LA RÉGLE DU JEU (The Rules of the Game, 1939) **1/2 Jean Renoir does a lot of very difficult things well in this film, and makes it look easy. He humanizes a media celebrity and the super-rich, he shines light on the pettiness and absurdity of consumerism, he delivers an uninterrupted succession of beautiful shots, and he expresses the banality of serial casual sex. So art houses, philosophical enclaves, and film classes will no doubt demand repeat viewings. On the other hand, Jean is the only character in his film that you care much (or maybe at all) about, things never get entirely dull but they're enlivened by a talent show of affluent dilettantes, and most of us already understand that pleasure hunting is grotesque even without having what should be a PETA commercial of seemingly endless slaughter shoved in our faces (and the people who don't already get it aren't likely to be watching any film made by a French guy anyway). As you would expect there are several class commentaries, but they're superficial considering the source and invariably give way to more sweeping contemplations on human nature and existence. Marcel Dalio represents the brave stoicism of the illusorily insulated with enough panache to elicit more empathy than you'd expect a socialist film maker to draw for a conniving, cheating, shallow, professional consumerist. That derivative contemplation, and that the consumerists own apologists cannot paint them so sympathetically, may be the crowning achievement of the film. This film is often called a satire, but I don't think that's right. It's more an exercise in metaphorical realism.
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