Jean Grémillon’s first talkie, the 1930 LA PETITE LISE, is anything but talky. While opening 　　and closing with soulful afro-Latin strains, something just above silence reigns throughout 　　the film. Grémillon is already orchestrating the auditory menace of nuanced sound sculpting 　　that would later pervade REMORQUES (1941), setting forth evolving rhythmic figures at an 　　atmospheric whisper. Grémillon grafts this aural frieze onto smoldering b&w photography. 　　Truly, the frame is often smoking for purposes of motif. 　　In truth, this film has the most impressive use of sound I know of, including Bresson’s 　　MOUCHETTE. It’s up for speculation as to how much technical issues played into his 　　creative use of sound and off-screen. What is of particular note is that instead of milking the 　　capability of sync sound dialogue, Grémillon uses it very sparingly, increasing the range of 　　expressiveness. An abstract score of atmospheric insinuation is always in accompaniment 　　with the imagery tonally, rhythmically and dynamically. Listening carefully, ambient sound isever at work in a subliminal music score. 　　The story of LA PETITE LISE belongs to the sandbox of melodrama, but Grémillon grinds it 　　into expressionistic minimalism. What is this story? Perhaps it will suffice to say that it is 　　the reunion of a father fresh out of prison with his daughter now grown up, all prepared 　　under a pressure cooker of lens and mic. Conflagrations arise periodically from the embers 　　of troubled quiet, with lighting flickering to and from peaks of intensity. Emblazoned 　　gestures extend from the sustain of affective brood, while conversations flare up before 　　subsiding back into the simmering cauldron.