Jean Renoir’s Technicolor Collaboration with Anna Magnani Receives a Crucial Restoration on Blu-ray

DIRECTED BY JEAN RENOIR/FRENCH/1952

BLU-RAY STREET DATE: FEBRUARY 27, 2024/RARO VIDEO (via Kino Lorber)

In the video below, David Blakeslee talks about The Golden Coach, recently reissued on Blu-ray by Raro Video through their partnership with Kino Lorber. The film is a comic examination of the rigors associated with a life dedicated to the theatrical arts, especially as experienced by the leading lady of an Italian performance troupe who’s grown weary of spending so much of her existence under the spotlights but is unsure of what options to pursue if she really wants to leave it all behind. This new edition provides a significant improvement in image quality from a previous DVD released in 2004 by the Criterion Collection but doesn’t include the valuable supplements that were available in the earlier edition. The video includes a brief comparison between the two versions and offers a few other observations about the film.

The essay below is an updated version of a post that David wrote about The Golden Coach on his Criterion Reflections blog back in 2010. Spoiler alert: the review goes into detail about the film’s ending, which comes with a memorable twist that is described in the final paragraph. 

From a commercial angle, The Golden Coach (1952) serves, if you’ll pardon the pun, primarily as a star vehicle for Anna Magnani, the great Italian actress who first gained international fame through her role in Roberto Rossellini’s Rome Open City (1945). By the late 1940s, it was becoming apparent that Magnani had the charisma and talent to make it big well beyond the limitations of the Italian movie industry. This film’s pairing of her with the director and legendary auteur Jean Renoir played a pivotal part in her transition to becoming a Hollywood star, as she learned to speak English specifically for this role. Two years later, she won the Academy Award for Best Actress in The Rose Tattoo, cementing her status as, in the words of one writer, “the volcanic earth mother of all Italian cinema.” She’s been prominently featured in other Criterion Collection releases, including The Fugitive Kind, where she paired up with Marlon Brando, and Mamma Roma, an early work of Pier Palo Pasolini.

Judging by her dominance in every scene she appears throughout The Golden Coach, it’s not too difficult to see how she earned that reputation. However, this film doesn’t give her the ideal platform to show the full range of her dramatic abilities, as she continually remains in character as an actor playing a role, a balancing act that I think she pulls off quite well. It’s important to keep this staginess in mind while watching the film, since viewing it “realistically” will probably lead to eventual disappointment. The Golden Coach is, by design, a production steeped in artifice, with much time spent showing Magnani’s character Camilla in performance on stage, intentionally hemmed in by the expectations placed on her as a professional entertainer. That very contradiction serves as the focal point for why the film was made in the first place. Jean Renoir and his collaborators adapted a story from the 1800s and turned it into a meditation on the demands placed on those who work and live in the theater, a subject close to his own heart. His experiences during the World War II years and afterward had turned him into an exile of sorts, unable (perhaps unwilling) to find a settled base from which to operate as a director, destined to roam the earth as a truly international filmmaker, removed in space and time from the naturalistic cinema he created in pre-WWII France. The Golden Coach was produced in Italy, a less complicated shoot, technically speaking, compared to his previous film The River, made on location in India. In various statements about the film that he made over the years (regrettably not included on the new Blu-ray from Raro Video/Kino Lorber, but available on the DVD published in 2004 by the Criterion Collection), Renoir shares warm, gregarious and casually profound thoughts on the way he uses specific techniques (single vs. multiple cameras, for example) to capture different types of performances. His thoughts on the “sincerity” of actors are particularly relevant for what he presents in The Golden Coach.

As a narrative, the plot of The Golden Coach revolves around Camilla as the object of affection from three different men, each functioning as a masculine archetype. She and an accompanying troupe of actors, just arrived from Italy, take up residence in the capital of a Spanish colony in Peru, where they introduce the locals to the ancient Italian theatrical tradition of commedia dell’arte. Though she is fatigued and becoming cynical after a lifetime spent in the theater, wondering if the rewards earned by two hours on stage each night justify the hardship that she endures during the other twenty-two, Camilla’s vibrant personality and voluptuous physique quickly establish her fan base. Chief among them:

