La Kermesse héroïque (1935) Review: The Good, The Bad & How to Watch

 

La Kermesse héroïque (1935) Review: The Good, The Bad & How to Watch 

French Film, Historical, Comedy, Romance

Venice Film Festival, 1936- Winner: Best Director
Berlin Film Festival, 2026- Official Selection
National Board of Review, 1936- 2 wins including: Best Foreign Film

When Jacques Feyder released La Kermesse héroïque in 1936, he thought he was making a cheeky, sumptuously detailed comedy about the golden age of Flanders. Instead, he ended up making one of the most accidentally subversive and polarizing films of the decade. Released in English-speaking markets as Carnival in Flanders, this French masterpiece arrived at a moment when Europe was staring down the barrel of another war, making its deeply cynical, hilarious take on military bravado feel dangerously relevant. More on Wikipedia or Mubi 

The Movie That Outsmarted an Army 

The setup is brilliant in its simplicity. We are in 1616, in the quiet Flemish town of Boom. The townspeople are gearing up for a carnival when word arrives that the fierce Spanish army, led by the Duke of Alva, is marching straight toward them for an overnight stay. The town’s mayor and his male councilors instantly panic. Terrified of being slaughtered or looted, the men decide on a spectacularly cowardly strategy: they will all play dead or hide, leaving the town apparently empty.

But the women of Boom, led by the mayor’s formidable wife, Cornelia, have a completely different plan. Seeing through the bluster of both their husbands and the invading soldiers, they decide to welcome the Spaniards with open arms, a massive feast, and plenty of charm. Cornelia’s theory is simple: an army that is being thoroughly pampered, well-fed, and flirted with has absolutely no reason to burn the town down.

What follows is a beautifully paced battle of wits and genders. The Spanish soldiers, expecting resistance or grim silence, are completely disarmed by the lavish hospitality. Feyder fills the screen with a visual richness that looks exactly like a Dutch Master painting come to life. The lighting, the heavy drapes, the overflowing tables, and the elaborate costumes make the film a feast for the eyes, but the real meat of the movie is its sharp wit.

The humor comes from the sharp contrast between the useless, posturing local men hiding in the corners and the pragmatic, clever women who actually save the day. While the husbands tremble in fear, the women are busy drinking wine with the officers, dancing, and turning a potential massacre into a grand celebration. By the time the Spanish army marches out the next morning, they actually leave gifts behind, and the town is entirely intact. The local men then crawl out of hiding, instantly taking full credit for the "peaceful resolution."

While international audiences and critics in places like New York and London fell in love with the film’s elegance and irony, it sparked absolute outrage closer to home. In Belgium, riots actually broke out in theaters. Many Flemish nationalists viewed the movie as an insult, a caricature that painted their ancestors as cowards and their women as overly accommodating to foreign invaders.

Even more chilling was how the film was perceived just a few years later. When Nazi Germany occupied France and Belgium, some critics re-examined the movie with a darker lens, seeing the women’s strategy as an early argument for collaboration with an occupying force. It was a bizarre twist of fate for a film that was originally conceived just as a witty, human comedy about survival.

Decades later, La Kermesse héroïque stands out as a triumph of classic cinema. It refuses to look at history through a lens of grand, solemn heroism. Instead, Feyder reminds us that while men are busy shouting about honor and preparing for senseless destruction, it is often the quiet, practical intelligence of everyday people that keeps the world turning. It is a gorgeous, biting, and incredibly funny reminder that sometimes the best way to defeat an invading army is simply to throw them a better party than they ever expected.

La Kermesse héroïque is a fascinating piece of cinema because it operates on two totally different levels. On the surface, it is a breezy, visually stunning farce, but right beneath that beautiful exterior lies a deeply cynical perspective on human nature. Looking back at it today, the film possesses clear, brilliant triumphs alongside elements that still spark intense debate.

The Good: A Visual Masterpiece with Sharp Wit

The absolute best thing about this movie is how it looks. Jacques Feyder did not just make a historical film; he essentially recreated the golden age of Dutch and Flemish painting on celluloid. Every frame feels like a living canvas inspired by Pieter Bruegel or Frans Hals. The attention to detail in the costumes, the bustling marketplace, the heavy wooden interiors, and the way light pours through the windows is nothing short of breathtaking.

Beyond the visuals, the script is incredibly sharp. The film turns traditional cinematic heroism completely on its head. Instead of celebrating grand military battles, it finds its joy in pragmatism. The central idea—that the formidable Spanish army can be completely defeated not by swords, but by good wine, hot food, and hospitality—is a wonderfully clever comic premise.

Françoise Rosay gives a powerhouse performance as Cornelia, the mayor’s wife. She is the true anchor of the film, radiating intelligence, warmth, and a total lack of patience for male ego. The contrast between the competent, quick-witted women and their cowardly, posturing husbands provides excellent, timeless comedy. It is a satire that deeply understands human vanity, especially the way the men instantly take credit for saving the town after hiding in cellars all night.

The Bad: Uncomfortable Undertones and Historical Friction

The most controversial aspect of the film is its political subtext, which became deeply uncomfortable just a few years after its release. The story glorifies the idea of welcoming a brutal invading force with open arms and sleeping with the enemy to keep the peace. When the film came out in 1935, it was seen as a pacifist comedy. But by 1940, when Nazi tanks rolled into France and Belgium, the movie suddenly looked like a manual for collaboration. It is hard to watch the townspeople enthusiastically pamper an occupying army without feeling a bit of historical whiplash.

Additionally, the film's treatment of the Flemish people caused massive outrage for a reason. It paints the local men as uniform cowards, fools, and drunkards. For Belgian audiences at the time, who had fought fiercely for their independence and identity over centuries, seeing their ancestors turned into a punchline for a French production felt like a malicious caricature.

Finally, from a modern storytelling perspective, the pacing in the middle section can feel a bit repetitive. Once the central joke is established—that the soldiers are softies when fed well and the husbands are terrified—the movie keeps hitting that same comedic note for a while, causing the narrative tension to slacken before the final departure.