The director credit may read Abel Gance but if the opening credits were somehow inadvertently omitted any reasonably knowledgeable film buff might be forgiven for thinking it was Doublas Sirk on bullhorn with a nod in passing - via the finale featuring a cluttered set and shots framed through the spokes of a wheel - to Jo Von Sternberg. Gance of course had a distinguished career and his place in the pantheon is assured - as is Sirk's albeit in a lesser pantheon - but this is definitely a minor work. Elvire Popescu, Romanian born but primarily associated with French cinema between the wars is given top distaff billing but far less screen time than Micheline Presle, who was, in my case, the main selling point. Just as the film as a whole resembles the Douglas Sirk of a later decade so Popescu is a look and act-alike of Zsa Zsa Gabor also of a later decade. The story is pure melodrama; two lovers share an idyllic romance in the lead-up to world war one, the wife dies in childbirth, the husband-father abandons the daughter until a tearful reunion; he becomes a successful fashion designer and dies nobly even as his daughter marries. Presle had been in the business a scant couple of years when she walked away with this and is, I'm happy to say, still going strong like Danielle Darrieux, her senior by five years; both had films out last year and long may they continue.
Review of Four Flights to Love
