It’s not very common to find a film that is so incredibly moving, it immediately compels one to rewatch it, whether it be certain key scenes or the entire piece. However, it’s a magical experience when it does occur, which was my experience with The Baker’s Wife (French: La femme du boulanger), the beautiful dramatic comedy by Marcel Pagnol, who exceeded every expectation I had entering into this film from the very first moment. There’s something so raw and honest about the director’s approach to this story – the premise is simple, centring around a small village in Provincial France and its residents, amongst them a particular well-regarded baker whose wife absconds their marriage in favour of an attractive young shepherd, throwing the baker into a ferocious depression. Yet, the story is layered with allegory, and Pagnol doesn’t waste a single moment of this film, inserting deep, unflinching emotional resonance into absolutely every frame. How the director managed to achieve making this melancholy, heartwrenching drama, while still having many scenes of the most exuberant, honest comedy the viewer is likely to see in such a film is an absolute marvel, but is certainly hardly surprising considering how the director was one of the most dedicated social critics of his time, all of his work reflecting a keen understanding of the culture of the environment that surrounded him, whether a bustling city or a small village. The Baker’s Wife isn’t only his finest achievement, but one of the greatest films of the 1930s, an era that brought out the best in many French filmmakers, but with this achingly beautiful comedy standing triumphant over nearly all of them, and being a peak for European cinema, both in the story it tells, and the clear social message that underpins it.

Taken for what it is, The Baker’s Wife is a film set in the 1930s in a small, conservative French village. Logically, we can expect it to be heavily steeped in the traditions of that era, which involved a dominance of religious belief. The church is quite literally the heart of this town, as well as being at the core of the story – nearly every character motivation is filtered through these Christian values. However, Pagnol is not surrendering to the guidance of the almighty, but rather putting it into direct collision with more earthly questions. This sets the stage for a powerful but often very funny exploration of society, taken from the most fundamental level, where the smallest and most intricate questions are asked by a director whose fierce conviction to capturing the human condition is reflected in every frame. This is a poignant collision of culture and religion, looking at faith in both a higher power that guides us towards our fate, and that of the more tangible forces that surround us, which is present in the very literal double use of the term “daily bread”, which refers to both the faith on which these characters’ principles are built (which motivates them to help someone in need), and the actual bread that the baker ceases to make as a result of his heartache. It’s a community-based film – it may take a village to raise a child, but takes an entire small town to find one man’s wife. Pagnol is with us every step of the way – each and every one of these characters is well-formed, meaningful and interesting, and plays a pivotal role in forming this beautifully humane story about the values inherent to all of us, particularly those that rear themselves when we’re in time of need.

It’s often been mentioned that Orson Welles considered Raimu to be the finest actor to ever work in the medium of film – in fact, it was this very fact that swayed me to seek The Baker’s Wife out, since everything about such a sentiment seemed to point towards a very valuable performer. He certainly did not disappoint when it came to realizing Pagnol’s beautiful story. A tall, lumbering frame and a very expressive face made Raimu an incredible comedic actor, someone who could easily entertain us with very little effort, with the most subtle emotion being strong enough to elicit the most ferocious laughter. Yet, as is often the case with the most eccentric, comedically-minded actors, there’s an unprecedented depth behind their skills that makes them formidable when it comes to more dramatic material. Despite the film being designed as a very sweet and sentimental comedy, Raimu never plays The Baker with anything other than the most serious conviction – he doesn’t ignore the comedic beats through which the story is being filtered, but rather than falling into the more absurd themes that surround him, he elevates his own character, so that the pain and sadness he feels comes through. We feel every ounce of heartbreak that the Baker is experiencing, as well as the genuine joy he comes to feel upon the return of his wife. This is a very meaningful performance that is absolutely one of the finest of its era – the actor’s ability to quietly deconstruct a character, turning him from a thin archetype into a fully-formed individual is staggering, with a genuine veracity underpinning his performance. The entire cast is wonderful, especially Ginette Leclerc as Aurélie, the titular wife who is present only at the beginning and the end, but still leaves such an enormous impression, especially in the film’s final scene, which stands as one of the finest pieces of acting on behalf of both Raimu and Leclerc.

There is obviously a captivating story at the heart of the film, but The Baker’s Wife only uses it as the loosely structured framework to present us with a compelling tapestry of lives, Pagnol weaving together a wonderful ensemble of unforgettable characters. Tonally, the film is quite a feat – it’s the rare kind of genre film where the main storyline is a melancholy drama, but everything that occurs around it exists in a more comedic world. It’s a screwball comedy with a lot of depth, and a tendency towards more serious conversations, which is often a fascinating result of many of the most profound French comedies from this era, where the collision of humour and drama mirrored the combination of social issues layered with elements of the delightfully surreal and sentimental. We’re not only watching the story of a baker trying to win back his wife, with the assistance of his fellow townspeople – we’re seeing a vibrant mosaic of lives, all taking place within this village, which becomes a character all on its own. Pagnol is not solely focused on the central plot, but also the various little details that come about through the ensemble. It gives The Baker’s Wife such a unique atmosphere, since it implies that we’re not watching a singular story, but rather just a fraction of a wide array of them. This film could’ve easily have been focused on any of the other characters and still been just as profound – it just so happens that we were given a glimpse into the lives of one particular couple. This a degree of world-building that should be an inspiration to any storyteller – immersing the audience so deep into this environment, we actually forget that we’re watching a film, which is always an incredible achievement when it is done well, and Pagnol certainly earns every bit of our time, to the point where the length of the film seems inconsequential since we’re so delighted to be part of this world.

The Baker’s Wife is absolute perfection – it’s been a very long time since I experienced something so genuinely moving. It’s a very simple film, with its complexities being woven into the development of the characters rather than the structure of the film, which is instead kept extremely straightforward and sincere. We can rationalize this film and try and understand its various intricacies, but what really makes this a beautiful work of art is how genuine it feels – the director guides us into this world he has created, and instead of relying on the same hackneyed conventions, he created an unforgettable tableau that is defined less by high-concept storytelling, and more by honest, earnest humanity. This is a film that burrows its way into your heart, filling it with warmth and joy, through its undying compassion and willingness to be unique. Anchored by an incredible performance by Raimu, and filled to the brim with a kind of understated complexity that comes through in the quietest moments, The Baker’s Wife is just an extraordinary achievement, serving as the kind of film that keeps the audience engaged while watching it, and lingers on our mind for days afterwards, several of the most profound moments coming back to us at the most opportune moments, when we realize what a truly staggering piece of filmmaking this is. Truly one of the finest explorations of the human condition ever committed to film, and one that does through generously engaging with the most fundamental aspects of our lives, and delivering a story that may be set in the past, but carries a message that remains resonant and moving even in a contemporary context, making this film an unexpectedly refreshing glimpses into the peculiar recesses of existence, and a firm reminder of our inextricable humanity, all told through a stunning, compelling social parable.