The War of the Buttons

When Peter Brook's film version of Lord of the Flics fell smack on its allegorical face last year, it seemed that a bunch of kids might come close but finally couldn't bring off a serious Work of Art. Recently, however, an old director, Yves Robert, a slew of French child actors (les cent gosses), and a wonderfully appropriate script, The War of the Buttons (adapted from Louis Pergaud's novel) simply meshed.

Again, as in the Flies, a pessimistic view of man's basic aggressiveness is the theme, but it's the uncannily fresh tone of the Buttons which makes it a delightful success. When those English lads charmingly chanted "Kill the pig! Cut his throat! Spill his Blood!" it became clear that their best was a curiously grisly Disney. When these French scamps taunt their enemies, "All the Valerans are ass-scratchers!" they are convincing and rambunctiously Rabelaisian.

The War of the Buttons is a child's war between the young students of two small French towns, Valeran and Longeverne. They fight in a deserted quarry with sticks and sling shots, yet their exhaustive preparations for battle and ingeniously inventive tactics are uncomfortably familiar to contemporary minds. But lessons for the world are properly understated by director Robert and, instead, he guides his actors at uproarious play. One side attacks with a borrowed old nag (utterly frightening from a child's point of view) and wins that battle in a rout. Later the other side borrows a tractor as the escalation continues. The buttons are essential to the business because prisoners are tied to a tree and ceremoniously have all their buttons cut off. As their pants fall and tears flow, they lose any semblance of honor.

In one superb scene, Lebrac, the leader of the Longevernes (skillfully played by Andre Treton), capitalizes frighteningly on this situation and has all his "men" strip nude for, I'm sure, the best surprise attack in history. It is also symptomatic of the symbolism which is heightened by a light touch.

But the film is more than a broad parody of war. Lebrac's story focuses the action and produces some good drama as well. He leads his school chums because he is independent, resourceful, and cynical toward authority, yet these same qualities alienate the parents of Longeverne. But his personality only mirrors the values of grown-up society--he is aggressively masculine, loves to create and destroy, to take a stand on honor. And so, when Lebrac is finally sent away from his village to a distant school, he says to a friend, "When we grow up we may be as stupid as they are."

As significant as his indictment of adult attitudes is the laugh with which he makes it. Not only does such humor keep the kid-acting natural, it makes for better philosophy.