“For this is it that we must abide in that Province where our fathers dwelt, living as they have lived, so to obey the unwritten command that once shaped itself in their hearts, that passed to ours, which we in turn must hand on to descendants innumerable:– In this land of Quebec naught shall die and naught shall suffer change…” – Maria Chapdelaine, p. 241
This is the central sentence of Louis Hémon’s 1913 novel, Maria Chapdelaine, which tells the story of a woman in rural Québec who must choose between three suitors to marry: François Paradis, Eutrope Gagnon, and Lorenzo Surprenant. But since nothing should die and nothing should change, her choice will already be pre-ordained by a higher power who will make sure she will stay where she is, without the possibility of emancipation. The novel is arguably the greatest piece of Québec literature to have ever been written. Ironically enough, Hémon wasn’t even born in Québec and wrote the book as he was staying in the province, but was quickly adopted by the masses as a “monument” of literature, adapted three times over film. The 1983 adaptation by Gilles Carle is the definitive version of the book, in my opinion, and the bar was set quite high with the portrayal of the book’s titular character by Carole Laure, who brought a magnifying aura to Chapdelaine that no other actress who portrayed her before was able to achieve. After Carle’s film, no other readaptation of the story was needed, but director Sébastien Pilote, mostly known for 2011’s Le vendeur, decided differently.
Much like Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, readapting Maria Chapdelaine on-screen was a lifelong dream for Pilote. In an interview with TIFF, he explains that “if there were ten adaptations of Maria Chapdelaine, I’d wish to do the eleventh one.” Going into the film, I was a bit skeptical of the relevance of this adaptation (especially with a lengthy 162-minute runtime, whereas Carle’s film delivered so much emotional power in 107 minutes), but they are quickly washed away by its immaculate cinematography and performances from its leads. Ecological activist Sara Montpetit makes her feature film debut as Maria Chapdelaine, who lives in Péribonka with her mother (Hélène Florent), father (Sébastien Ricard), and siblings. The film follows the same aforementioned story from the book, as Maria desires emancipation and adventure, free from a patriarchal society where her sole role is to either become a teacher or tend to the hard-working men who are colonizing the land by cutting down trees and cook for them. She sees that desire for adventure in François Paradis (Émile Schneider), who lives in accordance with nature, and is in constant movement, giving Maria the thirst for adventure.
However, their parents want her to marry Eutrope Gagnon (Antoine Olivier-Pilon), who has a stable life as a traditional working man, and will be able to not only provide for Maria but give her the stable and cyclical countryside life the Gouin government preconized at the time, where absolutely nothing should die and change. Her love for Paradis will push Maria to reject her parents’ wish, but when he dies, she must choose between stability and tradition with Eutrope or a modest town-life with Lorenzo Surprenant (Robert Naylor). And since nothing should change, you probably know where this story is going.
Of course, Pilote’s readaptation can’t match Gilles Carle’s version, but the filmmaker takes his recurring motifs and aesthetic techniques to great effect. Pilote’s slow, lingering shots of Péribonka recalls the vastness of a John Ford production (with multiple doorway shots immediately harkening back to The Searchers). The outside light is natural and textured, and the countryside’s landscape is so immense that audiences immediately envelop themselves in the lush (and at times, aggressive) countryside of rural Québec, with every frame crafted by cinematographer Michel La Veaux feeling like a vivid landscape painting. The snow is incredibly white and heavy, while the grass is greener than green, demonstrating how ripe the land is and how luscious everything was before they were further colonized and the province industrialized.
This slower-than-slow pacing allows for a greater exploration of characters and the world of Péribonka further than Carle’s adaptation ever did, and this is where Pilote succeeds the most. Sara Montpetit gives one of the best on-screen debuts I’ve seen in a long, long time. She’s no Carole Laure, but her Chapdelaine is more fierce and emotionally investing than any other iteration of the character on film. Pilote gives very little dialogue to Montpetit (compared to the very dialogue-heavy performances of Madeleine Renaud and Michèle Morgan in Julien Duvivier and Marc Allégret’s respective adaptations) and instead redirects his focus on her eyes and the way she looks at François Paradis, for example, or Eutrope Gagnon. Whenever Paradis appears on-screen, her eyes light up at the mere sight (or mention) of him. It makes it more heartbreaking when she learns of his death, through Eutrope, with whom she only shares modest feelings. Look at the way she reacts to the news. It doesn’t take her much effort to convey pure heartbreak with the way she looks at Eutrope and her parents. Even Carole Laure couldn’t do what Montpetit does here. Her performance showcases the true makings of a star, and she is primed for a great career in Québec cinema, with many local awards coming her way very soon.
The supporting cast is also excellent, with Gilbert Sicotte and Hélène Florent being particular highlights here as Éphrem Surprenant and Laura Chapdelaine. I would even argue that this is Florent’s show, more than anything else since she gives the best performance of her entire career here. She brings immense amounts of emotional depth to her character that was lacking in previous adaptations, which makes her portrayal of Laura feel more complete than Carle’s film. Sicotte, who also starred in the 1983 adaptation and in Pilote’s Le vendeur, has a welcoming presence in the film and demonstrates once again why he’s one of Québec cinema’s greatest talents. If the script isn’t ridiculous (his last role in PODZ’s Mafia Inc. was quite embarrassing, even for his standards), Sicotte will always bring his A-game to every character he plays, even if it’s for a small amount of screentime. Pilon is also quite good as Eutrope Gagnon, and gives the best performance of Maria’s three suitors, only because the film spends more time with him than Paradis and Surprenant. In fact, the only flaw this movie has is how it develops Maria’s suitors. Yes, I get that they didn’t have much development in the book too, but a fourth adaptation of the book can change things up a bit and have more sequences that develop its side characters more than Maria and the Chapdelaine family.
Perhaps it’s Pilote’s incessant obsession with Hémon’s original text that falters the adaptation a bit, as he seems a little busy doing the most faithful adaptation of the book possible, and doesn’t want to change anything to improve a nearly 110-year old book. And while Hémon’s text is considered to be “sacred,” changing slight character arcs to modernize the story or bring new life to the book doesn’t make it sacrilegious. Look at how Radio-Canada readapted Claude Henri-Grignon’s Les Belles Histoires des Pays d’en Haut and Un Homme et son Péché for the small screen in 2016 with Les Pays d’en Haut. The show’s creators retained the core of the story (Séraphin trying to make Donalda fall in love with him, while she has her eyes fixed on Alexis), but modernized it to an audience ready to watch a Deadwood-style Western set in Sainte-Adèle before Honoré Mercier took power as Premier of Québec. Fans of Grignon’s work were satisfied, while modern television fans also enjoyed its acting and modernization of the story.
Pilote doesn’t want to modernize Maria Chapdelaine, but make the most faithful adaptation of Hémon’s book as possible. In that regard, he does succeed, but that comes with the odd sense of familiarity plaguing most of its story. That being said, if you can get past a familiar storyline and soak inside its immensely gorgeous cinematography (that’s worth any fully vaccinated trip to the movies) and see a star born in front of your eyes in Sara Montpetit, you may very well enjoy the film as much as I did, as yet another great adaptation of an immortal literature classic; proof that nothing should die, and nothing should change.
