A Scandal in Paris

 

Is there any filmmaker like Douglas Sirk? The point is not his subversiveness, for there are plenty of subversive artists, but rather how the viewer is never certain how he feels about the conventionality within his movies. 

On the one hand, anyone can see that he pokes fun at stale cliches. There is irony in his treatment of familiar stories and tropes. On the other hand, he seems to genuinely embrace them and relish in the familiarity. When every other artist can't wait to display their originality and emphasize how unconventional they are, Sirk seems to enjoy toying with tropes and messing with our expectations. He could not toy with tropes without first loving them and understanding them inside out. 

For example, the hero in "A Scandal in Paris", a man who calls himself Vidocq among other names (George Sanders), a life-long thief and con man who also happens to be dashing and irresistible to women, is in the end reformed by a young woman's love to become an upstanding citizen, even the police chief of Paris. Gee, how many times have we seen that story before, especially in 19th century romance novels. There is no realistic depiction of his "moral awakening" or psychological turning point. And yet, there are these little knowing jokes here and there, never calling attention to themselves, that wink and nudge at the audience, to suggest that no one should take these cliches seriously. 

The real climax of this movie is not the obligatory confrontation and fights at the end but rather the scene between Vidocq and Therese (Signe Hasso), the aristocratic woman who converts him. Presented initially as shy and naive, she represents the archetypal "good woman" who usually changes the bad boy's mind with her purity and innocence or stimulating his protective instinct (yeah, I too know the tropes inside out). Here, however, she declares that she would become a thief and a criminal for him. "If I can't get you to join me on my side, I'll have to go over to your side," she says. Sure, we could consider this yet another trope: a woman swept up by her infatuation with a bad boy and willing to abandon her social standing for him. But it's not. Her glee and enthusiasm hint at a repressed desire for thrills and rebellion. It's no more than a hint but unmistakable if you pay attention.

In another familiar but ambiguous scene, Loretta (Carole Landis), the "bad woman" in contrast to Therese (again a conventional setup that feels slightly off), betrays her poor sop of a husband in a rendezvous with Vidocq. Her husband finds her and, in a rage, threatens to commit suicide, but instead he shoots her dead. One could of course argue that her death is just a silly plot device to get Vidocq out of a jam, which it is, but it can also be interpreted as the husband's inability to express his hatred for her except through violence and murder. Funny how that is eerily realistic but hardly ever described.  

In 1946 under the stranglehold of the Hays Code, even the most nihilistic movies have to tack on a reassuring ending. No killer is allowed to go free. No adulterer could live happily ever after. And yet the way the code is carried out here is so cynical and twisted that the audience might not derive the correct moral lesson.

The world is filled with men eager to prove how clever they are, but one who is extremely clever but barely lets it show is a rarity.