Die Fantome des Hutmachers (1982) Online

"Les fantômes du chapelier" ,very well received at the time of release,still stands as Chabrol's best movie in the eighties,though certain aspects of its premise have undergone some reassessment.

Seen today,the movie displays flaws that were hardly noticeable 20 years ago.First of all,Michel Serrault overplays:his over-the -top performance ,once lauded ,seems now exasperating and throws the movie off balance.(I wonder what Chabrol's other favorite,Michel Bouquet, would have done in this part).This imbalance is increased by the fact that Charles Aznavour's character is not present enough on the screen.Aznavour gives a wonderful portrayal of an Armenian émigré,whom bourgeois Serrault enjoys humiliating and demeaning.With hindsight Aznavour beats Serrault hands down.

The problem with "les fantômes du chapelier" is that it recalls other superior movies:bourgeois impunity had always been treated by Chabrol himself during his 1967-1973 heyday (notably:"la femme infidèle","la rupture" "juste avant la nuit""docteur Popaul"),but also long before him:Henri Decoin's "non coupable" (1946) and "la verite sur Bebe Donge" (1952): in the 1946 film,the intention is much clearier and scarier than in Chabrol's 1982 effort,and ,anyway,Serrault is no match for Michel Simon.We can also mention George Lautner's "le septième juré". "Les fantômes du chapelier" has an eerie side,verging on fantastic ,but ,again,there's the rub:let's face it,it looks like some kind of "psycho" of which the secret would have been be revealed sooner.

Something intriguing:the camera often shows a "Ben Hur" poster in the neighborhood .A tribute to William Wyler is dubious from a "nouvelle vague " family director,but who knows?

See it anyways.Its several incredible moments will make it worth your while.For Charles Aznavour and for Chabrol's always absorbing depiction of a small town.

It was out of sheer coincidence that this viewing followed those of Chabrol's JUST BEFORE NIGHTFALL (1971) and THE BREACH (1970) since it has thematic similarities with the former, while adopting an incongruously stylized approach as the latter!

In fact, we have here a strangling (which, however, is a flashback this time around and occurs towards the end rather than at the very start) that is almost a replica of the one in JUST BEFORE NIGHTFALL. Similarly, the culprit is depicted as being unable to find peace of mind (and, in this case, stop his crime spree) until he is apprehended! With this in mind, the "Cult Filmz" website (where THE HATTER'S GHOST was given a similar rating as mine) bemoans the unsatisfying ending but, as for myself, I was not bothered by its ordinariness (this is, after all, essentially a low-key affair).

Incidentally, Leonard Maltin – who unjustly lambasts the film and awards it a measly *1/2 – may have been baffled by the seemingly deliberate heavy-handedness at work and, consequently, took Michel Serrault's performance in particular to be absurdly overstated. He is literally a "Mad Hatter", thus providing a link to yet another of the director's earlier efforts i.e. ALICE OR THE LAST ESCAPADE (1977). Indeed, as with the afore-mentioned (and intrinsically histrionic) THE BREACH, this could well be deemed a parody Chabrol movie if it were not so compelling (based on a novel by Georges Simenon) and obviously accomplished!

In the long run, THE HATTER'S GHOST emerges to be one of the most purely Hitchcockian works by France's own "Master Of Suspense", with definite nods to PSYCHO (1960) and FRENZY (1972) but also featuring a STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951)-like complicity between the film's two leads. The other protagonist is Charles Aznavour – no less impressive than Serrault, despite having far less screen-time – as the mousy Armenian tailor who constantly shadows the hatter, even witnessing one of his murders, but is too afraid to report him and, owing to his own frail health, eventually dies. Also in the cast are a young Francois Cluzet as a reporter who not only follows the case but is periodically contacted via taunting letters by the strangler, THE BREACH's Mario David as the clueless Chief of Police and Aurore Clement as an attractive woman all the menfolk lust after but who is clearly fated to cross paths with the killer eventually.

If this movie were ever shown in English-speaking countries they could do worse that call it Tailor and Cutter, which pretty much sums up the plot; Charles Aznavour is a tailor in a French provincial town and the only citizen to suspect hatter Michel Serrault of serial murder. As usual Chabrol is good at depicting French Provincial life though it could be argued that he lets him camera wander down the same narrow, cobblestoned street once too often. Despite his major billing Aznavour is restricted to a Supporting role at best and spends ninety five per cent of his screen time openly 'shadowing' Serrault and being taunted for his pains. Even if you don't know the storyline going in it soon becomes apparent that 1) Serrault has a secret and 2) Aznavour has a pretty shrewd idea what it is so that what pleasure there is to be had comes from observing the cat and mouse game which Serrault enjoys as much as killing and it is significant that when Aznavour falls ill and dies Serrault loses his own zest for life and throws in the towel. Certainly worth watching but not vintage Chabrol.

