and a respect for French literature and culture, Le Silence softens the

officer’s image by portraying his sensitivity and framing him in a civilised light. This depiction counters the trope of the ignorant, brutal Nazi soldier, introducing a different form of the German enemy being represented on film. By refusing to dehumanise von Ebrennacc as an individual – dehumanisation being a tactic used commonly within war propaganda to achieve what Ofer Zur calls the “most important element in the enemizing process” (132) – Le Silence effectively separates the ‘good’ humane characteristics of the personalised enemy from the inherent ruthlessness of the Nazi regime. The personalised representation of von Ebrennacc thus stands out amongst the demonised German enemies of other well-known resistance films: “[i]n showing a humane, cultured German in Silence, Melville […] was also countering representations of “bad” (cruel, sadistic) Germans in such films as La Bataille du

rail, Le Père tranquille and Jéricho” (Vincendeau 15). Thus, the representation of the individual German enemy in Le Silence is comparatively sympathetic, portraying the officer as a more rounded figure, rather than a simple target for hatred. However, though Le Silence does not subscribe to the trope of the demonised enemy, the humanisation of von Ebrennacc contributes in other ways to underline the monstrosity of the Nazis and

their ideologies. As the humane soldier casually reveals his deep-seated belief in inhumane ideals, the juxtaposition of the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’ reveal the fundamental viciousness of Nazism and the Occupation. One example would be the normalised manner in which the soldier insinuates France to be a weak, feminine country, helpless in front of the tough masculinity of Germany. During the soldier’s first monologue in front of the fireplace, he comments that “the French winter is mild […] we have fir trees, the forests are tightly packed…the snow sits heavy on them. The trees here are delicate, the snow covers them like lace. Germany is like a powerful thickset bull” (Le Silence 00:16:50 – 00:17:17). The “delicacy” of the French trees stand in obvious contrast to the German trees able to hold “heavy” snow, and this claim of masculine German strength is furthered by the analogising of Germany as a “powerful thickset bull”. An even more disturbing representation of this is von Ebrennacc’s fascination with the Beauty and the Beast fairytale (Le Silence 00:28:13 – 00:29:31), which serves as an explicit metaphor to France and Germany’s relationship as well as the tensions between von Ebrennacc and the Niece, who symbolise Germany and France respectively. In another monologue, von Ebrennacc pictures the tale in evocative language: “Poor Beauty. She is at the mercy of the Beast, his powerless prisoner. […] But gradually […] she becomes less aware of its heavy paw, her prison chains. […] Its constancy touches her and she gives it her hand” (Le Silence 00:28:30 – 00:29:31). The image of the Beauty as the Beast’s “poor” “prisoner”, coupled with other instances of heavily power-infused language such as “powerless” and Beauty being at the Beast’s “mercy”, serve as uncomfortable reminders of how France was similarly at the mercy of Germany. The Beauty’s acceptance of the Beast, then, becomes a thinly-veiled coaxing for France to “give [Germany] her hand”, and to get used to the “constancy” of the Beast – and her prison chains – and to give in to Germany’s dominance. This unnerving sense of domination is further amplified by the way von Ebrennacc paces around the Niece’s armchair and openly surveys her expressions, as she looks down at her knitting steadfastly, attempting to ignore the officer. As Tim Palmer observes, “low-angle set-ups highlight von Ebrennac’s endless pacing and physical agitation; as he pontificates about Franco-German destiny, he appears to bear down remorselessly on his unresponsive, seated hosts” (12). The power dynamics being revealed in the officer’s speech is thus manifested physically, as the symbol of Germany (von Ebrennacc) looms over the symbols of France (the Uncle and the Niece) in their own household – a symbol for the occupied France – and as

