My top five:
1. Fallen Leaves
Consequence was central not just to Cantet’s narratives, but also within the wider filmography, each project seemingly containing the seeds of future work. Where Human Resources (1999) stalked a business-school graduate sent to oversee layoffs at the factory employing his aging father, Time Out (2001) followed a man so ashamed at losing his job that he drives around during office hours, pretending to be gainfully employed. “This movie,” wrote The New Yorker’s David Denby, “makes one grateful that a serious European art cinema still exists.”
Time Out paired Cantet with screenwriter Robin Campillo, himself later a director of note. The pair reteamed for Heading South (2005), an adaptation of Dany Laferrière’s short stories about white women visiting Haiti in the 1980s. Despite a typically steely Charlotte Rampling performance, the film yielded scattered critical responses, yet Cantet and Campillo rebounded with The Class, at once a modern classic, strikingly different from the sentimental school dramas of yore.
For starters, its source was a memoir by the essayist François Bégaudeau about the disillusion he felt while teaching. Cantet asked the boyish Bégaudeau to play a version of himself opposite real-life pupils in a dramatisation of the incidents that pushed him to quit. In his Time review, Richard Schickel noted this hard-won authenticity: “It is hard to think of another film more tightly autobiographical than this one. It’s even harder to think of other films that build so gripping a narrative out of a string of comparatively minor and disparate incidents.”
Cantet sensed he was onto something when teachers at the Parisian school he was filming at complained pupils were more motivated about attending his fictional lessons than their own real ones; a last-minute entry at Cannes, the film eventually scooped the festival’s top prize, becoming the first French winner for 21 years.
Although beaten to the Foreign Film Oscar by the Japanese drama Departures (2008), The Class proved a notable arthouse success, a film that asked big questions about education without losing sight of what makes a compelling story. “Fiction is really important in my films, even if it deals with something very real and very social,” Cantet told one interviewer. “I think that putting political and social issues first would make people afraid to come and watch the film.”
This particular fiction reflected the director’s roots. Laurent Cantet was the son of two teachers, born April 11, 1961 in the commune of Melle in western France. He studied photography at university in Marseille before attending the national film school IDHEC.
Initially Cantet ventured into non-fiction, assisting the veteran documentarist Marcel Ophuls on Veillées d'armes (1994), on the siege of Sarajevo. Yet he broke through with striking short and medium-length fictions: Jeux de plage (1995), a coastal blueprint for Human Resources that won the Prix Jean Vigo for Best Short Film, and the made-for-TV Les sanguinaires (1999), about a man retreating to an island off Ajaccio to avoid the mania of Y2K.
Following his Cannes triumph, Cantet was tempted westwards. In Canada, he filmed Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang (2012), an appreciably textured and detailed adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s novel. He then headed south to Cuba for the portmanteau 7 Days in Havana (2012) and Return to Ithaca (2014), a characteristically intelligent if somewhat underpowered drama about old friends reuniting on a rooftop terrace to discuss their place in revolutionary history.
Thereafter
Cantet came home, reteaming with Campillo for the Marseille-set The Workshop
(2017), which updated the cross-generational debate that so elevated and
electrified The Class with the added dramatic charge of online
nationalism. That aspect of Web-enabled chaos was central to Cantet’s final
film, Arthur Rambo (2021, unreleased here), in which an emergent media
personality has his upward mobility checked by the discovery of hateful Tweets
posted by his younger self.
His social commitment extended offscreen: he was affiliated with the Collectif des Cinéastes Pour les Sans-Papiers, who provide support to undocumented migrant workers, and he served as the president of Passeurs d’Images, an association which campaigns for greater film literacy in schools.
Promoting The Workshop, Cantet spoke of the need for society to engage the young: “I was very happy at the end of shooting, [as] one of the guys [in the non-professional cast] thanked me for the wonderful experience he had. He told me, “You know, it’s the first time I’m speaking that much. Not just joking with friends — I know how to do that — but with the film, for a few months, we had to think precisely [about] what we are living today, and it was a great experience.” I think that’s what we should do with young people: give them space to think together.”
Laurent Cantet, born April 11, 1961, died April 25, 2024.
