France is currently grappling with a polarizing new film about pacifist turned Nazi collaborator that has reignited a dormant national wound. Xavier Giannoli’s Les Rayons et les Ombres (Rays and Shadows) arrived in cinemas in mid-March, drawing more than 300,000 spectators in its opening week alone despite a demanding three-hour-plus runtime.
The film focuses on the postwar wreckage of Corinne Luchaire, a former actress once celebrated as “the new Garbo,” who found herself entwined with the Nazi regime during the German occupation of France. Through the intimacy of a borrowed tape recorder, Corinne attempts to reconcile her lifelong devotion to her father, the press baron Jean Luchaire, with the reality of his 1946 execution for treason.
The narrative tension peaks in a confrontation between Corinne—played by newcomer Nastya Golubeva Carax—and a Jewish director who helped launch her career. When Corinne asks about his sister, the director reveals she perished in a concentration camp. Corinne’s whispered claim of ignorance is met with a question that serves as the film’s moral axis: “Did you even try to discover out?”
The Architecture of a Seductive Betrayal
At the center of the film is the relationship between Jean Luchaire and Otto Abetz, the Francophile former art teacher who became the German ambassador to France. Giannoli traces their connection back to the 1930s in the Black Forest, where the two were united by a shared left-wing pacifism born from the trauma of World War I. Together, they founded the Sohlberg Congress, a Franco-German youth forum that eventually morphed into a vehicle for lethal propaganda.
To portray the “seductive” nature of this betrayal, Giannoli cast Oscar-winner Jean Dujardin. The director argued that using a popular, charismatic actor was essential to reflect the historical reality of Luchaire, who was part of an amoral Parisian fringe. By avoiding a stereotypical “villainous” appearance, the film emphasizes how charm can mask a slide into antisemitism and active complicity with an extremist regime.
The production meticulously recreates the decadence of the collaborationist elite. Giannoli utilized high-end food designers to source authentic caviar for scenes set at Maxim’s and Fouquet’s, juxtaposing the lavish feasts and drug-fueled orgies of the “beautiful people” against a France where the general population was starving.
A Divide Over Historical Relativism
The release of this new film about pacifist turned Nazi collaborator has split French critics along ideological lines. While center and right-of-center reviewers have praised the perform as a masterpiece of historical nuance, left-leaning outlets, including Libération and L’Humanité, have accused Giannoli of relativizing the actions of those who served the Nazi killing machine.
Much of the friction stems from the film’s depiction of Jean Luchaire as a disillusioned spendthrift rather than a diehard ideologue. This interpretation is contested by Laurent Joly, a prominent historian of the Vichy regime and state antisemitism. Joly argues that Luchaire’s path was not driven by pacifism, but by a fundamental “amorality and venality,” noting that Luchaire had a history of theft and conning from a young age.
Joly also disputes the film’s portrayal of Corinne Luchaire as a wretched victim of postwar purges. While the film depicts her ravaged by tuberculosis in tattered clothes—an image consistent with her 1946 trial—Joly points out that by 1948, her condition had improved. He notes that her memoirs, Ma Drôle de Vie (My Funny Life), have since been regularly reissued by far-right publishers, suggesting her role as a “victim” is an exaggeration.
Breaking the Taboo of Collaboration
The struggle to depict collaboration on screen is rooted in the “résistancialisme” myth—a postwar narrative fostered by Charles de Gaulle to unify France by suggesting the vast majority of the population had resisted the Nazis. For decades, this made the subject of collaboration a cinematic taboo.
The historical weight of this subject is significant. When filmmaker Louis Malle explored the everyday betrayals of occupied France in the 1974 film Lacombe, Lucien, the resulting backlash was so severe it prompted Malle to move to the United States for several years. Giannoli admits to experiencing similar anxieties, noting he suffered sleepless nights wondering the consequences of his creative choices.
The director’s fascination with the corruption of the media—a theme he previously explored in his adaptation of Balzac’s Lost Illusions—drives the film’s examination of how cowardice and personal fear can alter the course of history.
Comparison of Perspectives on Jean Luchaire
| Perspective | Primary Driver | Characterization |
|---|---|---|
| Xavier Giannoli (Film) | Misguided Pacifism/Fear | Disillusioned spendthrift; seduced by power. |
| Laurent Joly (Historian) | Amorality/Venality | Lifelong conman; corrupted by 1935. |
| Far-Right Publishers | Political Conviction | Victim of postwar purges (via Corinne’s memoirs). |
The film concludes on a note of irreducible ambiguity. When Giannoli sought guidance from fascism historian Pascal Ory, he expressed a fear that “nobody would forgive me if I told just one lie.” Ory’s response captures the enduring complexity of the Vichy period: “Neither would anybody forgive me if I told the truth.”
Les Rayons et les Ombres continues its theatrical run in France, where it remains a focal point for discussions on national memory and the limits of historical nuance in art.
Do you believe cinema should prioritize historical accuracy or artistic nuance when dealing with war crimes? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