his expressiveness contrasts their lack of response. At one point, von Ebrennacc even glances the niece’s way pointedly when he refers to the Beauty (Le Silence 00:29:04 – 00:29:06); the camera cuts to a close-up of the Niece when the notion of “cultural marriage” is mentioned (Le Silence 00:29:52), further instilling the parallelism of the fairytale to the Franco-German situation, as the soldier unambiguously stands in as a symbol of Germany and the niece a symbol of France. The greatest shock of the contrast between the humane soldier and the inhumane ideals of the Nazis come as this “cultural union” is disturbingly glorified: “Their union leads to their sublime happiness. Their children who combine their parents’ talents are the most beautiful on earth” (Le Silence 00:29:51 – 00:30:03). Here, von Ebrennacc enthuses over his ideal outcome of the war: a Franco-German union, and a “marriage” of cultures. His eagerness reflects a genuine belief in this marriage, and a complete neglect of the disturbing nature of the idea of a ‘master race’ – in this case the Aryans – being extended through union. As Palmer observes, “he ironically speaks of war as the means to peace and harmony” (13). Ironically, it is exactly von Ebrennacc’s obliviousness which works to deeply problematise the idea of the union. Since von Ebrennacc is portrayed as the ‘good’ German, the ‘bad’ and brutal Nazi ideals are magnified when they are put forth by this ‘good’ vessel: even though the humane German soldier is passionate about French culture, he still harbours and deeply believes in the disturbing idea of uniting Germany and French through a “cultural marriage” enforced by war, and sincerely believes that the war will result in the best situation for Europe to be in. As a result, the atrocity of the Nazis’ methods of occupation and control comes across even more strongly via contrast, highlighting the horror of a forceful cultural union brought upon by war and physical domination. This correlates to the “good German/bad Nazi” dichotomy which Ginette Vincendeau suggests “structures the representation of the officer” (16). By showcasing von Ebrennacc in a humane light, the fundamental problematic nature of the idea of the occupation of an ‘open city’ is foregrounded and amplified, as the ‘inhumane’ ideals that the indoctrinated soldier, though ‘humane’, still holds, creates a sharp contrast between the clashing of these elements, and highlights the unchangeable atrocious basis of Nazi ideals. Furthermore, since the film invites a certain level of sympathy with the German soldier, the audience shares von Ebrennacc’s journey as his naïve perception that the war would bring a cordial

Franco-German union is shattered. The shock and disillusionment, when presented from the point of view of the humanised enemy, works to demonise the German occupation and the rule of the Nazis even further. Melville crafts this impact primarily through the contrast between the first and second clips of von Ebrennacc’s trip to Paris: the first clip reads much like a lighthearted tour of Paris, as shots of von Ebrennacc admiring monuments such as the Arc de Triomphe (Le Silence 00:49:59 – 00:50:58) is shown, while an uplifting, joyous music track plays in the background. The second clip is much more ominous: Von Ebrennacc is informed of the truth of Treblinka, and an array of shots depicting German soldiers in all areas of Paris, roaming on foot and in military trucks (Le Silence 01:04:17 – 01:04:37), are shown. Interestingly, German soldiers were only present in the second clip; as Melville himself explains this directorial decision, “The first time Vernon goes to Paris you see no Germans because he doesn’t notice them […] his compatriots don’t bother him” (44). It is only after he realises the true consequences of the Occupation that “he says there were Germans in the streets and that you see those Germans” (Melville 44), whom von Ebrennacc begins to notice for the first time as the reality of the Occupation sinks in. The ominous tone in the second sequence of his Paris leave stems from this realisation, which is shown to have been caused by not only the knowledge of Treblinka, but also on a more personal level, his being mocked by his fellow officers for being too “soft”, and the other officers’ admittance that the cultural union is but a deception – the Third Reich will destroy France’s “spirit as well as her power” (Le Silence 01:07:31 – 01:09:45). Because Le Silence “portrays the German officer extremely sympathetically – indeed, he becomes the focus of identification of the spectator” (Crisp 179), by focalising the shock of discovering the true violence of crimes by the Nazis through the ‘humane’ enemy’s eyes, with whom the audience has come to sympathise, the inhumane nature of the Third Reich and its deception is all the more highlighted. The fact that the ‘good’ German soldier is also a victim of the false advertisement of a ‘friendly occupation’ and a loving Franco-German union – which presents that, unlike areas such as Holland and Belgium, France and especially its capital Paris will be preserved – reflects how the propaganda being projected has duped the ‘good German’ as well as it is supposed to dupe the French, furthering the animosity of this manipulation. This disillusionment is in line with the changes in the film introduced by Melville to counter potential criticism, changes undermining the ‘goodness’ of the officer, in an attempt to explicate the

inherent ‘badness’ of the authoritarian regime that the ‘good’ officer is serving, and to emphasise that the ‘goodness’ of von Ebrennacc does not erase the inherent problematics of the Occupation. This is because the “flattering” portrayal of the enemy has warranted criticism for Vercors’ novel, which Le

