The River (1951)

How does that old song go? "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman." Yeah, I just quoted Britney Spears lyrics at the beginning of a review for a Jean Renoir film… but I promise you that line is more than appropriate! You see -- assuming you're still with me -- that simple adage perfectly sums up one of the central struggles that rests at the heart of the legendary French director's first color feature, 'The River.' Thankfully, since Renoir's work tends to be a tad deeper than your average sugary pop song, the movie also tackles several other interesting themes, using its eternally flowing setting to evoke a powerful metaphor for life's perpetual cycles of growth and change. As one young girl (or is it young woman?) struggles with her journey through adolescence, the filmmaker also presents a marked transition in his style, fully embracing both the limitations and benefits of the Technicolor process -- resulting in an undeniably gorgeous coming-of-age tale.

Based on the novel of the same name written by Rumer Godden, the story focuses on a British family that lives near the Ganges River in India. Our main focus becomes Harriet (Patricia Walters), a precocious adolescent who develops a passionate crush on an American soldier, Captain John (Thomas E. Breen), who has come to stay with her neighbors. Overwhelmed by her first flirtations with young love, Harriet soon becomes jealous when John's affections stray toward her older friends Valerie (Adrienne Corri) and Melanie (Radha). As the delights and pains of unrequited romance blossom, inescapable currents begin to guide the characters toward a bittersweet finale.

Shot entirely on location in India, the film offers a mostly respectful and delicate admiration for the country's culture, infusing the proceedings with a rare sense of authenticity. With that said, this is still a tale about India strictly told through Westerner's eyes (Indian characters are relegated to supporting and tertiary roles only), but the film never pretends otherwise, clearly capturing the location and its people as filtered through Harriet's perspective (and Renoir's lens). To this end, recurring voice over narration is provided from an adult Harriet, filling us in on details related to her family and the local customs.

This narration is woven throughout the script's classic coming-of-age narrative, chronicling themes of love, growth, jealousy, confusion, and change. And while these elements prove to be rather affecting when all is said and done, the drama does adhere to a certain old fashioned quality (common for this time period), including some outdated dialogue and a telegraphed tragedy. Likewise, the acting can be a little suspect at times (especially from Thomas E. Breen), as Renoir relies on a mostly amateur cast. Thankfully, most of the main performers are effective in their parts, and Patricia Walters (in her only feature film role) does a commendable job of carrying the picture.

For his part, Jean Renoir also does a commendable job with his directing duties, but fans of the filmmaker might be a bit surprised by the lack of his usual stylistic trademarks. The director is well known for his use of reframing camera shots, but due to the logistical limitations of shooting with a large and noisy Technicolor camera, tracking sequences are essentially absent. Instead, most of the runtime relies on stationary shots or simple pans, push-ins, and push-outs. Still, despite a surprising amount of cuts and reaction shots, the director does continue to favor wide masters, and there are several striking compositions that make use of every plain of the frame. One scene, for instance, features Harriet in the foreground, Valerie in the middle-ground, and Captain John in the background. Both women watch the man from hiding spots without his knowledge, and the manner in which they are positioned diagonally in the same single frame perfectly enhances the building drama of the sequence, drawing them together while still keeping them apart.

And while we might lose most of Renoir's famous camera movements, in their place we gain the director's absolutely gorgeous use of color. Bold costume and production designs offer beautiful saturation, and the green of trees and vegetation is emphasized nicely. A fantasy sequence set within one of Harriet's stories about an Indian wedding is also particularly noteworthy, with deep reds and blues, and a fantastic shot depicting traditional Indian dancing. Certain compositions and color palettes even begin to evoke the paintings of the director's legendary father, Pierre-Auguste Renoir. And outside of these more deliberately crafted shots, we are also treated to several documentary-style sequences that simply capture the Indian people amidst their daily life by the river, reinforcing the film's straightforward appreciation for the rhythm and soul of its location.

Caught within the free-flowing stream of progress, 'The River' features Jean Renoir embracing new technology, curbing and evolving his style to fit the tantalizing world of color filmmaking. Though I prefer certain elements of his French black and white productions ('The Rules of the Game,' 'La Grande Illusion'), there is no denying the beautiful visual and storytelling impact present here. Some aspects of the script and performances are decidedly outdated (one character shows off his "sweatshop"), but the movie ultimately remains quite affecting, blending a Western perspective with Indian culture while avoiding overt sensationalism and exoticism. Through its spectacular images and universal themes, the films weaves a coming-of-age tale that is still relevant and relatable -- especially when one draws parallels to a certain 2002 pop song, if one is ever inclined to do so, that is…

The Blu-ray: Vital Disc Stats

Criterion presents 'The River' in their standard clear case with spine number 276. The BD-50 Region A disc comes packaged with a pamphlet featuring an essay by film scholar Ian Christie and notes by the director.