There are about a dozen genuine miracles in the history of cinema, and one of them is Jean Renoir's supreme 1939 tragi-comedy The Rules of the Game.

What ultimately defines the film, what makes it unforgettable, is its tragic gravity.

[The film] is a comedy, a tragedy, a portrait of class manners, a love story of touching caprice (who will Nora Grégor's Christine fall for? Whoever woos her at the right moment), and far and away the cinema's greatest midsummer night's dream.

The film was withdrawn, recut, and eventually banned by the occupying forces for its "demoralizing" effects. It was not shown again in its complete form until 1965, when it became clear that here, perhaps, was the greatest film ever made.

Like the very greatest artists in all media, Renoir was able to transcend his own perspective, his own prejudices, and glimpse something of the terror and wonder of human life, the pain of misapplied or rejected love, for rich as for poor.

If you think you know it, see it again for its newly rediscovered depth of field, and even more, for its infinite wellsprings of character and empathy.