During a temporary lull in the release of any new films of interest (to me) to cinemas, I reached back into my vast backlog of “films to watch some day” and extracted two French features from the mountainous pile of DVDs and videos in my apartment: Belphégor and Belphégor: le fantôme du Louvre. Although both are credited as adaptations of a novel by author Arthur Bernède, the latter film is only barely related to the book (and, by extension, the earlier screen version), and can hardly be called a remake at all.
Curiously, in France the most memorable “Belphégor” is apparently the hugely popular 1965 television mini-series, mostly unknown to the rest of the world (it is available on DVD, however). This series was, like the 1927 version, a mystery tale, whereas the 2001 film is a fantasy probably inspired by the popular success of 1999’s The Mummy.
Belphégor (1927), directed by Henri Desfontaines, was produced by the Société des Cinéromans company, a partnership between actor René Navarre and popular authors Arthur Bernède and Gaston Leroux (best-known for “The Phantom of the Opera”). Navarre had previously starred as master criminal Fantômas in Louis Feuillade’s famous 1913 serial, and later appeared as Vidocq, a real-life detective whose adventures had been chronicled (and fictionalised) in novels by Bernède. In Belphégor, Navarre plays Bernède’s character “Chantecoq,” one of those pre-hardboiled private detectives in the Sherlock Holmes mode: wealthy, urbane, a master of disguise, surrounded by loyal associates and employees. 50 years of age at the time Belphégor was made, Navarre has no love interest in the film (he has a grown daughter but no wife, so presumably he’s a widower), therefore a secondary (romantically eligible) protagonist is supplied in the person of journalist Jacques Bellegarde (who eventually marries Chantecoq’s daughter).
Belphégor is a four-part “serial,” although this label is slightly misleading: the format of Hollywood “serials” was (in general) a weekly 2-reel episode for 3 or 4 months until the tale was told, whereas Belphégor consists of 4 parts, each running from 45 minutes to an hour. Furthermore, the cliffhanger endings which typified classic Hollywood serials are absent. However, the four parts of Belphégor are not merely linked short films which could, in some instances, stand on their own as independent works. There no sub-plots resolved in each episode: aside from the very brief recaps of the story which open parts 2-4, the whole narrative unfolds seamlessly, as if this were one extremely long feature film which just happened to have been cut into four sections.
Belphégor also differs from Hollywood serials—and indeed, from its predecessors such as Feuillade’s Fantômas series and his classic Les vampires (Feuillade had died in 1925, and no one really took his particular niche in French cinema)—in that there is very little physical action. There are no stunts, no daredevil car chases or leaps or brawls or gun battles or explosions. Belphégor consists mostly of people talking, some skulking, then more talking. It’s not boring, although certainly a bit of judicious cutting would have improved the pace. There are far too many scenes in which characters have long conversations (related to the audience via sub-titles), and others in which mundane tasks are carried out in excessive detail: some cinematic short-hand would have been appreciated here. Still, this gives the viewer time to admire the sets, which range from impressively Art Deco-ish (Simone’s “studio”) to interior design-crimes (aficionados of horrid striped and plaid wallpaper will have a field day here) and to appreciate the acting, which similarly covers the spectrum from surprisingly modern to excruciatingly mannered. René Navarre is quite good as Chantecoq, handling the role in a serious and under-stated manner; Lucien Dalsace falls into the mid-range as Jacques Bellegarde, while a fair number of the villainous and supporting players display a more…flamboyant acting technique.
Belphégor deals with a series of mysterious appearances by a masked-and-robed figure in the Louvre; a security guard is murdered, and a later police trap is foiled when the phantom—“Belphégor” (the name of a legendary demon)—uses knock-out gas. Journalist Jacques Bellegarde of “Le Petit Parisien” (the real-life newspaper which published the original story in serial installments), investigates, and eventually discovers famous detective Chantecoq and his vivacious daughter Colette are also on the case. Nonetheless, Belphégor and his henchmen succeed in penetrating a gallery of the Louvre, moving a large statue and pedestal, and stealing a coffer full of jewels buried beneath the museum’s floor. A later flashback shows the jewels being hidden on the orders of Catherine de Medici just before the Duc de Guise entered Paris in 1588 (the Louvre was originally a palace before it became a museum). Belphégor frames Bellegarde for the crimes but Chantecoq hides the reporter in his own home, to the delight of the detective’s daughter. At the conclusion of the film, Chantecoq rescues Colette from Belphégor’s gang, exposes the masked villain as Simone Desroches (played by Elmire Vautier, René Navarre’s real-life wife), a wealthy young woman and the ex-fiancee of Bellegarde, who had been driven to crime by the loss of her fortune and her opium addiction!
Despite its length, clunky pace, dearth of action, and variable acting, Belphégor is not without its charms. Although little footage (if any) was shot inside the Louvre, a number of other actual locations were used and it’s always entertaining to get a glimpse of a place in the past. Furthermore, though the plot isn’t really that clever or complex or logical, the mystery unravels slowly and holds one’s interest. It’s fun to watch the interactions between the characters, who generally fall into four camps: Simone and her circle, Belphégor’s gang, Chantecoq and Bellegarde’s group, and the police/museum officials. There’s enough sniping, jealousy, insincere flattery, posing, trickery, boasting, outrage, and intrigue for several films. Belphégor “himself” veers between seeming impressively creepy and mincingly tentative, but one scene stands out: the villain has released sleeping gas in the Louvre, causing the waiting police to pass out. As he collapses, police inspector Menardier rips off Belphégor’s hooded mask…but instead of revealing the criminal’s face, a shocking, almost monstruous visage appears: then we realise it’s simply a gas mask and goggles.
