Les Misérables

I cannot honestly remember when I first became acquainted with the Victor Hugo masterpiece, Les Misérables. I remember trying to read the massive tome of a novel when I was in my twenties and failing from a combination of sheer length and my inability to concentrate on the words; I have always been better at listening than at reading from the page. I did eventually pick up an audiobook copy and listen to it through to the end, but that happened just a few years ago, long after my first experience with seeing filmed versions of the story as well as attending a Broadway production of the musical. I write this to give a bit of background into my understanding of the original prose and how it has been translated over the years; I am in no way an expert on the subject, but I’m not a novice, either. 

I wrote about this when I reviewed the 2012 musical feature based on that play, and I won’t spend a lot of time here rehashing that, only to say that it is a much different experience seeing that version of this story than it is watching any of the films that predate the 1980 Broadway production, of which there are many. Knowing that, I was anxious to watch one of the earliest versions committed to film, the 1935 Academy Award-nominated movie featuring Fredric March and Charles Laughton. I was also a little nervous, too, because this is a story that I hold dear, and it needed to do the book justice, yet the film is well under two hours in length, hardly enough time to cover the basic beats of the plot. 

The film opens with the sentencing of Jean Valjean (Fredric March), a man who, in desperation to feed his starving sister and her family, stole a loaf of bread. For this crime, he is sentenced to ten years in the gallows. Upon his release, he is given a yellow passport, branding him a criminal, and put on parole. This passport prevents him from gaining gainful employment or even lodging, a system that seems designed to force parolees back into a life of crime, repeating the cycle of punishment. After some time, a kindly priest invites him in for supper and a warm bed. When Valjean tries to steal the silverware and is caught by the police, the priest insists the silverware was a gift, placating the law. He gifts two silver candlesticks to Valjean on top of the silverware, extracting a promise from him to choose a life of giving rather than taking. 

Many years pass, and Valjean has rebranded himself as Monsieur Madeleine, using his resources to run a successful factory and has even become mayor. This came at the expense of breaking his parole for the sake of a fresh start in life, though, and Inspector Javert (Charles Laughton), a hard man who lives by the strictest interpretation of the law, suspects Madeleine. Meanwhile, one of the women working for Valjean, Fantine (Florence Eldridge), has been dismissed from his factory over gossip about her daughter, a young girl sent away to be cared for while Fantine works. Without income, Fantine comes to Valjean to plead that he care for her daughter, Cosette. Complicating things, Javert comes to him one evening to confess that he had believed Madeleine was Valjean until another man was arrested, accused of being him, and will soon be sentenced to prison for parole violation. Jean Valjean has a choice to make: confess to his past and lose everything he has built, including all the good it has done the community and his workers, or let the man go to prison for him. Shortly afterwards, Fantine grows ill and dies.

He rescues Cosette from the abusive situation she is living in, and confesses to the authorities who he really is, letting them know they can come get him at his home if they want to. Perhaps he assumed they would let it go, but later that evening Javert and his men show up at his home with the intent to arrest him. This sets off a series of events that spans many years as he flees the officers, protects and raises Cosette, and avoids the ever-present Javert who never gives up on trying to catch him. But he knows that someday Cosette (Rochelle Hudson) will have grown up and will have to leave him and cleave to another man, a husband. In the final third of the story, it becomes clear who that man will be, Marius (John Beal), a young idealist stirring up trouble with the law by raising awareness amongst the populous about the unfair treatment of prisoners in France. 

With a property like this, the hardest thing to let go is that much of the story, as told in the novel, will not make the transition to film. So much of the plot from that book had to be removed to pare it down to a reasonable length. We lose the plot of the abusive innkeepers, the Thénardiers, reducing their screentime to a single scene. Their plot later in the story is entirely gone, including how it is their daughter, Éponine (Frances Drake), who makes a key moment happen in the finale. Éponine is still in the picture, but her relationship with the Thénardiers is basically gone. 

Other moments are heavily streamlined, such as the romance that develops between Cosette and Marius. In this version, we get barely two scenes between the two, and they are suddenly talking about marriage. An understanding of the novel helps this along, but someone seeing this film with no foreknowledge will have a hard time with this shorthand. 

Other issues in the film come from the times in which it was made. This is a film made during the Great Depression, and certain elaborate sequences were either too difficult to film or resources were not available to realize them. This is primarily noticeable in the final third with Marius and his fellow students and their governmental protests. It’s a major part of most versions of this story, and aside from the handing out of fliers and a single sequence of civil unrest, most of what we know about this happens off-screen. This is perhaps the most disappointing aspect of the film because these moments are amongst the most exciting parts of the book. Here, we are told what is going on rather than seeing any of it. 

Fredric March makes for a compelling Jean Valjean. More than any other version of the character I have seen, he conveys the hesitation to do the right thing. When he hears of the man being falsely accused of being Valjean, his first instinct is to let it happen. Only when he gazes upon the silver candlesticks does he accept that he needs to do the right thing. This moment was not in the theatrical production I saw, nor the other film versions that I am familiar with. It humanizes Valjean in a way the more resolute and stoic version doesn’t. It also endears him to us because we can see the inner struggle that is before him and question whether we would be able to make the same decision.

Another scene that further humanizes him is when Cosette first tells him of Marius, and his first response seems to suggest that he may have harbored feelings for her, himself, despite being her guardian since she was a child. Most of the time I see Jean Valjean as the kind of character who is selfless and a kind of saint, but these moments bring home the reality that he is as human as the next person and subject to temptation and weakness, too. It’s a difficult character to get correct, and some of our greatest actors over the years have failed to do it complete justice. 

The character of Javert is equally difficult to convey. He could very easily be a one-note character, doggedly pursuing Valjean because of his unrelenting focus on the letter of the law. But amongst all that is his introductory scene where he is answering to his superiors about his background, and we get a real sense of why he is the way that he is. Charles Laughton was a man who tried to put his own background into his characters, and you can see that in this introductory scene, reflecting on his lowly early life and the struggles to put that behind him and be an exemplary officer of the law. Despite him being the primary antagonist of the picture, this introductory scene helps keep us from totally hating him. It also helps us understand better the decision he makes in the end.

What disappoints me the most about this adaptation is that it skips the emotional final act of the story. We wrap things us with Javert’s end and skip the final sacrifice Valjean makes for Cosette, including his confession to Marius and his own death. This was the best sequence in the book and never failed to bring tears to my eyes during the musical, including the 2012 filmed version. All of that is left out of this film, allowing it to end on a happy note, but it sacrifices the emotional gut-punch that ends the actual story. The choice to end it where it does is a curious one that I understand but do not agree with. 

As a whole, this is a wonderful, but flawed, adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel. It’s well acted and staged, but the limitations of the time can be seen often, and the choice to leave off the ending left me disappointed. Still, the power of Hugo’s story comes through clearly, and the positive message about the power of doing what’s right, no matter the consequence, still works today. There is a reason why this book has been adapted so many times over the years; it still resonates with people. After more than one hundred and sixty years, this story still works, and this version is still powerful enough to move me, even if the best part was sacrificed for the sake of a happily-ever-after.

Academy Award Nominations:

Outstanding Production: Darryl F. Zanuck

Best Assistant Director: Eric Stacey

Best Cinematography: Gregg Toland

Best Film Editing: Barbara McLean

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Release Date: April 20, 1935

Running Time: 103 minutes

Not Rated

Starring: Fredric March and Charles Laughton

Directed by: Richard Boleslawski