The 10 Best Jean Renoir Films

The son of French Impressionist Pierre-Auguste, director Jean Renoir’s life-long involvement with creativity might have been a foregone conclusion. But there was no way to envision that he would become one of the true director’s directors, loved and admired by the likes of Orson Welles, Peter Bogdanovich, Martin Scorsese, Wes Anderson and all the then-young guns of the emerging French New Wave. Yet it’s understandable, as in so many ways Renoir is the progenitor of various techniques and movements that would go on to change cinema forever. With the director’s early title “La Chienne,” his second sound film, having made its way into the Criterion Collection last week (the 11th movie as such to be so honored), we thought we’d remind you of our own take on 10 other essential Renoir films —an excellent starter pack for the neophyte.

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Boudu“Boudu Saved From Drowning” (1932)
Renoir and actor Michel Simon transitioned from silent films to talkies hand-in-hand, working twice together before partnering up for a third and final time for “Boudu Saved From Drowning.” This familiarity, combined with Simon’s intimate understanding of “the perfect tramp” (the actor played the part onstage before immortalizing it onscreen) and Renoir’s firm grasp on emerging technical aspects, make ‘Boudu’ a winning trifecta of director, actor, and character. The now-classic story follows Monsieur Lestingois (Charles Granval), as this uppity bourgeois clump of a man saves Boudu’s (Simon) life and decides to domesticate the shameless tramp and turn him into a gentleman. Hilarity ensues as Boudu upends every moral and ethical code in the Lestingois household. Renoir invested René Fauchois‘ play with an innate talent for cinematic storytelling, and changed elements of the story (most crucially the ending) in order to reflect his own sensibilities on class disparity, free will, and the complex societal fabric stitched by human relationships, all themes that course through Renoir’s entire filmography. Early signs of his seamless directorial control are everywhere; a personal favorite sees Boudu searching for his dog and seeking help from a police officer. In a single take, the cop ignores him, only to help an affluent lady in a similar predicament (her dog is worth 10,000 francs, you see). Boudu is a free-spirited force of nature, rebelling against haute culture, and one of Renoir’s most entertaining characters. Special recognition should go to Simon’s staggeringly brilliant performance —he careens his eyes in angled lunacy and laughs at respectability wherever the current takes him.

Toni“Toni” (1935)

By the mid-1930s, Renoir was already reaching an enviable position in the French film industry. But before working on grandiose sets and turning actors into stars, he filmed an intimate story centered around immigrants in the South of France, shooting on location and using amateur actors. “Toni” is a film that usually gets buried under the cinematic weight of Renoir’s later masterpieces, but it deserves a slot here for inspiring a major cinematic movement in another country (more on that below) and is a phenomenally well-realized film on its own right. It depicts a tragic love triangle as Italian immigrant Toni (Charles Blavette) is unhappily married to local hostess Marie (a monumental Jenny Helia) and infatuated with fellow immigrant Josefa (Celia Montalvan), all set against the sun-licked backdrop of blue-collar Provence. With this film, Renoir introduced another reason for his everlasting legacy: here was a director who didn’t have to rely on experienced actors in order to create something eternally affective. Notice the framing and camera movement when a local singer bursts into an eloquent serenade, or the scene transitions surrounding Marie’s suicide attempt. The single take of Marie rowing away from land and towards the limitless vastness contains an indescribable visual strength, and holds up as my personal favorite among the plethora of glorious long takes found in Renoir’s filmography. It’s a simple story elevated by the skillfulness of its director, and Luchino Visconti, who assisted Renoir on the picture, clearly got the message. He took the blueprint of one of the greatest Italian neorealist films not directed by an Italian back home with him, and the rest is cinema history.

The Crime of Monsieur Lange“The Crime of Monsieur Lange” (1936)
Another title that is much too easily forgotten when discussing Renoir’s greatest achievements, “The Crime of Monsieur Lange” is essential viewing for anyone wishing to get an understanding of his political persuasions —it’s a film “touched by grace,” according to Francois Truffaut. European cinema was perforated by the growing Nazi movement in the 1930s, and Renoir, together with Jean Castanyer and Jacques Prevert, developed a politically biting storyline that directly questions authority and the ethical boundaries one should and shouldn’t cross. Mild mannered and meek Amedee Lange (Rene Lefevre) has committed a crime and is on the run with his girlfriend Valentine (a magnificent Florelle). When he’s recognized by a group of inn patrons, Valentine recounts their story and what Lange’s crime really is, before giving them the chance to turn him in to the police. In this way, one of the most absorbing settings in a Renoir film is introduced: the world of publishing collective “Javert,” designed to bring together detective stories, first under the materialistic supervision of Monsieur Batala (a deliciously villainous Jules Berry), and later as a genuine cooperative spearheaded by the success of Lange’s work. Renoir played with funky dissolves and bombastic musical cues from long-time collaborator Joseph Kosma, but it’s the quieter moments, like when Valentine sings to Amedee, and minor characters like the old soldier who doesn’t have a receipt, that imbue the picture with Renoir’s extraordinary tenderness and appreciation for his fellow man. While the film has grown beyond its frames and acts as an artistic recording of a very particular political period in France, it’s still very much alive and is one of Renoir’s uncanny signatures.