city, taken away to Marseille, andnturned out into a life of prostitution.nThat’s just the set-up, though. Thenreal business of the movie is her rescuenby Fernandel, playing an eady versionnof the honorable oaf that was to carrynhim through a long and illustriousncareer. He is a former foundling whonworks as a farmhand on her family’snfarm, and he fetches her and hernillegitimate child back home to a mothernwho is heartbroken but sympathetic,nand a father who, feeling dishonorednand disgraced, is driven almost to madness.nAngele’s reprieve from the rootncellar to which her father has consignednher is an unsappy affirmation ofnthe kindness and good sense of thencountry people of Provence. The conclusionnis that Angele marries a youngnman from a not-too-distant hill townnwhere there are flowers and almondntrees. He will marry her and take hernand the baby up into the hills with him.nSuch a subject handled too roughly ornclumsily would be disastrous, butnPagnol’s broad, simple strokes, and hisnsure sense of knowing just how far hencan go without insulting the integritynof the material or the intelligence ofnthe audience make for a real power thatnis a close French equivalent to the laternwork of William Faulkner, particuladynin the comic novels. The Hamlet, ThenTown, and The Mansion.nThose hills of Provence figure againnas a site of refuge and renewal innHarvest, a Pagnol film of three yearsnlater, with Orane Demazis returningnto play another dishonored damsel — anrape victim this time — and Fernandelnpulling his long faces and toothy grinsnas the honorable if oafish itinerantnknife sharpener. In Jean de FlorettenLIBERAL ARTSnKEN’S NEXTnNow there’s a doll to introduce little girisnto a more realistic world of fashion.nSince few women possess the 35-18-33nmeasurements’ possessed by glamorousndolls, Cathy Meredig, founder of Self-nEsteem Toys in Minneapolis, has refashionednthe image of Barbie into a morenrealistic mold. What she has designed isna full-figured doll based on the morencommon measurements of 36-27-38,ncomplemented by a shorter neck andnlarger feet.n48/CHRONlCLESnand Manon des Sources, ClaudenBerri’s films that were based on Pagnolnnovels, there is a magical aura to thenhill country where the half-wild girlnromps in a savage innocence in whichnshe knows more about the source ofnlife-giving water than any of the villagersndo.nThe legacy of Pagnol seems to benendlessly rich and continually nourishing.nIn My Father’s Glory and MynMother’s Castle, Yves Robert’s screennversion of Pagnol’s Memories of Childhood,nwe see the hills as the majorncharacters they became for youngnMarcel. Robert was a friend and associatenof Pagnol’s and staged several of thenlate master’s plays in Paris. This adaptationn— the singular is appropriate, becausenthere is really the one film in twonpieces with two tides — is a kind ofnhomage not just to Pagnol but to thenpastoral world that spoke so eloquentlynto him and through him.nPagnol was born in Aubagne onnFebruary 28, 1895. His father, Joseph,nwas a village schoolteacher who, inn1898, was promoted and transferred tonMarseille. From 1900 onward, thenPagnols—Joseph, his wife Augustine,nand their children. Marcel and Paul —nwent off to a country place, some fournmiles beyond the end of the trolleynline. In memory and, more likely thannnot, in actual fact, this was unspoiledncountry back then. There was no electricity,nno running water (except fromna cistern on the roof), no indoornplumbing. The life out there, so differentnfrom that in the city, became anchildhood Eden that was to inspire thenelegiac pastorals that were to comenfrom Pagnol’s pen and camera duringnmuch of this century (Pagnol died inn1974). To that rugged and austerencountryside and to the people thisnstrange terrain nourished and formed,nPagnol brought a quality of quiet freefloatingnattention that he must havenlearned as a young boy out gatheringnmushrooms or wild grapes, or tendingnLili des Bellons’ traps. There is ansteadiness of gaze and a deliberationnthat city people have neither the occasionnto use nor the opportunity tonacquire. These were qualities ofnPagnol’s work, and they are what bothnBerri and Robert have, in their differentnways, tried to emulate. Robert’snwork seems at first somewhat less theatrical,nbut over the course of nearlynnnfour hours of exposition, development,nand resolution, one sees that there isnsimply a change in focus. Small gesturesnbecome the fulcrums of verynlarge pieces of machinery. There is, innMy Father’s Glory, a romance betweennAunt Rose and a portly gendemannshe meets in the Park Borely innMarseille, which is observed by thenfive-year-old Marcel and in which henplays a small part — as Aunt Rose’snpretext for her frequent excursions tonthe park. The progress of the romancenis not the five-year-old’s paramountnconcern; he is more interested in flingingnbread (or sometimes stones) at thenducks. But there is an occasion whennthe grown-ups meet even in the rain,nand something extraordinary seems tonhave happened because they are waltzing,nthe two of them, alone on thengrass, to the lush music on the soundtrackn(by Vladimir Cosma). The childnis aware of this extraordinary business,nand we see him, to the left, just withinnthe frame of the screen, playing on ansmall carousel. A gorgeous moment, itnallows for (but does not require) Seurat,nand Auden’s “Musee des BeauxnArts,” and the Breughel painting Audennis talking about.nIn another of my unsuccessful forays,nI’d tried Terry Gilliam’s The FishernKing with Jeff Bridges and Robin Williamsnas a semi-crazed street-person,nand while it is mosdy saccharine piffle,nthere is one extraordinary moment innwhich Williams is following AmandanPlummer through a crowd of commutersnin Grand Central Station, and as anway of demonstrating his happinessnand craziness, Gilliam introduces anwaltz onto the soundtrack and has allnthe commuters dance with one another.nIt is a remarkable couple of minutesnbut it violates the texture of the movie,nor, worse, it demonstrates that thenmovie doesn’t really have a texture.nThe similar but smaller gesture in MynFather’s Glory works better, persuadesnus more thoroughly, and doesn’t violatenanything.nThe title is playful and refers, at leastninitially, to Joseph Pagnol’s success in ancompetitive hunt with Jules, the portlyngenfleman of the Park Borely who isnnow married to Tante Rose and isnMarcel’s Oncle Jules. With a little lucknand with Marcel’s help — he flushesnthe birds — Joseph manages to bringndown two bartavelles, which are largen