When France was occupied by Nazi Germany from 1940 to 1944 all aspects of life were affected, and cinema was no exception as the Germans set up Continental Films to provide the French populace with an escape from the horrors of real life. Most of films made were harmless escapism, but some used the trappings of genre to critique the misery of the Occupation – one of the most notable being Maurice Tourneur’s horror film The Devil’s Hand (La Main du Diable), which is adapted from a Gérard de Nerval 19th century short story.
Tourneur’s film begins in an idyllic mountain inn that has been snowed under by an avalanche. As the assembled patrons complain about the prospect of prunes for dinner again, a man bursts through the front door clutching a small box and wearing a fake left hand. Chaos soon follows with the arrival of the police followed by a mysterious blackout that throws the whole inn into an uproar, during which the small box the fake-handed man has been guarding so carefully disappears. In absolute despair the man tells his story, claiming that he is a formerly famous painter called Roland Brissot – only he wasn’t always well-known, or even any good
Played by the great Pierre Fresnay (who would appear in Clouzot’s Le Corbeau the same year), Brissot is something of a hapless bohemian, well-intentioned in his desire to make art that captures the essential nature of things, but entirely hopeless otherwise – especially with women, as it turns out, because he becomes infatuated with a young store clerk he meets called Irène. Played by Josseline Gaël, she’s sarcastic, materialistic, and a portrait of female avarice that’s so harsh and cynical, it drags the film down into the murky swamp of misogyny, and quite why he Brissot is infatuated with her is unclear. You could argue that this approach is part of the film’s general cynicism, reflecting a bitterness at the whole wretched lot while taking a few swipes at religion and the art world for good measure, especially considering The Devil’s Hand‘s status as a film from an era of great cynicism and distrust. Even with that context, it’s hard to see what Roland would really want from a woman like Irene or why he would bother putting up with her constant denigration of his artistic ambition, and the film falters whenever she appears.
As a long-time fan of French horror cinema, simply being able to see this film in high-quality instead of the battered 35mm print I watched back in 2018 is a pleasure.
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As soon as she clears off after unceremoniously dumping Roland we’re treated to one of the best moments in the film. Plied with good brandy by a suspicious restaurant owner, He’s convinced to buy a mysterious talisman that will give him dexterity beyond his wildest dreams, the only catch being the restaurant owner must sell it at a loss. So what is this talisman but a left hand – a Manus Sinistra if you will – that moves of its own accord, and the sequence itself has some exceptional shadowplay, especially the shot of Roland ascending the stairs to the restauranteur’s bedroom where the devilish talisman lives. Tourneur’s son was riding high on his collaborations with Val Lewton at the same time le vieil homme was making this, and the sinister quality of Tourneur Sr.’s cinematography, especially a huge silhouette of a face on the wall begging Roland not to buy the hand, suggests that this ability with the fantastic may well have been genetic.
Tickled by the absurdity of what he’s seeing, Roland decides to buy the talisman, and immediately things seem off as animals become inherently frightened of him (including his beloved dog), while a strange little man appears at his atelier but says nothing, and somehow he’s become a painter of incredible skill. We then cut to a year later, with Roland married to his beloved Irène and being feted at an exhibition of his paintings at the Galerie Gabelin. The little man reappears and reveals his identity to be, in fact, the Devil himself, who’s come to collect Roland’s soul unless he can pay him back, and it’s here that the story becomes most easily understood as a parable about collaboration. Roland may have been given a shortcut to incredible success by his talisman, but his achievements require him to hand over his dignity, his sense of integrity, and whatever else you may wish to connote the soul with – all for the measly prize of obnoxious pseudointellectuals fawning over him.
The second half of Tourneur’s film sees Roland trying to reason his way out of the bargain he’s made, and as a depiction of how people rationalise their immorality while hoping to beat their situations without any loss to themselves it’s strong material. It loses much of the tremendously spooky atmosphere that Tourneur and his team had whipped up in the first half, especially the story-within-a-story structure that feels like pure Gothic, and it’s a little too schematic in the various ways that Roland tries to get the perfect amount of money to buy back his soul, only for the Devil to thwart him at every turn. It’s a little disappointing that the plot suddenly throws in a Deus Ex Machina to grant Roland a supernatural out from his predicament, but the way it happens is beautiful – a visitation from all the souls who once used the hand, rendered like an elaborate puppet show. In a series of crepuscular vignettes we discover how easy it was for these people to succumb to the Devil’s temptations, and it’s only when Roland can see beyond the immediacy of his own wants that can he take the upper hand (excuse the pun).
Eureka’s release benefits from a nice 1080p remaster in the original French mono soundtrack, but the two extras are disappointing. Samm Deighan’s video essay The Devil in the Details promises an analysis of French fantastique cinema under the Occupation, but does little more than provide an unfocused overview of The Devil’s Hand’s influences – albeit with some excellent citations and Deighan’s calm, authoritative narration. The other documentary is a stodgy archival piece on the history of French cinema under the Occupation, but it contains some great reminiscences from those who’d lived through the period. As a long-time fan of French horror cinema, simply being able to see this film in high-quality instead of the battered 35mm print I watched back in 2018 is a pleasure, and if you have an appreciation for the genre, then seek this out.
THE DEVIL’S HAND IS OUT NOW ON (LE) EUREKA MASTERS OF CINEMA BLU-RAY
