Latest news with #MarcelOphuls
Washington Post
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
An ode to a monumental film — and a lesson for 2025
Great art is called 'timeless,' but that's not quite right. A masterpiece is always timely. The world turns, generations pass, and the work of art somehow keeps pace. Its message today might not be what it says half a century, or half a millennium, from now. When Marcel Ophuls released his documentary 'Le Chagrin et la Pitié' in France decades ago (it reached the U.S. as 'The Sorrow and the Pity'), French authorities denounced the monumental film. They saw it as a radical attack on mainstream French culture and postwar nationhood. By revealing the extensive collaboration by conservative French society with the Nazi occupation in World War II, Ophuls was seen as taking the side of leftists whose anti-government protests had reached a peak in the Paris streets in 1968.
New Indian Express
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
Marcel Ophuls, the Oscar-winning filmmaker who forced France to face its WWII past, is dead at 97
PARIS: Marcel Ophuls, the Academy Award-winning filmmaker whose landmark 1969 documentary 'The Sorrow and the Pity' shattered the comforting myth that most of France had resisted the Nazis during World War II, has died at 97. The German-born filmmaker, who was the son of legendary filmmaker Max Ophuls, died Saturday at his home in southwest France after watching one of his favorite films with his family, his grandson Andreas-Benjamin Seyfert told The Associated Press. He died of natural causes. Though Ophuls would later win an Oscar for 'Hôtel Terminus' (1988), his searing portrait of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, it was 'The Sorrow and the Pity' that marked a turning point — not only in his career, but in how France confronted its past. Deemed too provocative, too divisive, it was banned from French television for over a decade. French broadcast executives said it 'destroyed the myths the French still need.' It would not air nationally until 1981. Simone Veil, Holocaust survivor and moral conscience of postwar France, refused to support it. But for a younger generation in a country still recovering physically and psychologically from the aftermath of the atrocities, the movie was a revelation — an unflinching historical reckoning that challenged both national memory and national identity. The myth it punctured had been carefully constructed by Charles de Gaulle, the wartime general who led Free French forces from exile and later became president. In the aftermath of France's liberation in 1944, de Gaulle promoted a version of events in which the French had resisted Nazi occupation as one people, united in dignity and defiance. Collaboration was portrayed as the work of a few traitors. The French Republic, he insisted, had never ceased to exist. 'The Sorrow and the Pity,' which was nominated for the 1972 Oscar for Best Documentary, told a different story: Filmed in stark black and white and stretching over four and a half hours, the documentary turned its lens on Clermont-Ferrand, a provincial town at the heart of France. Through long, unvarnished interviews with farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, collaborators, members of the French Resistance — even the town's former Nazi commander — Ophuls laid bare the moral ambiguities of life under occupation.
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
2025 Deaths Photo Gallery: Hollywood & Media Obituaries
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Khaleej Times
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Khaleej Times
French documentary filmmaker Marcel Ophuls dead at 97
Oscar-winning filmmaker Marcel Ophuls, who blew the lid off the myth that France resisted its World War II Nazi occupiers in The Sorrow and the Pity, has died aged 97, his family said. Ophuls, who was the son of renowned German Jewish director Max Ophuls, "died peacefully on May 24", his grandson Andreas-Benjamin Seyfert said in a statement. Ophuls rocked France with 1969's The Sorrow and the Pity, about the occupied French provincial city of Clermont Ferrand during the time of the collaborationist Vichy regime. It quietly demolished one of the country's most cherished myths—that France and the French had always resisted the Germans—and was banned from public television until 1981. Through a jigsaw of interviews and newsreels, it showed how collaboration with the Nazis was widespread, from the humblest hairdresser to the top of high society. Ophuls played down his feat, stressing that he was not trying to judge France, and was just working on a TV commission. "For 40 years, I've had to put up with all this bullshit about it being a prosecutorial film. It doesn't attempt to prosecute the French," he insisted. "Who can say their