Paris 36 Review
By David Kempler
Bad Musical Makes For Fun Film
I'm not real fond of musicals unless I am already at least somewhat familiar with the music. And even then it's an iffy proposition. I deeply resent when a filmmaker openly and unabashedly manipulates me. Schmaltz must be doled out in minimal doses, if at all.
"Paris 36" breaks all of these rules yet manages to somehow survive an extremely banal and shaky first act and ends up as a shiny, happy, entertaining feel-good flick even if it is short on substance. On paper it should fail miserably. It's clumsy, feels contrived and is filled with characters mugging for the camera and each other. The entire cast is guilty of this behavior. The villain couldn't feel any more fake if he tried. You almost expect a thin, seedy moustache to suddenly appear above his upper lip. In retrospect, it is hard to believe I could look past this avalanche of faults. But not only did I look past them, the film somehow won me over. Maybe I was a victim of mass hypnosis.
The story centers upon three Parisians valiantly trying to keep their beloved Chansonia theater alive. The setting is 1936 Paris shortly after the Popular Front's ascension to power. Communists and Fascists are at each other's throats as sides form and war looms on the horizon. Pigoil (Gérard Jugnot) is a very veteran stagehand who ends up as the lead rescuer of the Chansonia. This occurs after his cheating wife runs off with another man. The fact that she is able to settle on any one fellow is funny, considering that there may not be a single male associated with the theater that she has not partaken of at one time or another.
Before Pigoil can rise to the level of savior he must first endure a time of despair, destitution and the loss of his child to his cheating wife. When he can no longer take everything life is throwing at him he throws down the gavel and sets the wheels in motion for the Chansonia to rise once again from the ashes. As the characters all start to come together, the film begins to click. The musical numbers become better, the untalented among the cast suddenly demonstrate talent and the beautiful young female singer appears to save the day.
As I read what I have written I am almost forced to question my own sanity. This flat out simply should not work. Maybe I've gone soft. Maybe I was out of my mind when I watched the film. Whatever happened in the Chansonia and in the theater where I saw "Paris 36" must be a supernatural experience of sorts because somehow I got absorbed into this unlikely fairy tale. Others at the screening I attended also fell victim to its flimsy charms. My mind says skip it. My heart says to see it. Your call.
