Once praised as "the finest film ever banned by the Legion of Decency," Devil in the Flesh deserves superlatives in better company, One of the most moving films ever made, it evokes a memorable illusion--the viewer leaves the theatre convinced he has intimately shared the emotional experience pictured in the film.

To attribute the force of the illusion to any single element is difficult. Certainly the screenplay is an achievement. Faithful to Raymond Radiguet's story of his adolescent affair with a young married woman, it nevertheless sharpens its poignancy. The sympathetic portrayal of the lovers' parents, seen only dimly in the book, greatly enriches the plot. But more important, the film strips the story of the irritating elements of the book: Radiguet's smug introspection and pride of exploit. Shifted into the character of the schoolboy, rather then coloring the whole account, the immaturity and egoism of the young lover appear in proper perspective.

Devil in the Flesh owes much of its power as well to the direction of Claude Autan-Lara, which heightens the drama of the tale without sacrificing its subtlety. Even in contrasting the joy of the Armistice with the pathos of the young woman's death, the film skirts mawkishness and makes the bereavement of the lover more deeply felt. But above all, the intensity of Devil in the Flesh is due to the performances of Gerard Philipe and Micheline Presle. Every expression and intonation is eloquent if the anguish of a boy struggling to cope with a man's problem or of a woman too old for her lover. Though the minor portrayals, particularly of the boy's tolerant father are flawless, it is the interpretations of Francois and Marthe that endow Devil in the Flesh with a beauty and power hard to forget.