A Man Escaped

The appeal of prison movies is easy to write off as some sort of testosterone-huffing time-waster with little cinematic or artistic merit. After all Jean-Claude Van Damme got sent up the river twice (in Death Warrant and In Hell) and came out a worse actor than when he went in. But at their best, prison movies represent something more than sweaty pecs and a slow-motion roundhouse kick. Movies like Papillion and The Shawshank Redemption are about the triumph of the human spirit. And both of them owe a huge spiritual debt to director Robert Bresson’s A Man Escaped (1956), a prison movie that keeps its audience caged as well.

Based on the true story of Andre Devigny who escaped from Fort Montlue prison in German-occupied Lyon, France, in 1943, Bresson’s film is as meticulous in construction as its central character’s methodical attempts at freedom. Most notably, the film’s creative use of sound - both by necessity and design – limits the viewers’ sensory input to footsteps, keys, squeaks, knocks and whispers; each of which become vital bits of information necessary to escape.

The film begins with Lt. Fontaine’s (Francois Leterrier) botched attempt at flight from a moving vehicle on his way to prison. After a vicious beating, he regains consciousness in a cell where his first thought is of escape once again. But this plan involves the careful use of tools, timing and his fellow inmates to beat the odds.

Bresson’s direction matches this emphasis on minutia. In fact, the entire film is made up of Fontaine’s internal dialogue, forcing the viewer to become complicit in the plan on an almost subconscious level. Bresson’s camerawork is sparse; his actors either amateurs or with very little experience. All with the intent of breaking down any barriers between cinematic artifice and reality.

Yet for all that, A Man Escaped is no documentary. Its director’s view of the indomitable human spirit – and his ingenious method of communicating that on film - are constantly on display. It’s a prison movie that turns escape into a work of art.

Released on high definition blu-ray as part of the Criterion Collection, the black-and-white transfer is one of their best…and that’s really saying something. Extras include a rare TV interview with the director, two documentaries featuring Bresson admirers such as Louis Malle and Andrei Tarkovsky, and Functions of Film Sound – a visual essay covering the film’s unique use of sound.