I Must Be Dreaming

Last semester I took a Surrealism in film course and one of the early films we watched was Jean Cocteau’s The Blood Of A Poet (1930). Although it was somewhat difficult to watch, I loved the film and anyone interested in the Surrealist movement or early films with impressive visual effects should really see it. Twenty years and five films later, Cocteau made Orpheus (1950), his interpretation of the Greek myth and the second film in his Orphic Trilogy. I was once again blown away by Cocteau’s visual style and his ground-breaking (or at least what appear to be ground-breaking) camera techniques and visual effects. Orpheus, unlike The Blood Of A Poet, was easy to follow. However, Cocteau doesn’t provide us with a lot of answers, opening the film with voice over stating, “Where does our story take place… and when? A legend is entitled to be beyond place and time. Interpret it as you wish.”

One of the most interesting things about this film, for me, was how Cocteau found a way to incorporate stunning special effects into a film that overall appears very realistic. Orpheus begins in what I would guess is Paris at a small café where various poets and artists relax. With its everyday subject matter and purely diagetic sound, the style could be mistaken for Italian Neo-Realism. It looks no less real than a documentary. However, as soon as Orpheus enters into the car with the princess (Death) and Heurtebise, we realize that this world, or whatever world we are now entering, is skewed. When the princess orders Heurtebise to “take the usual route”, the scenery outside the car suddenly changes. It dissolves into what appears to be a negative image of what we previously saw. The men who ran over Jacques Cegeste return and now carry him into a mansion, looking like futuristic police officers. The princess asks Orpheus, “Are you sleepwalking?” to which he responds, “I must be.” This appears to be almost directly influenced by surrealism and tells us that what we are viewing should not necessarily be taken literally.









Cocteau’s use of mirrors for trick photography was incredible to me. He often places mirrors in particular spots and later takes the mirror out so he can achieve a desired effect that confuses, if not completely fools us. In one scene, Orpheus is about to follow Heurtebise through the mirror to either get back his wife or be reunited with his death. Orpheus puts on the gloves and walks toward the mirror, or what we think is a mirror, with his hands out in front of him. When I first saw this shot, I couldn’t understand what was happening. The shot is a P.O.V. where we can see his hands in front of the camera and his body in the mirror in front of us. If a mirror was actually located there, how is it possible that the camera would not be seen? It seems Cocteau used a mirror in this spot earlier in the scene and then removed it for this particular shot. We are not seeing actor Jean Marais’ reflection. However, we’re actually seeing him walking toward the camera with a different actor’s hands in front of the lens. It's kind of difficult to explain but if you watch it again, it’s remarkable, especially since Cocteau put another actor on the other side of the foreground board to fill in for Heurtebise's back reflection.

Professor McRae mentioned briefly in class that film has the ability to mess with time and Cocteau shows just how powerful that manipulation can be. As soon as we enter into the underworld, or what I’m assuming to be Cocteau’s version of Hades, there is absolutely no sense of real time. About two thirds of the way into the film, after Orpheus follows Heurtebise through the mirror, Cocteau cuts to a seemingly arbitrary scene where a mailman drops a letter into Orpheus’ mailbox. We then cut back to Orpheus as he follows Heurtebise through Hades. After about twenty minutes of the film, when Orpheus comes back to the world with his wife and Heurtebise, Cocteau begins the scene with the mailman’s letter dropping. By bookending this pivotal sequence with the beginning and end of this brief moment, Cocteau shows the magic of editing and the power to expand one second into twenty minutes of film.

In Naomi Greene’s article “Deadly Statues: Eros in the Films of Jean Cocteau”, she addresses this idea that the princess is much like a femme fatale figure. I would’ve never thought to look at her in this way but I can now see that there are many parallels. As Green states, “…the main narrative thread in these films involves the poet’s subservient and ambivalent relation to an icy and powerful woman.” Much like in Double Indemnity and The Third Man, Orpheus’ tale includes a character that in many ways is seduced by a female character and is introduced to a foreign world that is both complicated and dangerous.

Greene also discusses how Orpheus addresses masochism and sexuality. After watching the film, the obvious example of masochism is the fact that Orpheus feels compelled to be with his death, to the point of eventually falling in love with her. Towards the end of the film, in a very perplexing moment, Orpheus kisses his own death and lies down on the bed to embrace her. Because the princess is a manifestation of Death, she symbolizes darkness and pain. Orpheus feels for the princess, in other words, her feels pleasure whenever he is close to death. This relationship could easily be interpreted as a comment on masochism and could possibly explain Cocteau’s view on how the lifestyle of an artist. Many artists, whether they are a poet, writer, painter, sculptor or filmmaker, are often associated with depression and loneliness, if not only because they are more emotionally attached to the world around them. I think that Orpheus comments on this very concept and, to me, explains why Cocteau frequently blends the real with the surreal. For, when trying to portray the mind of an artist, it would be terribly inaccurate to present everything literally.