Upon the first viewing of Au revoir les enfants, we are as engrossed into the mystery of Jean Bonnet as the young Julien Quentin is. And on a second viewing, the little clues become a great deal clearer, and we are able to piece together the puzzle a little quicker than the inquisitive young boy. But of course the modern older viewer has the frame of context and knowledge that Julien does not have - he knows the telltale signs of a Jew, but cannot figure out why they are hunted and persecuted so diligently, when all he sees is one of his close friends. And so the entire film is tinged in regret; even as Jean reminds him that he would have been caught anyway, we feel the chain of events that lead to that monumental morning being so painful to remember, and that one fatal glance that led to a death on his hand.
Louis Malle works with his memories and experiences, and here he has crafted a group of young schoolboys so reminiscent and convincing. He has captured that remarkable knack and ability of young boys to be able to hastily create relationships out of nothing, sever them, and hastily mend them all over. They pipe up at any opportunity to make a joke on someone else's behalf, and take playful violence to the limit, and are all friendly the next day. And any child would remember cheering whenever they got a break from school-work - here it is within the grim context of air raids, but they cheer anyway, and when the teacher starts a prayer, they all instinctively join in.
Why this succeeds is that Malle does not overdo the World War 2 setting; these boys certainly do not take the war so seriously, so he takes on that viewpoint. They playact as knights on stilts and knock each other over as real soldiers fight, but it might as well be another day for them. They trade books with dirty stories in them, and cackle at a rare viewing of Chaplin. When a German soldier stands up to a French collaborator in the restaurant and the whole establishment rallies around an elderly Jewish customer, there is an sinister undercurrent about it, but this is viewed through the innocent lens of Julien, who seems to know that what is happening is bad, and instinctively covers for his Jewish friend, but does not understand why being Jewish is bad thing.
He is at the centre of the narrative, at the tender age where he is still a mummy's boy, but like many blossoming teenagers puts on a braver, cooler front: indeed his first lines to Jean are a thinly veiled threat to not mess with him. He has little moments of cheekiness and intelligence, bartering his mother's jam and pretending to drown in the bathtub to avoid the wrath of taking too long. And there is a subplot of his uncertainty around his future aspirations that links towards the courageous actions of the priest Père Jean; mentors whisper that he does not quite have the calling of priesthood, and his mother coddles and suggests taking on the same occupation as his father in engineering, and in the same vein his piano playing is not quite up to scratch, so he is recommended taking up violin. But he does have those same qualities as Père Jean anyway. A bitter Joseph mocks him for being so pious and generous when it is war and it is every man for himself - "They're just Jews," he spits outs. But it is the rejection of this statement by Julien that rings so true and brave - it is in those small acts of defiance, and those brief friendships that shine brightly in the darkness of the Holocaust, that our humanity remains.
Louis Malle works with his memories and experiences, and here he has crafted a group of young schoolboys so reminiscent and convincing. He has captured that remarkable knack and ability of young boys to be able to hastily create relationships out of nothing, sever them, and hastily mend them all over. They pipe up at any opportunity to make a joke on someone else's behalf, and take playful violence to the limit, and are all friendly the next day. And any child would remember cheering whenever they got a break from school-work - here it is within the grim context of air raids, but they cheer anyway, and when the teacher starts a prayer, they all instinctively join in.
Why this succeeds is that Malle does not overdo the World War 2 setting; these boys certainly do not take the war so seriously, so he takes on that viewpoint. They playact as knights on stilts and knock each other over as real soldiers fight, but it might as well be another day for them. They trade books with dirty stories in them, and cackle at a rare viewing of Chaplin. When a German soldier stands up to a French collaborator in the restaurant and the whole establishment rallies around an elderly Jewish customer, there is an sinister undercurrent about it, but this is viewed through the innocent lens of Julien, who seems to know that what is happening is bad, and instinctively covers for his Jewish friend, but does not understand why being Jewish is bad thing.
He is at the centre of the narrative, at the tender age where he is still a mummy's boy, but like many blossoming teenagers puts on a braver, cooler front: indeed his first lines to Jean are a thinly veiled threat to not mess with him. He has little moments of cheekiness and intelligence, bartering his mother's jam and pretending to drown in the bathtub to avoid the wrath of taking too long. And there is a subplot of his uncertainty around his future aspirations that links towards the courageous actions of the priest Père Jean; mentors whisper that he does not quite have the calling of priesthood, and his mother coddles and suggests taking on the same occupation as his father in engineering, and in the same vein his piano playing is not quite up to scratch, so he is recommended taking up violin. But he does have those same qualities as Père Jean anyway. A bitter Joseph mocks him for being so pious and generous when it is war and it is every man for himself - "They're just Jews," he spits outs. But it is the rejection of this statement by Julien that rings so true and brave - it is in those small acts of defiance, and those brief friendships that shine brightly in the darkness of the Holocaust, that our humanity remains.