What a charming country the kingdom of Chimeria is!
If fantasy were ever to die, in a world where it remains one of the last torches still burning, I have no doubt that it would take refuge in the heart of this filmmakers' paradise.
There, there is neither longitude nor latitude. There are no borders. Above all, there is neither logic nor ponderous reason. The monstrous contingencies that delight in crushing our brief impulses and our poor lives are unknown to the king and his subjects alike. There, everything is simple, easy, plausible...
Thanks be to the gods, the kingdom of Chimeria is still vast!
In hundreds of American, German and French films, it has obediently lent itself to the most extravagant stories and the most complicated identities. No more than legendary Atlantis or the Garden of Eden do screenwriters locate it very precisely; but between Dalmatia and the Caucasus there is room for more than one ephemeral empire...
Especially for Puerto-Néro, its King Fernando XXIII, its queen, its ministers, intrigues, love affairs and even coups d'état. And above all, for a king's double. Le Roi Bis.
Ah! What a delightful adventure Robert Baudouin, André Chemel and Jacques Deval bring us, respectively responsible for the direction, art direction and dialogue of this film comedy—at last, a genuinely funny one!
It had been a long time since I had laughed so heartily... And heaven knows how wary I am now when I am told that I am going to laugh...
Yet I still laugh when I look at certain photographs of the irresistible character created by Pierre Bertin, and I fully believe Robert Baudouin's statements about him: “He threw himself into this double role with such gusto that at times we had to rein him in a little... He completely forgot that he was Monsieur the Member of the Comédie-Française!”
One thing is undeniable: as Fernando XXIII and Leducq, the king's double, Bertin created two characterisations that count in an artist's career. Many times in the silent era we saw actors play two characters—father and son, twin brothers, doubles. Never, to my knowledge, was the psychological distinction carried so far, and certainly never in a talking film. To see and hear a man talking to himself, without voice dubbing, thanks solely to rare technical mastery, is no ordinary thing.
Robert Baudouin nevertheless achieved this tour de force, whose secret he jealously guards. Before going to see him, I had heard Chemel speak highly of him—Chemel, a delightful man and so perfectly suited to the role of art director, which requires a clear, methodical mind, a thorough knowledge of every branch of the film industry—and art—and authority.
In the temporary shelter of an office that is not his own (he is above all a studio and laboratory man), here is Robert Baudouin.
Tall, slightly stooped, kind and modest in appearance, Baudouin is already an old hand in cinema, which he has served for twenty-five years. He can do everything, from directing to editing, and can just as readily stand in at a moment's notice for his cameraman as for his sound engineer. And yet... Le Roi Bis is his first major film. Should one be surprised by such a successful debut? No, because it springs from an old, lost tradition: the craftsman becoming master builder. It is just, moral and consoling in an age when existence is one vast free-for-all.
“We made this film entirely in Prague and in fifteen days, as a Franco-Czech collaboration: the female star is in fact one of the best Czech actresses, Tania Doll. The detective Mac Frich is also Czech, as is the cameraman Vich.”
Fifteen days! Who claims that fabulous sums and months are needed to make a successful film?
“Listen to me, miss... A film is not made in the studio, but around a table. Improvisation, in our profession, is death without reprieve. Lose an hour in the studio and there goes a banknote. Around a table, it costs a few pennies. But no one wants to understand that... Those responsible for a production—the director, screenwriter, art director, cameraman and sound engineer—must chisel their plan of action down to the smallest detail. Nothing must be left to chance. The only people entitled to improvise, within certain limits, are the actors.
Technique has taken such a dominant place since the advent of sound that anything has become possible. From a mere thread of a voice I can create, at will, one ten times louder. The men who control the microphone from their soundproof booth or automatically set the Ernemann in motion are the magicians of our time: let us make use of them!”
Ah yes, let us make use of them! But as they were used in this Roi Bis, as this former assistant to Pabst has done; despite the success achieved at the preview and the certain success with the public, he does not conceal the scruples of an overly conscientious craftsman.
Yet at his first attempt he reached that so difficult point where comedy attains its maximum effect, brushing against caricature without breaking its legs on it.
There were plenty of pitfalls, but the director and intelligently guided performers avoided them throughout a farcical plot.
Is it not about a king—of Chimeria, naturally—who has only the title of king without possessing the soul of one? He is so cowardly that he instructs Detective Berlock Sholmès to find him a double who can replace him in the dangerous duties of his profession.
This double is found by Sholmès : his name is Leducq; he is a street hawker and suspender seller in Paris.
The detective quickly persuades him to accompany him to Puerto-Néro. Thanks to his efforts, combined with those of the prime ministers, Leducq is taught the customs of the Chimerian court and, when the time comes to replace Fernando XXIII, he appears before the people in all his glory.
The psychological evolution of this Parisian hawker, fictitiously transported to the head of a kingdom, gives rise to scenes that are impossible to resist because they are so spontaneously funny. Let us say at once, without diminishing Baudouin's merit in any way, that Pierre Bertin leads the game with incomparable finesse and mastery.
He is exuberant, however extraordinary that adjective may seem when applied to a member of the noble House!
The mere appearance of the Kerny–Hubert Daix pair is enough to trigger another fit of laughter among the audience. Tania Doll is blonde, and her charming, slightly lilting and gentle accent perfectly suits the personality of the queen of Puerto-Néro, who falls in love with the double. The detective Mac Frich has great authority and a handsome, serious face.
As for the dialogue, it has all the witty finesse characteristic of Jacques Deval.
Ah! What a charming country this kingdom of Chimeria is... and what a charming film Le Roi Bis is!
O. D. Cambier
Note: Odile D. Cambier was a French journalist, film critic and interviewer particularly active during the 1930s.
