From the opening scene in which the camera pans 180 degrees following Dédée’s (Simone Signoret) searching glance from the dock, Dédée d’Anvers (US: Dedee) announces itself as a serious film with serious ambition, which director Yves Allégret skillfully delivers in this master work of depravity. A stylistic crucible of noir, naturalism, and poetic realism gives the film a sweeping importance despite the intimacy of its subject matter, and Signoret brings a captivating screen presence which launched her to stardom. Dédée lives in fear with her abusive pimp boyfriend Marco (Marcel Dalio) in a hotel kept by the protective Monsieur René (Bernard Blier) who encourages Dédée to run away with the newly arrived Italian sea captain Francesco (Marcello Pagliero).  (The likeness of Pagliero to French crime superstar Jean Gabin can’t be accidental: Pagliero has Gabin’s pensive eyes, large nose, charming swagger, and quiet confidence.) It’s a very romantic film: Signoret’s ingenuous desire parries the tenderness of tough guy Francesco on their sensuous, moonlit walk along the river which concludes with a passionate cigarette exchange while Dédée lies recumbent on the grass. Later, Francesco confides to Dédée, “I want to tell you and you want to hear it but I won’t say it and now it scares me that you know what I’m thinking.” In contrast, Dédée’s relationship with pimp Marco is utterly repugnant: he smacks her in public while the other porters cheer him on, he burns her flesh with a cigarette to remind her who’s boss. This is a dark interpretation of the poetic realism style complete with a foghorn groaning steadily like a heartbeat and one of the most twisted, unhappy endings in noir.