"Hatter's Ghost" is a forgotten Claude Chabrol film that seems to have a reputation of being a lesser work in some circles (Leonard Maltin, for example, awards it only *1/2 out of 4 stars), but let me tell you, it is made with a mastery of the film medium that most directors never even come close to achieving. However, it is also one of Chabrol's darkest films ever, with a troubling streak of misogyny that is not unprecedented in the director's filmography (see "A Double Tour" or "Pleasure Party"). Michel Serrault gives an astonishing performance that should have received much more recognition, but the fact remains that we are asked to spend a full two hours in the company of a human monster. The experience is definitely not for all tastes, but thanks to the ingenious way Chabrol slowly reveals the full extent of the situation, it's also very absorbing. And, as is the norm for a Chabrol film, this one is also extremely well photographed and scored. *** out of 4.

The plotting of "Chapelier" is actually quite dull, I must admit. But nevertheless the movie is a great piece of entertainment. The one person that makes it worth your while is Michel Serrault. He ranges among the finest actors that France brought to the screen. Here, he simply plays a total nuthead, which is absolutely entertaining to look at. Should you ever come across this movie on TV, watch it!

A hatter in a provincial town (Michel Serrault) leads the life of a respectable citizen but is in fact a serial murderer. The only person to suspect this is his neighbour the tailor (Charles Asnavour). It is difficult to believe that this film was made in the eighties as not only is the film set in the fifties but it has a totally fifties style production. It seems to be exactly the kind of film that Chabrol and the other members of the nouvelle vague were rebelling against. The story is very straightforward, the characters are stereotypes, the female characters are two dimensional and treated as objects. "Le Boucher" made years earlier is far more modern and superior in every way. The story is well told if you suspend your disbelief and the acting on the whole is good. The town in which it is set is very photogenic, with narrow cobbled streets and no traffic. Not only does it compare badly to other Chabrol films but also to other Simenon adaptations. "Monsieur Hire" has a similarly paced and straightforward story line but is more adventurous in visual style and tells a more modern story with two more believable characters. "Le Horloger de Saint-Paul" has almost a documentary style and requires a lot of thought as the development is to do with the main character rather than the storyline, and is far superior.

I agree with the French critics: 'Les fantômes du chapelier' is typical Chabrol, in it's immersion in the seedy side of small-town bourgeoisie; and also I agree with the general French view that this is one of the director's finest, in it's stifling and utterly convincing accumulation of horror, and in his precise and unshowy command of all aspects of the film's development.

I also agree with the French view that Michel Serrault's disturbingly haunted strangler is a miracle of the highest theatrical achievement, as that great actor develops a portrayal of the inner turmoil beneath the dapper and respectable exterior of a monster: The spectacle of the abnormal psychological disturbance M. Labbé is unable to quite conceal under a stiff and formal manner is a sustained tour-de-force by Serrault. Anglo-Saxon critics have done him little justice for this astonishing, riveting performance.

The performance of Monique Chaumette as the difficult but ultimately unhappy and tragic Mme Labbé - in a flasback to the Labbé's dangerously dysfunctional marriage - is also a dramatic high point, and every bit as perfectly judged a murder scene as anything in Hitchcock.

Nor should we ignore the horror shown in the face of Kachoudas, the sad little Jewish tailor, who sees the abyss of evil in Labbé before anyone else, and is hypnotised by it as by a threatening ghost from his own racial past, until eventually the wounded soul of Kachoudas succumbs to the fearful proximity of the seemingly unstoppable mass-murderer, and the return of this refugee's existential and radical insecurity, already burdened with the inescapable psychological damage of a surviving victim, prove overwhelming - indeed, Labbé's dark warnings to keep quiet are sufficient to crush the tailor's spirit, already weakened from pneumonia brought on by the chill he caught following the hatter one wet night, when he witnessed the latest murder.

Some have objected that the story is merely 'unpleasant,' but I would have to say that there are here many cameos of decent, ordinary folk to provide a humane context that makes the disgusting spectacle as pitiable as it is horrific: The silent observers of the final murder/guilt tableaux at the conclusion,when Labbé is found asleep next to the corpse of his last victim, is a scene almost out of Greek tragedy, except that the Chorus is a largely still and silent one, evincing on our behalf, as the audience, the mute horror of all outraged normal sensibility.

The queasy mix of black humour and moral horror is created by a director who was a master of his craft and art: Talk of this being somehow 'lesser' Chabrol is simply ridiculous. This is supremely well-judged cinema by a film-maker still at the top of his game.

It is all more metaphysical than it is mere ''policier.' A very great film, i.m.h.o.