By all accounts, Dédée d’Anvers is a deeply conventional film. It takes the form of a run-of-the-mill melodrama about a lonely and depressed sex worker who is under the ferocious control of her cruelly abusive husband, and who dreams of escape, which comes in the form of a dashing and valiant seaman that literally sails into her life and sweeps her off her feet. If it was originality that director Yves Allégret and co-screenwriter Jacques Sigurdwere going for, they may have struggled, since this film is about as traditional as one can get when telling these stories. Yet, any piece of art has to be analysed as a product of its time, and this story of loneliness and despair set against the backdrop of smoke-filled Antwerp is one of the most riveting romances of the 1940s, a deeply complex character study that takes the viewer deep into the heart of both the city and the people who occupy it, each of them adding to the vivid tapestry of human existence that the director is so fervently chasing. Intricately beautiful and always incredibly moving, Dédée d’Anvers is an astonishing work of narrative storytelling that undeniably has a strange way of looking at a few vital themes, but does so with panache and dedication, never drifting too far from logic, even when it is very clear in noting how this is primarily a romance (and thus will entail a few leaps of faith) before it is a social commentary, something that we are reminded of every time one of these characters engages in activities that may be illogical, but make sense for someone in love, which is the primary and most fully-realized theme of the film.

What is important to consider about Dédée d’Anvers is how this is essentially a piece of post-war fiction, albeit one that uses the Second World War as a distant device to frame the film, rather than actually focusing on its impact directly. Set along the shores of Antwerp, and featuring characters that come from all across the world, whether it be the French and Belgian workers, the friendly American soldiers taking up residence, or the wayward soldiers that drift past this quaint hamlet, the film focuses on their varied interactions, which set the foundation for a very strong story of interpersonal conflict that draws on the idea of the outsider as both a means of escape and a tool of oppression. Considering the impact the war had on the wider world, it’s logical to expect every film produced in the decade surrounding it to use it as a foundation for most of its discussion – and contrasting this idea of conflict between different nations (as embodied by the main characters – there’s the working-class Belgian villain who abuses his salt-of-the-earth French wife, only to have her charmed by the valiant Italian sailor) is one that Allégret is constantly drawing attention to, reconciling the intricate romance with a broader social discussion that makes Dédée d’Anvers one of the more unexpectedly profound works of post-war fiction of its era, which may not have been intentional, but comes about in a way that allows us to give the director and his cohorts the benefit of the doubt in understanding their broader intentions.

Dédée d’Anvers essentially functions as a stageplay – it takes place in a few limited locations (but not in a way that feels restrictive, but rather dedicated to establishing this particular corner of the world), and mainly uses its actors as the primary vessel for telling the story. As a result, Allégret manages to assemble quite a formidable cast, led by the incomparable Simone Signoret in one of her signature roles as a woman questioning her place in the world, which is becoming increasingly difficult as she is confronted with situations that complicate not only her understanding of her surroundings, but her own identity. Playing the ill-fated titular character, Signoret is incredible – her acting style is stark and unforgiving, with her unique expressivity conveying every intricate emotion simmering below the surface of her mind. She anchors the film and gives it heart and humour, more than many of her contemporaries would be able to do with such an ambigious and flighty character. Supporting her are Marcel Dalio as her abusive husband who views her as merely a commodity for his own bidding, and Marcello Pagliero as the man who arrives at a very opportune moment, rescuing her from her awful situation before it is too late and she descends into socially-mediated madness. They form a fascinating love triangle that the film is constantly drawing our attention back to, with Signoret at the very centre, guiding the film along the sometimes very vague and disconcerting avenues that would be mishandled in the grasp of lesser performers who weren’t sure how to balance the various aspects.

More than anything else, Dédée d’Anvers is a film that seems to be propelled by its genuine compassion for its characters and the story they’re telling. It’s a beautifully poetic work, but one that relies on the romance more than any of the more socially-conscious aspects. The film works best when we just focus on the fact that, beneath the surface, this is really just a story of two human beings falling in love – and the director knows exactly how to play on this idea to get magnificent results. The most beautiful screen romances take effort, which comes through mainly in the writing, which not only establishes the particular time and place in which the story is transpiring, but also develops the characters as more than just archetypes, which is vital to any work that intends to use them as the foundation for the story. The key here is restraint – this is a film that thrives on its ability to take on the more ambigious sides of the human condition without becoming overwrought – the romance feels very real and earnest, rather than forced as a result of the melodramatic underpinnings of a film that relies on the audience’s belief in the genuine nature of the love expressed between the two main characters (as well as the equally potent hatred that the titular character feels for her husband). Allégret maintains a consistent tone that feels like it is drawn from a place of authenticity, rather than simply existing to challenge our understanding of the realities faced by these characters. There isn’t any notion of “good” or “evil” in the film, at least not in the purest form – the protagonists are just as culpable in creating hostile situations as the villains, and the film does very well in filling in these more challenging gaps that make the film feel much more realistic and interesting.

Dédée d’Anvers is a very simple film about enormous issues, which are filtered through an actively engaging character-based drama that is equally as romantic as it is deeply haunting. Helmed by a director who knows how to strike the perfect balance between tone and narrative, which manifests in both his impeccable writing and extraordinary visual prowess, the film journeys through the smokey streets of a small seaside town that is simmering with passion and danger, a place where one can go to both find love or exact revenge, both of which form the foundation of this film. It’s a simple work, and one that never needs to raise the stakes too high, since the audience is already on-board with its general ideas from the very outset. Dédée d’Anvers has a distinct approach to the narrative process that may seem bewildering at first, but serves a very important purpose, especially when it becomes clear where the story is heading. Beautifully made and undeniably complex in both theme and execution, Allégret tells a heartwrenching story of lust and revenge that may seem small, but has such a unique understanding of its primal themes, we can’t avoid being entranced by its peculiar charms, and alerted to the urgency of its message towards gender issues, which is well ahead of its time, and one of many reasons behind it being one of the more unexpectedly complex social dramas of its era.