The New Pictures, Sep. 29, 1947

The Devil’s Envoys (Paulvé; Superfilm), which is based on the medieval romance Les Visiteurs du Soir, is a French film about a minstrel (Alain Cuny) and his mistress (Arletty) who travels disguised as his brother. One evening they turn up among the entertainers at a small French chateau. These unusually talented musicians are capable of magic, as well as music; they are emissaries of the Devil (Jules Berry). Their business in the world is to seduce immortal souls through the transient flesh.

The minstrel goes to work on the baron’s lovely daughter and becomes entangled in his own toils. His “brother,” sticking more faithfully to duty, reveals her sex both to the devout Baron (Ledoux) and to his worldly prospective son-in-law. When the plot gets too complicated, the Devil himself turns up, disguised as a very nasty gentleman, and complicates matters still further. Arletty’s lovers are certified for Hell; but Hell’s unfaithful minstrel and his sweetheart, thanks to the white magic of True Love, fight the Devil to a draw.

This odd movie is the work of Jacques Prevert and Marcel Carné, who made Children of Paradise (TIME, Nov. 25). Of its fairly unprecedented kind—it is a classical medieval romance on film—it is close to perfection. But it seems unlikely that many U.S. moviegoers will care for it as much as the French critics who voted it the best French film of 1943.

Most of it is beautiful to look at, rather like tapestry turned into slow-motion ballet; but beauty on film, when there is too much of it and too little else, can get pretty dull. Not even the talented, magnificent-looking cast can bring much of the film to life. There is a lot of engaging magic, but that, too, loses its appeal; there is too little sense of real life by which to measure its wonder. The picture is saturated in a kind of allegorized romanticism that is curiously musty. There are moments when the film almost achieves what it works so hard for—the enchantment of the audience. But enchantment is closely related to sleep; all in all, sleep is what this exquisitely contrived but rather precious film is likelier to induce.

The Romance of Rosy Ridge (MGM) presents Van Johnson as a plumpish Barefoot Boy who wanders into Missouri’s Ozarks and settles down with some folks named MacBean to help with the harvesting. Besides being useful around the house and barnyard, Van is quite a man with the mouth organ, the banjo, his larynx, and the ladies.

Maw MacBean (Selena Royle) is glad to have Van around, and young Lissy (Janet Leigh) makes eyes enough for a whole county’s quota of farmers’ daughters. Gill MacBean (Thomas Mitchell) is less easily won over by the stranger. The Civil War has just been fought, and feeling still runs high. Barns are being burned by masked riders; Yankees and ex-Rebels still won’t help each other out with the crops, or even keep their tempers at a party. Old Man MacBean, a 100% Rebel, has a burning question: Are the stranger’s britches blue or gray?

The stranger, who feels that the war is over now and that people should be sociable again, irritatingly insists on wearing enigmatic checkered pants. At last his hideous secret comes out: he was not only a Union soldier, but a schoolmaster to boot. Ultimately, of course, he unmasks the barn-burners, pacifies MacBean, and gets the girl.

As the title warns, this is just a romance; so any objections are bound to seem captious. There could be no objections to parts of the movie. The songs are pretty, Newcomer Janet Leigh is pretty to look at and there are some rather pretty bits of deep-country detail (e.g., hustling the hay in ahead of a storm). But Rosy Ridge attempts to base its romance on authentic and charming Americana. The job requires more than prettiness and benevolent patriotism. Faces, hands, clothes and postures need to suggest hard work, real life and a certain tension of character, rather than mere magazine illustration. Most of Rosy Ridge’s pleasant details are little more than mere magazine illustration.

Something in the Wind (Universal-International) tries desperately, and without success, to make a hepcat out of Deanna Durbin. As a lady disc jockey who breaks into song at improbable moments, Deanna runs afoul of a socialite prig (John Dall) who thinks she is out to blackmail him. While giving him his comeuppance, she hopefully wiggles her hips and sings a couple of songs in the manner of a self-consciously refined Betty Hutton. Instead of seizing its opportunity for a few good-natured jabs at the jitterbug cult, Something in the Wind quickly sinks in a welter of foolish movie clichés. Johnny Green’s score (best songs: Something in the Wind, I’m Happy Go Lucky and Free, The Turntable Song) has a tough time bucking the script. Several competent supporting actors (Donald O’Connor, Charles Winninger and Margaret Wycherly) stand around looking vaguely embarrassed by it all.