The King of Hearts

by Yuki

The King of Hearts (Le Roi du Coeur) 1966, France, Dir by Phillipe de Broca

Recently, I've been increasingly drawn to films about war, having been preoccupied with thoughts of this atrocious event, which is so easily referred to as a "necessary evil."  Many of the best and most memorable movies ever made are on war, and war films, or rather anti-war films, in general are certainly a popular genre.  Historically grounded, they're pretty easy to relate to on some level or another, and come with a built-in dramatic tension, particularly the more commercial movies, which draw from a resonant stock of virtuous human experience: Glory, Sacrifice, Love of Country, etc.  I've found that many of these films rely on recreating the actual experience of the soldier in battle, focusing on physical atrocities (and spending huge studio budgets) in order to drive home the inevitable message that "war is bad," but they never quite make any greater observation on what it all means.  In light of this, I was happily surprised by the French film, The King of Hearts, a film about war that has so little "war" in it. The gentle, light-hearted humor and charm was a style I had never encountered before in this genre, except in Charlie Chaplin's astonishing film, The Great Dictator.  Like the Chaplin film, The King of Hearts' comedic approach is powerful because it succeeds (at least for me) in mocking the power out of the hands of generals, and stressing the absurd, rather than the violent.

Set in World War One, the film takes place over the course of two days in a sleepy little French village that has been occupied by a German unit lead by a Lt. Hamburger.   Just before moving out, the Germans, depicted with cartoon-like villainry and meanness, wire the town's clock with explosives set to blow up at the stroke of midnight.  To diffuse the bomb and save the town, the Irish army (equally silly and cartoon-like) sends in young Plumpick, played by British actor Allen Bates, a quiet, brainy soldier who speaks French and keeps charge of the unit's messenger pigeons. Unbeknownst to Plumpick, the town's population flees before his arrival, and the only remaining civilians are the inmates of a mental asylum who gleefully take over the town.  They transform themselves into generals, prostitutes, priests, and royalty, and meld naturally into fanciful utopian community.  Some assume identities that make no sense: a happy cuckold, a virginal prostitute, a nation-less general, but each has a strong and distinct character.  The scene when the white-robed inmates leave the asylum and slowly descend into the freshly deserted streets is one of the most beautiful and thrilling in the film.  The lonely echo of their wooden shoes against the cobblestones grows gradually louder as more and more stream out, until it is almost deafening. 

Upon his arrival from the battlefield, Plumpick is in an altered world.  These townspeople are carefree and happy when they should be trembling.  They are only concerned with amusing themselves – breaking out in song and dance, and spontaneous pageantry – and do not seem to know that a war is raging just beyond their town walls, or even that such a thing as war exists. They dub him the King of Hearts and stage an elaborate coronation. Once Plumpick realizes everybody is crazy, ("I'm the King of the fools!") he finds himself alone in his frustrating search for the bomb, but the blithe state of mind of these people is hard for him to resist. Early on, when a beautiful girl who falls in love with him asks him what he wants, he answers, "to lose my memory."  Bates' performance is bursting with energy; his mental battle to reconcile the reality of the war and that of the people comes to cherish and love is touching without ever being melodramatic.

The film is brimming with nonsensical, joyful scenes, which are stunningly choreographed and costumed as if in an old world circus, but towards the end, their revelry takes on a more profound meaning when it becomes ambiguous whether or not they are actually insane.  At one point, Plumpick gives up trying to defuse the bomb and attempts to lead a parade of villagers out of town and into the surrounding countryside.  Explosions thud in the distance as he marches up the steep hill into the barren fields outside the city.  He turns around to see that the parade has retreated back into town and is watching him from atop the high walls.  They call for him to come back: "You have no idea how vicious they are out there!"  We discover that they do know of war and violence, but chose to be free from it.  Afterall, the characters of the inmates represent those who are marginalized by a conformist society, who refuse to accept a state of violent control, rather than the clinically insane.  In the end, the film plays with the reality of war: are these warlords to be feared, or are they to be pitied as mindless, unhappy puppets?  Do people who feel fear and those who are free from such intimidation even exist in the same world?

The King of Hearts was released in France in 1966 to very little critical or box office success, perhaps because of its utter refusal to rationalize war as a fact of life.  But the film did go on to attain cult status when released in America, and was played for a record five years in Central Square Cinemas in Cambridge, MA.  It's popularity is not surprising, particularly in a center of intellectual activity like Cambridge during the Vietnam War.  But one of the most pleasurable aspects of the movie is that it is so beautiful and fun to watch.  The plot alone is thoroughly engaging, and despite the heavier existential themes explored in the film, it's certainly possible to enjoy this film without thinking about them.