Silence was based upon (Vincendeau 15). After all, “a primary task of the propagandist is to identify the enemy publicly thus creating a target for anger and blame” (Fox 136). Films and novels produced during and post-war, being heavily influential tools of propaganda, usually positioned their directors and authors as propagandists, and the textual Le Silence’s unconventional representation of the enemy raised a few eyebrows. As a result, some “small but significant” changes were made to the film adaptation, amongst which was the ending scene of the film, where the uncle takes a risk in slipping the soldier a loaded quote: “It is a fine thing when a soldier disobeys criminal orders”. Though von Ebrennacc hesitates, he ultimately leaves to fight on the frontlines, continuing his duties to the Nazi regime (Le

Silence 00:19:44 – 00:21:10). This is when the uncle’s voiceover in the opening of the film begins to make sense to the viewers: “He submitted to life like all the others, like the whole wretched nation […] the rebellion that even this man did not have the courage to continue against his master’s orders” (Le

Silence 00:02:31 – 00:02:54). The accusation that “even” von Ebrennacc, the most sympathetic enemy, did not have the bravery or resolve to defy orders from the Nazi regime, highlights the powerlessness of a singular source of ‘goodness’ of an individual working under an imminently heinous authority. The ‘goodness’ of the officer is hence set up from the beginning to be disillusioned and corrupted by the ‘badness’ of the Nazis. This works to crystallise that the goodness of the individual officer does not erase the fanatical nature of the Occupation, nor does it justify the brutal actions of the Third Reich. Last but not least, the enemy represented in Le Silence is still distinct, in the sense that the enemy is solely shown to be the Germans, as the film still participates in the culture of erasure of any French collaboration with the Nazis. In fact, the representation of the sympathetic enemy highlights the Uncle and Niece’s refusal of collaboration, simultaneously eliminating ideas of a French collaborator-enemy, and displaying a different sort of resistance: the passive resistance of silence. Part of this resistance includes not becoming the enemy themselves via collaboration. As opposed to the active resistance seen in films such as La Bataille du rail, where the resistance myth is glorified through the pathos of sacrifice, the Uncle and Niece in Le Silence reacts to the unavoidable invasion of the German officer

into their home by obstinately ignoring von Ebrennacc. The majority of the film portrays the officer reciting monologues of his thoughts to the silent pair, who focus on puffing their pipe or finishing their needlework. When the officer proves himself to be humane and even amiable, the two struggle to keep to their resolve, but manage to maintain their silent treatment up until his leave. The depiction of their struggle: the Uncle professes “It pains me to offend any man, even if he were my enemy” (Le Silence

00:14:03 – 00:14:08), and the Niece displays pain at their consistent dismissal of the officer as time passes by – only heightens their final choice and their persistence, as they ultimately do not engage with von Ebrennacc in full conversation and thus by extension, do not become the enemy by collaborating with the German enemy. This not only subliminally erases the idea of a possible French enemy from the audience’s minds, but also serves as a reminder that no matter the level of ‘goodness’ of the officer, he answers to the orders of a ‘bad’ authority, which has to be resisted against. This type of non-physical resistance the two demonstrate can be read as an implication that the ‘old’ and the ‘weak’ of the French people – in this case represented by the Uncle (old) and the Niece (female) – are still resisting to their best ability, in their own ways, even though they cannot join the resistance fighters on the frontline. This feeds the resistance myth in a different way, not by showcasing a fictionalised unity on the battlefields, but by insinuation that the French on the home front are equally contributors to the forces of Resistance through their refusal to collaborate – even when ‘tempted’ to a certain extent by a humane, mild enemy such as the one portrayed in von Ebrennacc. Thus, their neglect of the officer’s presence not only reinforces the idea of dignified French resistance, but also serves to erase the idea of French-German collaboration and the possibility of a French enemy. Ultimately, Melville’s civilised German officer introduces a more humanised version of the enemy to the French cinema of resistance. However, von Ebrennacc’s individual goodness is primarily utilised to highlight the malevolence of the larger enemy of the Nazi regime; moreover, the refusal of the Uncle and Niece to collaborate with even the ‘cordial’ enemy exalts ideas of passive resistance, reinforcing the film’s negation of the French collaborator-enemy. Thus, the problems of erasure in cinematic representation remain in Le Silence despite its comparatively unorthodox representation of the individual enemy.