  • The foppish Viceroy, the wealthiest and most powerful man in the area
  • Ramon, a virile bullfighter who favorably impresses Camilla as a “real man”
  • Felipe, a humble salt of the earth type who met her on the boat ride over from Europe, fell in love and seeks to marry her, and now positions himself as Camilla’s protector from the advances of his rivals

This competition for Camilla’s heart is mirrored by the classical intrigues of the commedia dell’arte, where Camilla’s character Columbine is arduously pursued by male characters like the mischievous Harlequin, clownish Pulcinello, befuddled romantic Florindo, and blustering braggart Papische Valento. All the wooing and romantic posturing happening on stage has its parallels in Camilla’s off-stage life as well, with more serious consequences than the comic buffoonery witnessed by the audience. But of course, the show must go on. As chaos erupts behind the curtain, the rest of the company improvises with whatever spur of the moment antics they can come up with to keep the rabble in their seats, sufficiently distracted to avoid rushing the stage and ruining everything. Meanwhile, Camilla’s predicament is laid out before us: the man who knows her best and loves her the most sincerely is now disgusted with her willingness to accept the Viceroy’s extravagant gift of a gold necklace. Clutching her newly acquired bauble, she’s collapsed in a heap after exchanging slaps with her spurned suitor, and now here come the other two, Ramon admiring her lusty, passionate intensity and the Viceroy ready to reap the advantages that his largesse toward Camilla has secured. Mercifully, Renoir fades the camera to black to relieve the poor woman of having to make a choice right then and there.

But she can’t forestall the dilemma’s resolution indefinitely, especially with each man raising the stakes in the competition. Felipe parlays success on the battlefield into a promotion up the ranks. Ramon puts his machismo on display as he slays a bull to the delight of a roaring crowd. And to top them both, the Viceroy bestows on Camilla his gift of the titular golden coach, a gilded carriage first purchased as a vain expression of imperial power and authority, now given away freely as an extravagant gesture of prodigal defiance toward the stifling pressures imposed upon him by his courtly advisors. Pursued with such ardor, what should a poor peasant entertainer seeking to better her lot in life decide?

Camilla eagerly accepts the luxuries and admiration that her new status has earned, as much for the benefit of her professional colleagues who get to live in comforts they’ve never known as for herself. She recognizes that a certain pressure now rests upon her as she does her best to sustain the relationships and avoid closing doors that may yet yield benefits down the road. But as each affair develops, Camilla encounters obstacles and compromises that make it ever more difficult for her to finally choose. The Viceroy, despite his wealth and privilege, turns out to be a wishy-washy, philandering fool, detached from his emotions, impotent apart from the trappings of power. Felipe seeks to pull her away from the theatre, away from civilization altogether, into a “back to nature” way of life he discovered after being taken captive by Indians as a prisoner of war. Ramon offers the promise of excitement and erotic satisfaction, but boldly proclaims his jealousy and insistence on being the dominant party in their relationship. As Camilla struggles to choose her destiny, it’s chosen for her in a way as the three men encounter each other one night at her home, a scene so nicely timed and choreographed it reminds us that we’re watching a play, after all. With her emotional life hopelessly entangled, with no plausible path that would allow her to assume a “normal” life on her own terms, she recognizes her need to not merely turn her back on what her suitors have to offer, but to fully embrace her calling, with its hardships and fleeting rewards. It’s where she belongs.

That realization provides the key to fully appreciating what The Golden Coach is trying to accomplish, and if the denouement between Camilla and her rival lovers doesn’t make it clear enough, the film’s final scene, where the curtain falls behind her and reveals that her true life is really that which is lived on the stage, delivers the message with an almost mystical clarity, provided one is paying attention and sufficiently engaged. It’s a fantastic “dream within a dream” moment that rushes up on the viewer so quickly and unexpectedly that it’s easy to miss. But once you get a hold of it, the segment conveys cinematic magic as you realize that the whole story was building up to that instant of Camilla’s enlightenment, and perhaps can function as an opening to personal illuminations of our own. Whether or not we earn our living in front of live audiences, it’s good to stay mindful of those “Penny Lane” moments. You remember that line from the Beatles song, don’t you? About the pretty nurse selling poppies from a tray… though she feels as if she’s in a play… she is anyway!

Blu-ray Special Features:

• Alternate French Audio Track

• Audio Commentary by Film Critic Adam Nayman

• Optional English Subtitles