Belphégor was restored by the Cinémathèque Française in 1988; the version I saw is of good visual quality, with an occasionally appropriate musical score (probably “library music,” and as such not composed to specifically accompany certain scenes). On my copy, the original French sub-titles were read aloud in Italian (!); not speaking either one of these languages, I was initially crestfallen, but was fortunately able to obtain a Spanish sub-title file, which allowed me to fully understand the plot.
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Belphégor—Le fantôme du Louvre (2001) retains only the barest outline of its namesake’s original premise: a strange, hooded and cloaked figure haunts the Egyptology section of the Louvre (actually in the 1927 Belphégor, it was the hall of the “dieux barbares” [Barbarian Gods]). However, although a young woman is exposed as the mysterious Belphégor, she’s not a master criminal out to steal a hidden treasure, but rather an innocent who’s been possessed by an ancient Egyptian spirit. Belphégor (2001) capitalises on the recent success of The Mummy (1999); its tale of an occasionally-deadly but basically misunderstood Egyptian spirit also resembles the later Les aventures extraordinaires d’Adèle Blanc-Sec (2010). Comments on IMDB are largely negative, seemingly because many viewers condemned the film’s audacity to “remake” the 1965 television classic (even including a cameo appearance by Juliette Greco, star of that version). Appropriating the name and setting of a popular work and then changing the entire plot and jettisoning all of the characters is one way to irritate people, I suppose.
Nonetheless, Belphégor—Le fantôme du Louvre is not a bad film at all, taken on its own merits, although the “misunderstood monster” concept adds a light-hearted twist that undercuts the earlier scenes of menace and murder, and certain plot elements simply don’t add up or pop up then go nowhere. The film looks lovely: most of the action transpires in the Louvre itself (apparently a fair amount of footage was shot in the actual museum complex) and in an apartment building rather improbably located across the street. The then-new Louvre pyramid adds an interesting visual touch, particularly since this movie’s “Belphégor” is a reincarnated Egyptian. The production values are slick and the special effects are satisfactory, although I’m not especially enamoured of the CGI “ghost” utilised to portray the wayward spirit.
A mummy recently “discovered” in the Louvre storerooms is eagerly examined by curators. In a creepy but ultimately pointless prologue, we see the artifacts being shipped from Egypt to France in the 1920s or 1930s; the crew and passengers of the freighter all die on the journey. The employment of 21st-century technological methods of examination seemingly “wakes up” the spirit of the mummy, and a mysterious hooded/masked figure is later seen floating through the museum. A guard who confronts the intruder goes mad and leaps to his death. Expert Egyptologist Glenda is imported from England, and police inspector Verlac is called back from retirement, to investigate the mummy and the crimes, respectively. Verlac had faced Belphégor once before, in the 1960s (another nod to the TV show) but was never able to solve the mystery. Now he has a chance to redeem himself.
Meanwhile, lovely Lisa—who lives across the street with her grandmother—is possessed by the Egyptian ghost (grandmother dies). Since the spirit has some affinity for the electrical grid and disrupts the apartment’s lights, electrician Martin is called in and falls in love with Lisa, but she keeps wandering off in a daze, entering the Louvre dressed as Belphégor, and stealing things from the collection. Eventually, everyone deduces that the mummy wasn’t buried properly and has been attempting to assemble the proper artifacts for his trip to the underworld. Burial ceremony finally performed, the ghost disappears, the problem is solved, the movie ends.
As noted above, Belphégor (2001) begins on a rather grim and foreboding note, but later jettisons its horror-movie pretensions and becomes an innocuous romantic fantasy. Such a drastic change in tone can be off-putting, especially if one has been misled by the film’s advertising, which suggests a dark fantasy-horror movie (this might also explain some of the negative reactions, if viewers felt cheated). Although the 2001 Belphégor completely alters the “criminals searching for a hidden treasure in the Louvre” plot of its predecessors, it substitutes a mystery of its own, i.e., what does the maleficient mummy’s ghost want? This is fine as far as it goes and it doesn’t make Belphégor a bad movie, but I tend to concur with those who feel the picture doesn’t deliver on the genre-specific promise of the first half-hour or so.
The performances of the major players are quite good, though the supporting players are less distinctive and interesting than—for instance—the gallery of eccentrics in the 1927 movie. Sophie Marceau is lovely and—at least before her character is possessed and she walks around in a daze for the rest of the film—lively as Lisa. Julie Christie is amusing as the ditsy British Egyptologist. Michel Serrault and Frédéric Diefenthal are sympathetic and solid as Verlac and Martin, respectively.
The two Belphégors are more different than they are alike: long-form vs. feature-length, black-and-white silent vs. widescreen, colour, sound and CGI, mystery vs. fantasy. Still, there was merit to be had in each viewing: my time was not wasted.
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And now that the summer-film season has begun (Memorial Day weekend here in the USA), I’m sure there will be some interesting films in cinemas each and every week for the next few months (he says optimistically). Not that I’ll abandon watching older films or international cinema, heaven forfend!