Works Cited

Crisp, Colin. “Le Silence De La Mer (22 April 1949).” French Cinema—A Critical Filmography:Vol-

ume 2, 1940–1958, Indiana University Press, 2015, pp. 178–181. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j. ctt16gz6fh.59. Accessed 8 Feb. 2020. Fox, Jo. Film Propaganda in Britain and Nazi Germany: World War II Cinema. Berg, 2007. Le Silence De La Mer. Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville, performances by Howard Vernon, Nicole Stéphane, and Jean-Marie Robain, Eureka!, 2007. Melville, Jean-Pierre. “An Interview with Jean-Pierre Melville on Le Silence de la Mer.” Interview by Rui Nogueira. Interview printed for Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Silence de la Mer, Eureka!, 2007, pp. 36–53. Palmer, Tim. “An Amateur of Quality: Postwar French Cinema and Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Silence De La Mer.” Journal of Film and Video, vol. 59, no. 4, 2007, pp. 3–19. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/ stable/20688573. Accessed 8 Feb. 2020. Rousso, Henry. Le Syndrome De Vichy : De 1944 à Nos Jours. Éditions Du Seuil, 1990. Vincendeau, Ginette. “Le Silence de la Mer.” Chapter printed in extracted form for Jean-Pierre Melville’s

Le Silence de la Mer, Eureka!, 2007, pp. 6–34. Zur, Ofer. “The Psychohistory of Warfare: The Co-Evolution of Culture, Psyche and Enemy.” Journal

of Peace Research, vol. 24, no. 2, 1987, pp. 125–134. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/423452. Accessed 23 Feb. 2020.

Moving Forward

In Summer of 2022, both co-editor in chief Anna Nelson and I were gifted the Madison Journal of Literary Criticism as a vehicle to exercise praxis of our abolitionist research, a project we have devoted ourselves to since the start of our freshman year. Our study focuses on examining interconnectedness between systems of harm and various forms of activism. From 2020 to 2022, we spent time mapping out the vast reach of the carceral state in hopes that understanding can promote action, provide activist outlets, and provoke care. Before adopting the MJLC, we decided to define the complex and polarized subject of abolition as: “Asking ‘why?’ And, dreaming of more.” Today, as we begin to transition the function of the MJLC to explicitly match this definition, we want to acknowledge that the historical form of the MJLC and discipline of literary criticism has always had the potential/already implicitly functions as abolitionist.

Starting this Fall, the MJLC now functions primarily as a study group engaging in social and literary critique that also produces a magazine. Our study group brings together students, activist stakeholders, and a larger Madison community in discussions regarding local politics, abolitionist texts, artwork, and practicing forms of critique—a curricula based on our initial research. Our group applies the academic skill of critical analysis to subjects often left out of academia such as film, fashion, music, public addresses, grocery habits, dental care, and more. We encourage members to think critically in every setting, especially questioning institutions and practices that are taken for granted or deemed unimportant. Simultaneously, as our group practices critique, we shall continue to do what the MJLC has always done: “showcase excellent examples of literary criticism from students across the nation.” Our editorial board shall work to curate a collection of criticism that is now not limited to an academic format. Rather, we invite critics to send submissions in any medium that allows them to critique any subject. Art, fiction, poetry, prose, journalism, photography, essays, and (of course) academic papers are just some of the forms of criticism the MJLC shall now publish.

We are honored to be expanding the MJLC to bring together activists and artists. We believe that today, more than ever, narrative literacy and artistic imagination are skills required by everybody to not only encourage an abolitionist world, but to simply navigate the harms of the world as it exists presently.

Literary criticism is criticism of narratives we have been fed. It is providing alternatives and suggestions. It is a methodology, a tool, that allows young scholars to engage with what frustrates them. Coupled with art, a medium that has always been a space for creatives—for dreamers—I truly believe that the MJLC embodies “asking why? And dreaming of more.”

Today, as co-editor in chief of this journal, I invite everybody to join us. To ask questions. To dream big. To care for one another.

We would like to thank the previous editorial team of the MJLC, Professor Ingrid Diran, our university, and all of you. With this support, with this shared care, we hope to continue cultivating our own educational and artistic aspirations while continuing to bring the Madison Journal of Literary Criticism to you.

Keep asking questions. See you all very soon.

With Love, Ria Dhingra

(co-editor in chief)