A masterpiece in the genre of the documentary. This is a long movie. You've got to have time on your hands, and a little bit of patience to allow Ophüls to unravel all the strands of the French attitude under German occupation. But the journey is worth every minute of your time.

Focusing on the town of Clermont-Ferrand, Ophüls tries to understand what it was to live with German soldiers in your town, an optimistic and collaborating government, an exiled general urging you to resist and underground organizations who used terrorism as their only weapon. Ophüls does not multiply the number of interviewees. He chooses about 15 of them and interviews them long enough that you understand their comments within the context of their personality and outlook. But the most surprising is the variety among the interviewees: a very courageous farmer, a reckless British spy, a British minister, a self-sufficient German general, a doubting German soldier, a chauvinistic bourgeois, a young nobleman attracted by the Nazi theories, a young disillusioned nobleman-philosopher ready to sacrifice his life, a clear-sighted Jewish government representative, a naïve woman, a Communist, a nationalist. You'll be surprised to find out who is the most perceptive of the bunch

I've just seen this at the National Film Theatre.

I concur with most of the comments from the other users. Certainly Ophuls' directorial hand is evident throughout, the editing, cutting, juxtaposition, reaction shots etc are all part of the construction of his argument, although his interviewees are obviously allowed to account for themselves at some length.

What I found most surprising was the amount of humour in the film. Because of Woody Allen's use of it in "Annie Hall" I thought it would be gruelling, but there were a number of laugh out loud moments, starting with the resistance leader whose main stated reason for fighting the Germans was that they were monopolising the best meat.

Emmanuel d'Astier de la Vigerie was also a total star. His comment about the sociological make-up of the Resistance - essentially misfits and malcontents, people with nothing to lose - was very telling. A number of other interviewees made similar points - the main collaborators were the bourgeoisie - the resistance was mainly based on workers, peasants, communists, youth and weirdos of various sorts. Compare that with the sitation in the '60s when the film was made and with the situation now in the western democracies.

Anthony Eden was another major surprise. The popular image of him now is of a buffoon, the man who screwed up Suez, but in the extended interview here he displays immense charisma, intelligence and humanity. And if they make a film of his life Jeremy Irons is a shoo-in for the role.

The Nazis, meanwhile, are clearly cut from the same cloth as the neo-fascists presently enjoying something of a resurgence in most of Europe. All the same arguments made in exactly the same way by the same sort of people. This (plus the smugness of the former Wehrmacht officer still wearing his medals) was probably the most chilling thing about the film.

The final obvious resonance is with Iraq. From the German soldiers baffled and outraged by the fact that some French were trying to kill them, to the French establishment referring to the Resistance as terrorists, (yes that was the exact word they used), to the initial acceptance of the Occupation turning to hatred as reprisals against the Resistance grew, many testimonies throw a radically new light on the present situation. To draw direct parallels would be a mistake - even the Gaullists were not as reactionary as Zarqawi or Muqtada al Sadr - but nonetheless there is a lot to learn from then about now, and about the difference between how events are perceived at the time and by History.

Another user comment complains about the amount of politics in the film. It's true that some knowledge is presupposed and the film would obviously mean more to those who lived through those times. However Ophuls has said that one of his main motivations was to show that the idea that you can divorce politics from everyday life is exactly what made collaboration possible.

These are just a few of the thoughts provoked by the film, which holds many more insights and surprises and I am sure repays as many viewings as Alvy Singer gave it. It's perhaps not as shocking or affecting as "Shoah" (on which it's surely the strongest influence) but then it's a different story. It shows us the best of humanity as well as the worst and neither are always where you might expect to find them.

Incidentally, it looks like the reportedly poor quality of the DVD may be down to the original film stock rather than the transfer.

The Sorrow and the Pity is not only the greatest documentary film ever made, but also one of the greatest films of any kind. A straightforward description of the film seems to promise limitless boredom: more than four hours of talking-head interviews in at least three different languages, blended with old wartime footage and occasional clips from the likes of Maurice Chevalier. But Ophüls' mastery of film technique allows him to create a thinking-person's masterpiece from these seemingly mundane parts. He interviews people who experienced the Occupation (in the late 60s, when the film was being made, many of them were still alive). Some are famous "big names" of history, such as Pierre Mendes-France, imprisoned during the war, Premier of France later in life, and Sir Anthony Eden, a British prime minister in the mid-50s. But even these men are noteworthy more for their actions as "regular" folks than as statesmen, and the true "stars" of the movie are the various "common men" who tell their personal stories. The Grave brothers, for instance, local farmers who fought in the Resistance, are as far as one might get from Jean-Paul Belmondo, but their pleasure with life and their remembrances of friends and foes during the Occupation establish them as real life heroes.

Thirty years down the road, Ophüls' methodology is as interesting as the history he tells. Merely claiming that Ophüls had an argument seems to work against the surface of his film, for he disguises his point of view, his argument, behind the reminiscing of his interview subjects. The film is a classic of humanist culture in large part because Ophüls, in giving the people the chance to say their piece, apparently puts his faith in those people (and in the audience that watches them) to impart "truth." However, the filmmaker is much cannier than this; he is not artless. The editing of the various perspectives in the movie allows the viewer to form conclusions of their own that don't always match those of the people who are doing the talking in the film. In fact, The Sorrow and the Pity makes great demands on the viewer, not just because of the film's length: Ophüls assumes you are processing the information he's providing, and so the film gets better as it progresses, with the viewer's attention being rewarded in direct correlation with the effort you put in.

And Ophüls is himself the primary interviewer in the film; you don't often actually see him, but he's there, asking the questions, leading on his subjects and his audience, only partly hidden (visually and philosophically) from view. The movie might look easy; there are none of the showy flourishes of a Kubrick or Stone here (or of Max Ophüls, for that matter). But the viewer is advised to remember that Ophüls' guiding hand is always in the background, constructing the film's version of the truth just as the characters do in their stories.