nation would have behaved better in the same circumstances?" he added. Despite being over four hours long, his film struck a chord with a generation, drawing crowds to the cinemas at a time when documentaries were rarely shown on the big screen. Fled Nazis Ophuls was born Hans Marcel Oppenheimer in Frankfurt, Germany on November 1, 1927, to German actress Hilde Wall and director Max Ophuls. He fled for France with his father and the film directors Billy Wilder and Fritz Lang, before escaping across the Pyrenees mountains and arriving in the US in 1941. He grew up in Hollywood, going on to serve as a GI in Japan in 1946. Returning to France in 1950, he started out as an assistant director, working on his father's last film Lola Montes in 1955. He made an unsuccessful entry into fiction with Banana Skin in 1963, starring the star duo of Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jeanne Moreau, before shifting to documentary when hired by French public television. Hotel Terminus - The Life and Times of Klaus Barbie won him an Oscar for best documentary in 1989. But his 1994 documentary The Troubles We've Seen, about war reporting in Bosnia, was a commercial flop. He spent several years afterwards holed up in southern France not working. His return with Un voyageur, a travelogue, in 2013, packed the cinema at the Cannes Film Festival. He was philosophical about the influence of his father. "It helped me to get work. More than anything, it helped me to be modest about my achievements. I was born under the shadow of a genius, and that spared me from being vain," he said.
The Advertiser
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Advertiser
Filmmaker who forced France to face its WWII past dies
Marcel Ophuls, the Academy Award-winning filmmaker whose landmark 1969 documentary The Sorrow and the Pity shattered the comforting myth that most of France had resisted the Nazis during World War II, has died at 97. Though Ophuls would later win an Oscar for Hôtel Terminus (1988), his searing portrait of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, it was The Sorrow and the Pity, that marked a turning point - not only in his career, but in how France confronted its past. Deemed too provocative, too divisive, it was banned from French television for over a decade. French broadcast executives said it "destroyed the myths the French still need" and did not air nationally until 1981. But for a younger generation in a country still recovering physically and psychologically from the aftermath of the atrocities, the movie was a revelation - an unflinching historical reckoning that challenged both national memory and national identity. The myth it punctured had been carefully constructed by Charles de Gaulle, the wartime general who led Free French forces from exile and later became president. In the aftermath of France's liberation in 1944, de Gaulle promoted a version of events in which the French had resisted Nazi occupation as one people, united in dignity and defiance. Collaboration was portrayed as the work of a few traitors. The Sorrow and the Pity, which was nominated for the 1972 Oscar for Best Documentary, told a different story: the film turned its lens on Clermont-Ferrand, a provincial town at the heart of France. Through long, unvarnished interviews with farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, collaborators, members of the French Resistance - even the town's former Nazi commander - Ophuls laid bare the moral ambiguities of life under occupation. There was no narrator, no music, no guiding hand to shape the audience's emotions - just people speaking plainly, awkwardly, sometimes defensively. They remembered, justified and hesitated. And in those silences and contradictions, the film delivered its most devastating message: that France's wartime story was not one of widespread resistance but of ordinary compromise - driven by fear, self-preservation, opportunism, and, at times, quiet complicity. The film revealed how French police had aided in the deportation of Jews. How neighbours stayed silent. How teachers claimed not to recall missing colleagues. How many had simply got by, with resistance being the exception - not the rule. In a 2004 interview Ophuls said. "Who can say their nation would have behaved better in the same circumstances?" Born in Frankfurt on November 1, 1927, Marcel Ophuls was the son of legendary German-Jewish filmmaker Max Ophuls and when Hitler came to power in 1933, the family fled Germany for France. In 1940, as Nazi troops approached Paris, they fled again — across the rugged Pyrenees into Spain, and on to the United States. Many years later, Ophuls settled in a home overlooking those mountains. He became an American citizen and later served as a US Army GI in occupied Japan. But it was his father's towering legacy that shaped his