The Army of Crime

Comprising 22 men and one woman from every walk of European life, the so-called ‘Army Of Crime’ made life hell for the Nazis who occupied Paris until their capture and execution in February 1944.

As director Robert Guédiguian is quick to point out, each of them deserves a film in their own right. But to encapsulate their whole cause, he focuses primarily on three of the heroes while presenting the facts with an acceptable degree of dramatic licence.

Motivated by the murder of his parents by German hands in Armenia, poet Missak Manouchian (Akbarian) is the resistance leader tasked with recruiting and mobilising anyone prepared to fight and die for France.

Intellectual, Jew, Communist, Hungarian, Spaniard, Pole, Italian, Armenian – creed and culture are irrelevant. What matters is loyalty and a willingness to do whatever it takes to rid the world of Hitler's invading hordes.

Manouchian finds two eager recruits in Marcel Rayman (Robinson Stevenin) and Thomas Elek (Gregoire Leprince-Ringuet), two young Jews from law-abiding families who already work to their own rebellious agenda.

Where Thomas dispatches SS officers with a well-placed bomb in a book (Karl Marx's Das Kapital – nice touch), impetuous Marcel adopts a more direct bullet-to-the-head approach. Different methods, same result.

But as Manouchian and his wife Melinee (Ledoyen) well know, every new face brings new risks and new lies: some to protect, most to deceive. And when lives and livelihoods are on the line, self-preservation is the enemy of trust.

What makes Guédiguian's film particularly admirable is that it confronts the issue of collaboration head-on. It says less about the occupying Nazis (who merely lurk with intent in the background) than the misguided French souls who did Hitler's dirty work.

They are epitomised by Pujol (Jean-Pierre Darroussin), a tenacious gendarme who continues to climb the career ladder by rounding up Jews and bringing in resisters despite having no stomach for the terrible treatment he knows awaits them.

Whether it's pretty girls whoring themselves or prisoners being tortured by blowtorch, the film often paints a beautiful city in a very ugly light.

It also benefits from universally fine performances, Akbarian's quiet intensity striking a clear yet subtle contrast to Darroussin's apologetic cowardice and the youthful recklessness of the excellent Stevenin.

Favouring character and atmosphere over flamboyant technique, this is as focused, balanced and compelling a war drama as you're likely to see.

Elliott Noble