Langlois’ love of film, and his personal collection, began before the Second World War. When the German occupation kicked in, he smuggled and hid movies that the Nazis were going to destroy. Langlois was cinema’s resistance. Hiding films in basements and bathtubs (which probably explains his hygiene), he would often smuggle them in baby carriages. I know, Langlois was not saving lives, but he was saving culture, and a society without its culture is like a cake without frosting: no taste.
When the war had passed, Langlois would help create the Cinematheque Francaise and become its head programmer. His film lineup would be eclectic and his liner notes would help draw connections in films where the average viewer would find nothing in common. Patrons of the Cinematheque would turn into the filmmakers responsible for the French New Wave. This cinematic movement would throw away the classic rules of cinema and define new ones. It carried such a profound impact that American movies would alter their stride. The French New Wave changed the way we watch movies.
Now, Langlois did more than just show movies. Like any geek, he was obsessed with the minutiae. Langlois collected everything from costumes and production photos to pieces of sets and scripts with notes. Nothing was too small or arbitrary to him. All of the stuff that movie geeks hunt down today on eBay, Langlois was collecting in the 1940s. Now that’s f*king geeky.
Langlois had become a hero of movie lovers and filmmakers around the world, when, in 1968, the French Culture Minister fired him. Much like the revolutionary spirit that had engulfed most of the world at the time, protests and marches were held demanding Langlois be reinstated. Letters were sent from filmmakers like Alfred Hitchcock and Federico Fellini, as well as from all of those cinematic children that Langlois had spawned. It worked, but the Cinematheque’s funding was diminished and Langlois’ health would slowly begin to deteriorate from the long-fought battle.
Now I’m going to digress from the love of movies for a moment and delve into a personal issue that, I feel, really helps define the (mostly true) stereotype of the film geek: Langlois rarely got laid. Yep, he had an incredibly sad sex life. But it’s not like the guy didn’t have his chances. Langlois had met a woman by the name of Mary Meerson. She was the widow of a production designer and was tracked down by Langlois so he could obtain some of her late husband’s works. An incredible friendship was created, because her appetite for movies was just as insatiable as his. They built a relationship so strong you’d think it would’ve evolved into something romantic. Nope. Langlois even lived with her for many years, but he claimed nothing physical ever happened. The rumor was that Meerson desperately loved her pear-shaped film geek counterpart, but nothing ever became of it. He was all about the movies. Now, for most of us geeks it’s not that we’d ignore the opportunity for sex (far from it, trust me), but it does seem that we have developed a lust that, like Langlois’, can only be quenched by cinema.
So if you go to a movie and see that small group of people who are quoting esoteric lines from other movies or debating the career path of the director of the film you’re about to see, you’ve stumbled upon a pod of geeks. They aren’t dangerous or harmful; as a matter of fact they can be quite lovable (yes, I’m describing myself here). Film geeks have a long and honorable lineage that started with Henri Langlois, their under appreciated godhead.
Now here’s a tip: the next time you see some guy pontificating about film, sneak in a line that says, “Well, aren’t you the new Henri Langlois?” If he has no idea who you’re talking about, walk away. As a matter of fact, throw a drink in his face for me and then walk away. If he responds with that “You know who Langlois is?” look of shock, then you’ve found yourself a true film geek. And you probably just made his day.
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