early path. He returned to France in the 1950s hoping to direct fiction, like his father. But after several poorly received features his path shifted to documentaries. After The Sorrow and the Pity, Ophuls followed with The Memory of Justice (1976), a sweeping meditation on war crimes that examined Nuremberg but also drew uncomfortable parallels to atrocities in Algeria and Vietnam. In Hôtel Terminus (1988), he spent five years tracking the life of Klaus Barbie, the so-called "Butcher of Lyon", exposing not just his Nazi crimes but the role Western governments played in protecting him after the war. The film won him his Academy Award for Best Documentary but, overwhelmed by its darkness, French media reported that he attempted suicide during production. In The Troubles We've Seen (1994), he turned his camera on journalists covering the war in Bosnia, and on the media's uneasy relationship with suffering and spectacle. He was a man of contradictions: a Jewish exile married to a German woman who had once belonged to the Hitler Youth; a French citizen never fully embraced; a filmmaker who adored Hollywood, but changed European cinema by telling truths others wouldn't. He is survived by his wife, Régine, their three daughters, and three grandchildren. Lifeline 13 11 14 beyondblue 1300 22 4636 Marcel Ophuls, the Academy Award-winning filmmaker whose landmark 1969 documentary The Sorrow and the Pity shattered the comforting myth that most of France had resisted the Nazis during World War II, has died at 97. Though Ophuls would later win an Oscar for Hôtel Terminus (1988), his searing portrait of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, it was The Sorrow and the Pity, that marked a turning point - not only in his career, but in how France confronted its past. Deemed too provocative, too divisive, it was banned from French television for over a decade. French broadcast executives said it "destroyed the myths the French still need" and did not air nationally until 1981. But for a younger generation in a country still recovering physically and psychologically from the aftermath of the atrocities, the movie was a revelation - an unflinching historical reckoning that challenged both national memory and national identity. The myth it punctured had been carefully constructed by Charles de Gaulle, the wartime general who led Free French forces from exile and later became president. In the aftermath of France's liberation in 1944, de Gaulle promoted a version of events in which the French had resisted Nazi occupation as one people, united in dignity and defiance. Collaboration was portrayed as the work of a few traitors. The Sorrow and the Pity, which was nominated for the 1972 Oscar for Best Documentary, told a different story: the film turned its lens on Clermont-Ferrand, a provincial town at the heart of France. Through long, unvarnished interviews with farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, collaborators, members of the French Resistance - even the town's former Nazi commander - Ophuls laid bare the moral ambiguities of life under occupation. There was no narrator, no music, no guiding hand to shape the audience's emotions - just people speaking plainly, awkwardly, sometimes defensively. They remembered, justified and hesitated. And in those silences and contradictions, the film delivered its most devastating message: that France's wartime story was not one of widespread resistance but of ordinary compromise - driven by fear, self-preservation, opportunism, and, at times, quiet complicity. The film revealed how French police had aided in the deportation of Jews. How neighbours stayed silent. How teachers claimed not to recall missing colleagues. How many had simply got by, with resistance being the exception - not the rule. In a 2004 interview Ophuls said. "Who can say their nation would have behaved better in the same circumstances?" Born in Frankfurt on November 1, 1927, Marcel Ophuls was the son of legendary German-Jewish filmmaker Max Ophuls and when Hitler came to power in 1933, the family fled Germany for France. In 1940, as Nazi troops approached Paris, they fled again — across the rugged Pyrenees into Spain, and on to the United States. Many years later, Ophuls settled in a home overlooking those mountains. He became an American citizen and later served as a US Army GI in occupied Japan. But it was his father's towering legacy that shaped his early path. He returned to France in the 1950s hoping to direct fiction, like his father. But after several poorly received features his path shifted to documentaries. After The Sorrow and the Pity, Ophuls followed with The Memory of Justice (1976), a sweeping meditation on war crimes that examined Nuremberg but also drew uncomfortable parallels to atrocities in Algeria and Vietnam. In Hôtel Terminus (1988), he spent five