7.6 | / 10 |
Users | 4.0 | |
Reviewer | 4.5 | |
Overall | 4.0 |
A tragic and shameful moment in French history continues to have consequences in the present day in this screen adaptation of the novel by Tatiana de Rosnay. Julia Jarmond is a nwriter from the US living in Paris with her husband, Bertrand, an architect who is restoring a block of apartments in Paris owned by his family. Julia learns that Bertrand's family obtained the building through less than honorable means; the original owners were Jews who were forced to sell in the wake of the Vel' d'Hiv Roundup in 1942, when the Nazi-affiliated Vichy government arrested over 13,000 Parisian Jews.
Starring: Kristin Scott Thomas, Mélusine Mayance, Niels ArestrupForeign | 100% |
Drama | 97% |
Video codec: MPEG-4 AVC
Video resolution: 1080p
Aspect ratio: 2.35:1
Original aspect ratio: 2.39:1
English: DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1
English, English SDH, Spanish
25GB Blu-ray Disc
Single disc (1 BD)
Region A (B, C untested)
Movie | 4.5 | |
Video | 4.5 | |
Audio | 5.0 | |
Extras | 4.0 | |
Overall | 4.5 |
Note: The official running time of Sarah's Key, as listed on the Blu-ray case, at IMDb and everywhere else I could find, is 111 minutes. However, the actual running time of the disc is 102 minutes. As I did not see the film theatrically, I cannot compare the version on disc to what was shown in theaters, and, in any case, memory is not always a reliable source. As of the publication of this review, representatives of The Weinstein Company were attempting to establish the reason for this discrepancy, and this review will be updated with any additional information I receive. There's a resigned weariness you can readily spot in your conversation partner's eyes when you tell them that a film deals with the Holocaust. It's the equivalent of a groan that says, "Damn, I have to take it seriously, but it'll go down like medicine." If you pay attention, you can usually catch a fleeting glimpse of something else, hastily suppressed, because it's politically very incorrect, something you may even have felt yourself, because the thought has probably occurred to almost any filmgoer who's familiar with more than mainstream blockbusters of the past 30 years: "Another one?" After Shoah, The Sorrow and the Pity, Schindler's List, Life Is Beautiful, The Reader, The Pianist, The Counterfeiters and many more, is there really room -- or need -- for yet another cinematic depiction of the events of Nazi-led efforts to exterminate the Jewish race? These events have been recounted, catalogued, studied, routinely invoked as the ultimate avatar of human evil and, on the less positive side, exploited for shock value (as some accused Martin Scorsese of doing in Shutter Island). Can anyone possibly make another worthwhile cinematic contribution to the subject? (And let's leave aside the question of whether every contribution to date has been worthwhile.) As it turns out, the answer is yes. Sarah's Key, adapted from a novel by French author Tatiana De Rosnay, makes these events sharply, rawly vital in an entirely unexpected way by showing how what happened to a single Jewish family in Paris' Marais district continues to ripple forward in time, pushing and pulling at the lives of people who hadn't been born yet and may not even realize their connection to these past terrors. As we follow the inquiries of Kristin Scott Thomas' increasingly obsessed reporter trying to determine how her family came to own their apartment in the Marais, we're also shown, in overlapping storylines, the struggles of the Starzynski family after they were evicted from that same apartment in July 1942, when French authorities rounded up all the Jews in Paris for deportation. (Note that these were French authorities, not German, a point that this French film does not hesitate to stress.) The reporter's refusal to let the past lie challenges her colleagues, her family and ultimately the viewer with difficult questions: What is our obligation to the past? What responsibility do we owe to those who are dead and beyond our help? Should truths be revealed, no matter how painful and damaging to those around us? At one point, a grown-up parent with a settled home, a spouse and children is told that the entire ancestry on which that life has been founded was falsified. The experience is shattering. Was learning the truth worth upending the entirety of the life that preceded it? These are the quandaries that Sarah's Key asks us to consider.
Sarah's Key was shot with the Red One digital system and finished on a digital intermediate. All the advantages of digital capture are evident in Anchor Bay's 1080p, AVC-encoded Blu-ray: superior detail, exceptional depth of field, excellent black levels, rich and saturated colors and absence of noise, grain or artifacts that can result from the process of transferring film to video (a process that digital capture makes unnecessary). Director Gilles Paquet-Brenner, his cinematographer Pascal Ridao and the technical crew created an effectively worn and understated period look for the 1942 scenes that would contrast noticeably, but not too sharply, with the contemporary scenes (which have more varied and brighter colors). The result is to make the shifts between time periods palpable without being jarring, as if the viewer were being thrown from one movie into another. It's a delicately calibrated process that the Blu-ray conveys beautifully.
Unusual for a drama, the 5.1 soundtrack for Sarah's Key (presented in DTS lossless) makes extensive and aggressive use of the rear speakers, especially in the 1942 sequences, where the sound editing could be described as subjective and conceived from a child's point of view. The approach is announced at the very beginning, when Sarah and her little brother are playing in the bedroom and hear the knock of the French police at the front door. It erupts loudly from the left rear speaker, startling both the children and the viewer. (Later, in a present day scene, when Julia meets her husband at the apartment, Bertrand will announce his presence from the exact same sonic location, before he first appears on screen.) Sounds in crowds and in enclosed space containing masses of people enclose the listener aggressively. Even a simple ride in a train compartment becomes an experience of claustrophobia when several German officers enter to occupy the outer seats. Their voices move from the rear speakers, outside the door, to the front as they enter the frame, but they're never fully inside the compartment, always hovering in front of the screen, hemming in the figures (Sarah and others) seated within the compartment. Sounds in the present tends to be less aggressive and more atmospheric, although an early scene at Julia's workplace has her ever-present phone ringing loudly in the right rear. This foreshadows the increasingly important texts and phone calls that Julia will receive as her investigation intensifies, communications for which she will abandon even the most pressing and personal concerns without a moment's hesitation. The dialogue, which is always clear, is in English and French, and the disc defaults to English subtitles that translate only the latter. The wonderfully evocative score is by Max Richter, the German composer best known for Waltz with Bashir.
As with other Weinstein Company discs from Anchor Bay (e.g., The King's Speech), Anchor Bay has mastered this disc using BD-Java, while omitting the ability to set bookmarks -- a poor design that should be banished from Blu-ray.
A common critical reaction when Sarah's Key was in theaters was to denigrate the film for spending so much time on Julia's story, because Sarah's is more important. This seems to me to miss the whole point of the film. It's a given that Sarah's story is important, but the film asks the essential question of how that importance can be made vital and present in the lives of people living now, as opposed to being tucked away in memorials -- even grand ones, like those that Julia tours -- where everyone can feel that the evils of the past have been tamed, denatured and locked for safekeeping. "When I think that this all happened right here in Paris in front of everyone, it's absolutely disgusting", says a younger editor in Julia's office, with the smug superiority of someone who's never had to challenge anything more threatening than a parking ticket. When Julia responds: "And how do you know what you'd have done?", the kid looks like she's been slapped. The cinematic recreation of atrocity has already been accomplished and brilliantly so. The cinematic exploration of how we, the comfortable ones, who think we're untouched by these events, but may suddenly find unexpected connections to them if we look closely enough (or someone else does), deal with such evils is just beginning.
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