A Word on Valor and Love: Cyrano de Bergerac The screen adaptation of Edmond Rostand’s classic play by Michael Gordon is a rare example of how a theatrical text, steeped in poetry, finds its precise reflection in cinema. The 1950 version of "Cyrano de Bergerac" is not so much a film in the modern sense as it is a noble and thoughtful transposition of stage structure to the screen. No hurry, no simplifications, but also no unnecessary embellishments. The story is well known: Cyrano is a brilliant wit, a poet, a duelist, a man of great soul and unbending pride. He is in love with Roxane, but considering himself unworthy because of his appearance, he helps another — a handsome yet tongue-tied suitor — win her heart, writing letters and speaking words of love in his stead. This is not just a story about love, but about bitter dignity, about sacrifice made in silence, and about how easily words can conceal true feelings. Michael Gordon approaches the production with care and understanding: he does not try to “cinematize” the play at any cost. Instead, he preserves its theatrical nature, allowing the text to breathe. The camera remains restrained, the editing unobtrusive, the music never intrusive. At the center are the scenes, the dialogues, the actors’ delivery. This is a production where every line, every glance matters. José Ferrer is the undeniable core of the film. His Cyrano needs no extra explanation: brilliant mind, irony, bravery, wounded pride — all fused into a single role. Ferrer quite literally lives inside the character. For this performance he received both the Academy Award and the Golden Globe, and here the accolades feel not merely fair but almost inevitable. He does not just decorate the film — he holds it together, commanding attention from the first scene to the final monologue. Mala Powers (Roxane) and William Prince (Christian) play more straightforward parts, but they do so with precision. Their characters are simple, even naive in their own way — especially when contrasted with Cyrano, whose depth and contradictions make him the true engine of the drama. This is the essence of the central conflict and the reason why the film, despite its external restraint, never feels cold. This is not a film about action — it is a film about inner struggle. Not about confessions, but about their impossibility. And perhaps not about love in the traditional sense, but about its noble shadow that the hero carries to the very end. "Cyrano de Bergerac" is a work deeply rooted in its era. It is unafraid of appearing old-fashioned, precisely because it does not try to be anything else. It is an honest adaptation of a classic, one that wagers not on form but on substance. Those who seek flashy visuals or rapid pacing — look elsewhere. But for those who value the word, intonation, and an actor’s presence — this is essential viewing. In this modestly framed yet tonally powerful film, emotions rarely voiced aloud come to life: nobility, devotion, inner pain hidden beneath wit. All of it — expressed without excess. A film where tragedy walks hand in hand with dignity. 7 out of 10