Aged barely twenty, a fresh-faced graduate of the Italia Conti theatre school, Lee found herself in the running to play Tatiana Romanova, the KGB agent who seduces (and subsequently falls for) James Bond in From Russia with Love (1963). She lost out to the Italian newcomer Daniela Bianchi – which made it only more ironic when Lee eclipsed Bianchi to become one of Italy’s biggest female stars, chiefly by playing the love interest in 007 knockoffs and parodies.
In a series of popular comedies featuring the Italian duo Franco Franchi and Ciccio Ingrassia – including Two Jokers at the Moulin Rouge (1964) and General Custer’s Two Sergeants (1965) – Lee served as Dorothy Lamour had done in Bob Hope and Bing Crosby’s Road movies, cutting through the boys’ bluff badinage with flashes of leg and wit. “It was not the career in theatre I had dreamed of,” Lee told one interviewer. “But it was acting.”
She
became a major Italian cover girl thanks to the rash of slapdash spy pastiches
occasioned by the opportunistic producer Harry Alan Towers, positioning himself
as a cut-price Cubby Broccoli. Our Man in Marrakesh (1966) paired Lee
with Tony Randall, Herbert Lom and Wilfrid Hyde-White; in Five Golden
Dragons (1967), which spliced espionage capers with the newly voguish kung
fu, Lee gave a breathy rendition of the John Barry-aping theme song.
She had a dancer’s pep, appearing in twelve films in 1965 alone: “I adored it. I felt so at home on the movie set that I often would stay behind to watch filming even when I had finished for the day. We often worked very long hours but it seemed to actually give me energy rather than tire me.” Even so, she later confessed to a measure of Marilynesque regret as to how those energies had been applied: “I imagined myself in more dramatic roles, but I guess that is not how others saw me.”
Lee was born Margaret Gwendolyn Box on August 4, 1943 to a mother who’d been relocated to Wolverhampton during the Blitz. At the end of the war the family returned to London, where the young Margaret studied at Greenwich’s Roan School for Girls. (According to one contemporary, the pair spent their teenage years chasing a pre-fame Mick Jagger around the South London rail network.)
After graduating from Italia Conte, Lee successfully answered an advert in The Stage seeking dancers for the Moulin Rouge; once installed on the continent, she won a role opposite Elizabeth Taylor in the Cinecitta-shot Cleopatra (1963), but her scenes were cut from the finished film. Instead, she made her screen debut in lowlier circumstances, appearing alongside 1957’s Mr. Universe Reg Lewis in Fire Monsters Against the Son of Hercules (1962), a routine sword-and-sandals programmer.
Her sensuality was a gift for a newly permissive cinema: in Casanova 70 (1965), she was manhandled by Marcello Mastroianni, whom she described as “sweet”. Yet – like many – she endured a fraught working relationship with Klaus Kinski, the emergent wild man of European cinema, with whom Lee made a total of eleven increasingly lurid thrillers between 1966 and 1971.
Lee felt obliged to correct the record of Kinski’s characteristically unreliable, self-glorifying 1975 memoir All I Need is Love, in which the actor claimed he enjoyed threesomes with his co-star and fellow actress Maria Rohm: “This is totally untrue, and I am sorry he abased himself this way. Klaus and I were chums and he was a close friend of my husband Gino, too; there was never any sexual side to our friendship… ever. I was angry for a while, but now I forgive him.”
Returning home upon the birth of her second child in 1973, Lee booked one episode of the Gerry Anderson-produced ITV caper The Protectors (1972-74), but saw her visibility dwindle due to industry indifference: “I guess because I was known in Italy and to some extent France, but not in England. I did not think seriously of trying to work there.” Her final screen credit, at the age of forty, came with the crime comedy Neapolitan Sting (1983) opposite Treat Williams.
Lee moved decisively to Northern California in the mid-1980s, studying Stanislavski in San Francisco and working thereafter in local theatre: “I mostly thought of myself as an Italian movie actress and had never aspired to be known internationally… In retrospect, this might have been a limitation and a mistake.”
She married three times, to the producer Gino Malerba, Patrick Anderson and Walter Creighton. She is survived by two sons: the production manager Damian Anderson and Roberto Malerba, a producer on the Bond film SPECTRE (2015).
Margaret Lee, born August 4, 1943, died April 24, 2024.