Perhaps it takes an outsider to approach a figure of national pride with cinematic honesty. In that vein, Hungarian maestro László Nemes is a perfect fit on paper for “Moulin,” a biographical film about Jean Moulin, a French Resistance fighter of considerable acclaim. However, in practice, the drama of this World War II spy saga seldom lives up to the filmmaker’s lofty aesthetic goals, resulting in a tale of torture and human fragility that flatlines long before its central martyr.
Beginning with colorized footage of the Nazi occupation of France, “Moulin” establishes its historical stakes before having its title character — in disguise as interior designer Jean Martel, and played by a debonair Gilles Lellouche — drop down in his home country via parachute. The painterly night photography and booming soundscape make Moulin’s lonely landing feel like a dangerous tightrope walk, but it’s a long while before the film feels this enrapturing again.
For about the first half of its runtime, “Moulin” unfolds in the style of a Hollywood noir, with hard lighting illuminating the contours of devilishly attractive, silhouetted characters obscured by fedoras and face nets. Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély’s gaslamp wash makes the whole thing visually alluring, but the story up to this point is one of malformed double entendres, as Moulin and his cohorts react to more important plots unfolding elsewhere in the war. There are hints about succession and cults of personality, conversations which raise questions as to whether Moulin is fit to lead, but these are seldom broached beyond their introductions.
