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The Grand Maneuver (U.M.P.O.). "Love," René Clair announced recently, "is a very serious matter." To prove his point, Director Clair offered this picture, which happily proves nothing — except that Clair is as good as he ever was. In 34 years he has made more than 20 movies, and most of them (The Million, The Italian Straw Hat, The Ghost Goes West, Beauties of the Night) are lovely things—as breezy as a Paris gutter, as delicate as a young French pea. This one is no exception.
Remember the cavalry? This is a story about what it used to do when it was not chasing the enemy. It was chasing girls. The French cavalry was particularly well trained in this peacetime maneuver, and of all the young French officers none was more swift, more sure in the pursuit than Lieut. Armand de la Verne (Gerard Philipe) of the 33rd Dragoons. Cocksure he was, and one day he laid a bet he could have any woman in town within a month—put their names in a hat and take your pick.
Depend upon it—depend upon René Clair—that young devil had the luck of the draw. She was a pretty little milliner (Michele Morgan) from Paris. Not even a husband to worry about, and only one lover (Jean Desailly). The lieutenant gave chase—and right there his luck gave out. He met her at a ball; she was distant. He asked if he might take her home; she refused. He followed her anyway; she shut the door in his face. He crept into her boudoir; her lover came calling before anything could happen. In the church, in the park, at the theater—she escaped him every time, and every time she escaped him, the hunter was hotter for his sport. Until suddenly he knew that the chase was over; he had been caught. He was in love.
What happened then? What happened when he told her? What happened when her lover found out? When the colonel found out? When the town found out? When the lady herself found out about the bet? Something very French, something subtly exciting to watch. And the excitement is made more exquisite by the sensitive way the director resolves music and color (nobody could guess that he is working with color for the first time), actor and setting, sophisticated laughter and simple sadness in a limpid mood that lies somewhere between innocence and experience, heartache and heartache. It is the mood that is created by many Renaissance love songs, and René Clair sings it as sweetly as Ronsard.