European Films

An aging dance hall singer portrayed with exquisite observation by Gérard Depardieu gets a new lease on life when he meets the bubbly Cécile De France (or rather the character that she plays) in Xavier Giannoli's surprisingly resonant Quand j'étais chanteur (The Singer). An eyebrow-raiser when it was announced as one of the Competition titles in Cannes, the film has since enchanted viewers young and old with its gentle portrait of two lost souls finding a connection both in and out of bed. Giannoli, who also wrote the script, keeps the tone light throughout, focussing on the characters and their small-town milieu not as a means of ridicule or for some nasty comedy, but simply to explore who these characters really are. As a French, musical, small-town variant on Lost in Translation, the film might do healthy arthouse business across the continent.

Depardieu's Alain and De France's Marion are two of the most fully realised characters on the big screen this year. Alain Moireau is a dance hall singer who is world-famous in Clermont-Ferrand, the capital of the central Puy-de-Dôme region where another bittersweet French musical hit, Les choristes (The Chorus), was set and filmed as well. Alain works through his repertoire of soggy French love songs like a professional, cheering up dances, private parties and pensioners' homes. His voice is polished and effective but not close to France's most revered singers, explaining why he is still in Clermont-Ferrand and not playing the stadiums in Paris (Depardieu did his own singing for the film).

One evening at a weekend disco gig he has been doing for years, he meets a new colleague of his real estate agent friend Bruno (Mathieu Amalric, from Rois et reines/Kings and Queen). She is Marion (De France), a foxy blonde who seems an unlikely candidate for an evening with Alain; most of his fans are in their fifties, like Alain himself. But the French crooner sees something in the girl and pursues her, using his sudden desire to move to a new house as an excuse to see her more regularly (though, strangely, none of the houses she shows him seem to be exactly what he wants).

Though Marion initially seems to reject him, then sleeps with him one night only to leave his hotel room secretly before having to face any dreadful morning after conversation, she is professional enough to show him around in the properties that might please him. Along the way, the two (and the audience) get acquainted with each other, and Gianolli approaches his characters in such a low-key, life-like manner that it is almost impossible not to love them. 

Unlike many disposable romantic comedies, both characters in Quand j'étais chanteur have a life and history outside of their (or should that be his?) courtship; Alain is still on good terms with his ex-wife Michèle (a wonderful role of Christine Citti, from La tourneuse de pages/The Page Turner), who is still his manager and with whom he has occasional sex -- one supposes for old time's sake -- and Marion has her own trouble with a child she is raising.

These elements contribute greatly to making their characters more believable, as does Giannoli's choice to look at his characters without contempt. Alain was not a washed-up alcoholic loner who needed to be redeemed before he met Marion, and she is neither the perky, innocent girl who learns a life lesson or two from the old man but a woman who got by somehow even on her own. Both simply  are human beings trying to be human beings, which sounds simple but is incredibly difficult to re-create believably onscreen. Giannoli succeeds perfectly here thanks to his observant script and direction and pitch-perfect actors, and even though the film runs somewhat long, it is certainly worthwhile to see it at the cinema until its very last scene, which again displays the actors' and Giannoli's perfect balance of normality and character insight. A perfect ending for one of the most heartfelt films of the year.

Buy the DVD at: amazon.fr.