years tracking the life of Klaus Barbie, the so-called "Butcher of Lyon", exposing not just his Nazi crimes but the role Western governments played in protecting him after the war. The film won him his Academy Award for Best Documentary but, overwhelmed by its darkness, French media reported that he attempted suicide during production. In The Troubles We've Seen (1994), he turned his camera on journalists covering the war in Bosnia, and on the media's uneasy relationship with suffering and spectacle. He was a man of contradictions: a Jewish exile married to a German woman who had once belonged to the Hitler Youth; a French citizen never fully embraced; a filmmaker who adored Hollywood, but changed European cinema by telling truths others wouldn't. He is survived by his wife, Régine, their three daughters, and three grandchildren. Lifeline 13 11 14 beyondblue 1300 22 4636 Marcel Ophuls, the Academy Award-winning filmmaker whose landmark 1969 documentary The Sorrow and the Pity shattered the comforting myth that most of France had resisted the Nazis during World War II, has died at 97. Though Ophuls would later win an Oscar for Hôtel Terminus (1988), his searing portrait of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, it was The Sorrow and the Pity, that marked a turning point - not only in his career, but in how France confronted its past. Deemed too provocative, too divisive, it was banned from French television for over a decade. French broadcast executives said it "destroyed the myths the French still need" and did not air nationally until 1981. But for a younger generation in a country still recovering physically and psychologically from the aftermath of the atrocities, the movie was a revelation - an unflinching historical reckoning that challenged both national memory and national identity. The myth it punctured had been carefully constructed by Charles de Gaulle, the wartime general who led Free French forces from exile and later became president. In the aftermath of France's liberation in 1944, de Gaulle promoted a version of events in which the French had resisted Nazi occupation as one people, united in dignity and defiance. Collaboration was portrayed as the work of a few traitors. The Sorrow and the Pity, which was nominated for the 1972 Oscar for Best Documentary, told a different story: the film turned its lens on Clermont-Ferrand, a provincial town at the heart of France. Through long, unvarnished interviews with farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, collaborators, members of the French Resistance - even the town's former Nazi commander - Ophuls laid bare the moral ambiguities of life under occupation. There was no narrator, no music, no guiding hand to shape the audience's emotions - just people speaking plainly, awkwardly, sometimes defensively. They remembered, justified and hesitated. And in those silences and contradictions, the film delivered its most devastating message: that France's wartime story was not one of widespread resistance but of ordinary compromise - driven by fear, self-preservation, opportunism, and, at times, quiet complicity. The film revealed how French police had aided in the deportation of Jews. How neighbours stayed silent. How teachers claimed not to recall missing colleagues. How many had simply got by, with resistance being the exception - not the rule. In a 2004 interview Ophuls said. "Who can say their nation would have behaved better in the same circumstances?" Born in Frankfurt on November 1, 1927, Marcel Ophuls was the son of legendary German-Jewish filmmaker Max Ophuls and when Hitler came to power in 1933, the family fled Germany for France. In 1940, as Nazi troops approached Paris, they fled again — across the rugged Pyrenees into Spain, and on to the United States. Many years later, Ophuls settled in a home overlooking those mountains. He became an American citizen and later served as a US Army GI in occupied Japan. But it was his father's towering legacy that shaped his early path. He returned to France in the 1950s hoping to direct fiction, like his father. But after several poorly received features his path shifted to documentaries. After The Sorrow and the Pity, Ophuls followed with The Memory of Justice (1976), a sweeping meditation on war crimes that examined Nuremberg but also drew uncomfortable parallels to atrocities in Algeria and Vietnam. In Hôtel Terminus (1988), he spent five years tracking the life of Klaus Barbie, the so-called "Butcher of Lyon", exposing not just his Nazi crimes but the role Western governments played in protecting him after the war. The film won him his Academy Award for Best Documentary but, overwhelmed by its darkness, French media reported that he attempted suicide during production. In The Troubles We've Seen (1994), he turned his camera on journalists covering the war in