As is true of cinema generally, some silent films put trust in a fluidity of storytelling more closely resembling what modern viewers are familiar with following the advent of talkies; some especially concern themselves with detail and nuance in scenes to enrich the experience. This title isn't specifically lacking in either regard, but it strikes me that filmmaker Abel Gance above all approached his magnum opus with a mind for stark, unblinking imagery to propel his story with heavy, emphatic beats. Not every movie could necessarily adopt that tack and make it work, but with the purity of Gance's vehemence comes a poignancy in discrete scenes that might fall flat elsewhere. Thus are glimpses of tranquility, memories of another time, juxtaposed with mobilization, or death; what scenes of wartime violence lack in absolute grisly realism, the make up for with an air of grim, despairing isolation. Still images, overlaid tricks of the camera or editing, and words or ideas portending nastier business that the lens would not dare show all raise a specter of inevitable gloom; happier times feel like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every notion of the plot, and every emotion, from love, friendship, and hope to hatred, fear, and hollowness, are painted with broad strokes. Yet those strokes form a tableau that is no lesser for it, not least given the breadth and scope of the feature - and certainly, too, in light of the unflinching zealousness with which Gance uses his picture to lash out in the face of deep-seated outrage at the madness of war. 'J'accuse' may tower at a little less than three hours in length, yet for the potency of its tale and its craft, those three hours pass quickly.
In some small measure I think the narrative is a tad imbalanced between the romantic drama binding Jean, Francois, and Edith together, and the conflict that looms large in the background. The two aspects aren't entirely given equal treatment, to the point that the film comes across for much of its duration as being more about the drama away from the battlefield. Then again, in fairness, one part intrinsically informs the other, and Gance obviously had loftier intentions. As much as this is a movie about war, it's more broadly about the passions and violence of the human heart - all the great wonders they can achieve, and also the great horrors, destroying lives in myriad terrible ways. Moreover, just as the saga of the home front becomes more engrossing (and dour) over time, in the last stretch depictions of the war front are increasingly gnarly and distressing. Layered with accents of humanity, and primed with our knowledge of the realities of World War I and of the background of the production, the last act of 'J'accuse' is more powerful and impactful than what many, many other war movies (or even movies of other genres) in all the past one hundred years have been able to accomplish. And where Gance does take the time to broach a moment with a more delicate, minutely calculated hand, well, the intended effect is only amplified. As writer and director the man unmistakably had a sweeping, far-reaching vision, and for as relatively straightforward as the story is it nevertheless plumbs depths that seem rare for not just the silent era but perhaps the film industry at large. It's a lot to take in, but the profit as a viewer is momentous.
From the iconic opening scene in which the name is displayed, to the extended sequence at the end that drives home with unfettered animus Gance's boiling ire, 'J'accuse' is an extraordinary, captivating viewing experience. And it benefited from the utmost skill and attentive ardor from everyone who participated in its creation. The editing and cinematography are extra sharp at select points; particularly (but not exclusively) in the most grandiose of instances, Gance's orchestration of shots and scenes is plainly masterful. The production design and art direction are very easy on the eyes; the hair, makeup, and costume design are sometimes less so, but only in the best and most meaningful of ways. The use of soldiers as extras, and footage captured on the real-life battlefront, are gratifying as a cinephile and make the movie all the more vivid; those effects and stunts that are employed look just as swell. Of course none of this is to count out the cast, whose performances are characterized by considerable range, poise, physicality, and even nuance. Naturally Romuald Joubé, Séverin-Mars, and Maryse Dauvray stand out most, each getting plentiful opportunity in turn to demonstrate their acting abilities, but all others appearing before the camera contribute just as much to what the title ultimately represents. It's readily apparent that all on hand believed wholly in what Gance was doing, and that shared passion produced tremendous results in every capacity.
What more is there to say? I can understand why older films don't appeal to all modern viewers. I firmly believe this picture far surpasses any such qualifications, however, and the immensity of its storytelling and craft is so absorbing and compelling that any passing thoughts bent toward subjective criticism easily melt away. The themes and ideas herein are sadly, infuriatingly all too relevant even one century later, and the feature resonates with a thrumming, undeniable electricity and emotional reach. It's a lot to sit through, in more regards than one, but well worth the time and effort it takes to watch. 'J'accuse' is an outstanding, revered classic, and deserves far greater recognition and remembrance.
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