Summary
It is 17th century France. The impoverished baron de Sigognac allows a band of travelling
actors to spend the night in his run-down castle. Bored with his life in the country,
the young baron decides to travel with them to Paris. On the way there, one of the
actor dies and Sigognac volunteers to take his place, the role of Captain Fracasse.
During a performance in Paris, the young actress Isabelle wins the attentions of a wealthy
duke. When she spurns his advances, the duke threatens to rob her of her true love,
the baron de Sigognac...
Review
Since Théophile Gautier’s novel was first published in 1863, Le Capitaine Fracasse
has enjoyed widespread popularity, particularly in France, in much the same vein
as Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. Although less well known than Dumas’ historical
tale, Le Capitaine Fracasse is an appropriate story for the cinema and has enjoyed
three successful film adaptations too date. The second film adaptation is probably
the most well known and is a lavish production featuring the legendary actor Jean Marais
in the role of Fracasse.
This version of the film has just the right balance of action, drama, humour and romance.
Unusually for a period drama of this kind, all the principal characters – and even some
of the minor characters – are very well rounded and believable individuals. Although
the plot is a little simple and predictable, the film itself is magnificently crafted,
showing a great eye for detail on the part of the director and set designer. Beautifully
filmed, the film appears to date from a later period, having the production values of
a lavish late 1960s period drama.
Jean Marais clearly revels in the role of the solitary baron who becomes a swashbuckling
hero. Not only does he show himself to be a great actor, with an astonishing dramatic
range, but he also appears pretty formidable as a sword fighter. He is joined by
two other great luminaries of French cinema, Philippe Noiret and Louis de Funès,
who are both equally impressive (although de Funès only has a very minor role in
this film).
Probably the most endearing thing about this film is its slightly self-deprecating sense
of humour. Although the duels and romances are treated with deadly seriousness,
the film still manages to find time to relax and laugh at itself. Two prime examples
of this are the actor’s funeral near the start of the film and the lovers’ parody enacted
by Noiret and de Funès at the end. This kind of self-indulgence can be a
little risky, but it succeeds in this film because the film itself is so consciously magnificent
yet so disarmingly unpretentious.
© James Travers 2000
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