Bosnia, and on the media's uneasy relationship with suffering and spectacle. He was a man of contradictions: a Jewish exile married to a German woman who had once belonged to the Hitler Youth; a French citizen never fully embraced; a filmmaker who adored Hollywood, but changed European cinema by telling truths others wouldn't. He is survived by his wife, Régine, their three daughters, and three grandchildren. Lifeline 13 11 14 beyondblue 1300 22 4636 Marcel Ophuls, the Academy Award-winning filmmaker whose landmark 1969 documentary The Sorrow and the Pity shattered the comforting myth that most of France had resisted the Nazis during World War II, has died at 97. Though Ophuls would later win an Oscar for Hôtel Terminus (1988), his searing portrait of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, it was The Sorrow and the Pity, that marked a turning point - not only in his career, but in how France confronted its past. Deemed too provocative, too divisive, it was banned from French television for over a decade. French broadcast executives said it "destroyed the myths the French still need" and did not air nationally until 1981. But for a younger generation in a country still recovering physically and psychologically from the aftermath of the atrocities, the movie was a revelation - an unflinching historical reckoning that challenged both national memory and national identity. The myth it punctured had been carefully constructed by Charles de Gaulle, the wartime general who led Free French forces from exile and later became president. In the aftermath of France's liberation in 1944, de Gaulle promoted a version of events in which the French had resisted Nazi occupation as one people, united in dignity and defiance. Collaboration was portrayed as the work of a few traitors. The Sorrow and the Pity, which was nominated for the 1972 Oscar for Best Documentary, told a different story: the film turned its lens on Clermont-Ferrand, a provincial town at the heart of France. Through long, unvarnished interviews with farmers, shopkeepers, teachers, collaborators, members of the French Resistance - even the town's former Nazi commander - Ophuls laid bare the moral ambiguities of life under occupation. There was no narrator, no music, no guiding hand to shape the audience's emotions - just people speaking plainly, awkwardly, sometimes defensively. They remembered, justified and hesitated. And in those silences and contradictions, the film delivered its most devastating message: that France's wartime story was not one of widespread resistance but of ordinary compromise - driven by fear, self-preservation, opportunism, and, at times, quiet complicity. The film revealed how French police had aided in the deportation of Jews. How neighbours stayed silent. How teachers claimed not to recall missing colleagues. How many had simply got by, with resistance being the exception - not the rule. In a 2004 interview Ophuls said. "Who can say their nation would have behaved better in the same circumstances?" Born in Frankfurt on November 1, 1927, Marcel Ophuls was the son of legendary German-Jewish filmmaker Max Ophuls and when Hitler came to power in 1933, the family fled Germany for France. In 1940, as Nazi troops approached Paris, they fled again — across the rugged Pyrenees into Spain, and on to the United States. Many years later, Ophuls settled in a home overlooking those mountains. He became an American citizen and later served as a US Army GI in occupied Japan. But it was his father's towering legacy that shaped his early path. He returned to France in the 1950s hoping to direct fiction, like his father. But after several poorly received features his path shifted to documentaries. After The Sorrow and the Pity, Ophuls followed with The Memory of Justice (1976), a sweeping meditation on war crimes that examined Nuremberg but also drew uncomfortable parallels to atrocities in Algeria and Vietnam. In Hôtel Terminus (1988), he spent five years tracking the life of Klaus Barbie, the so-called "Butcher of Lyon", exposing not just his Nazi crimes but the role Western governments played in protecting him after the war. The film won him his Academy Award for Best Documentary but, overwhelmed by its darkness, French media reported that he attempted suicide during production. In The Troubles We've Seen (1994), he turned his camera on journalists covering the war in Bosnia, and on the media's uneasy relationship with suffering and spectacle. He was a man of contradictions: a Jewish exile married to a German woman who had once belonged to the Hitler Youth; a French citizen never fully embraced; a filmmaker who adored Hollywood, but changed European cinema by telling truths others wouldn't. He is survived by his wife, Régine, their three daughters, and three grandchildren. Lifeline 13 11 14 beyondblue 1300 22 4636
