cinemattraction

Xavier Giannoli’s atmospheric The Singer rises above the older man/young woman cliché by the strength of its lead performance, interesting locations and a refreshing take on a familiar theme: an aging performer coming to terms with changing times. Against a soundtrack of evocative popular songs, the ambiguous, understated central relationship unfolds in a manner recalling the films of Eric Rohmer.

For a while in the 1980s and 90s, it seemed to be written into the French Constitution that Gérard Depardieu had to star in every second French movie; he has taken a leading role in no fewer than 170 films. France’s best loved star of films such as Jean de Florette (1986), The Return of Martin Guerre (1992), and Cyrano de Bergerac (1999) has been the popular winner of “Best Actor” awards at international film festivals.

The part of aging provincial dancehall singer Alain Moreau seems tailor-made for the soulful giant. He plays a 50something ex-factory worker with a good voice and a stage presence who resists current trends such as karaoke and stadium-sized venues, preferring more modest success at local weddings, old folks homes and small-town night clubs. Also reluctant to move from his rundown farmhouse on the outskirts of town, site of his failed marriage, to a more suitable modern dwelling, his indecision reaches a crisis point when he falls in love with a young woman named Marion (Cécile De France) who has her own problems and an attitude to relationships completely at odds with his previous experience.

Giannoli based his script on a real-life dance-hall singer, with whom he spent some time, allowing him to absorb the ambiance and details of his lifestyle as well as his attitude towards his audiences. The thoroughly credible lead performances are ably supported by Mathieu Amalric as Bruno, Marion’s employer and love-rival to Alain, provoking perhaps his sole aggressive line: “I could punch you out,” apart from a fierce exchange with Marion when their relationship is nearing its crisis. Christine Citti plays Alain’s ex-wife and pushy but caring manager to perfection.

Repeated early morning shots of the volcano-encircled Clermont-Ferrand provide a handsome setting, contrasting with the somewhat tawdry backstage scenes and the tedious negotiations with agents and the use of sun-lamps and hair-dyes to maintain the semblance of youth. The opening shot of the overweight star slumped in a chair, in a harsh backstage room contrasts with his confident stage presence in the glittering dance-hall scenes and the rapport with his audience, demonstrating both drawbacks and attractions of showbiz life on a minor scale.

That Moreau sees himself as a force for good and catalyst for romance is clear in his first conversation with Marion, the troubled young woman he spots in a fracas at the back of the hall. Resembling a young Mia Farrow, her appealing and strangely disengaged personality attract the lonely singer. Subject to restricted access to her own child, and living in a soulless hotel room, Marion’s back story is under-explored, one of the few weak spots in the film, intended no doubt to add an air of mystery to her superficial composure. Despite her problems, she holds down a job showing perspective buyers round vacant houses and in this context – the empty spaces lending a sad and hopeless tinge to their mutual misunderstanding – she and Alain are drawn together. Her modern approach to relationships means she sleeps with Alain on the night of their first meeting and thereafter loses interest, a fact he finds very perplexing but which he accepts with good grace, hoping to rekindle the attraction.

At the center of the film is Alain’s metier as entertainer and for this reason alone the songs play a crucial role in establishing his credentials; they also act as a commentary on the unfolding romance, adding considerable charm to the movie. The authentic-sounding soundtrack can be attributed to the musicians who act as real-life backing for the singer on whose life the director based the film. The stock-in-trade classics which make up the stage repertoire vary in mood from chirpy elation to soulful sincerity, from “The Birdy Song” (not actually sung, but named as a perennial request favourite) to a moving rendition of “Save the Last Dance for Me”.

That Depardieu uses his own singing voice throughout is further evidence of the actor’s amazing versatility. Avoiding the danger of easy descent into nostalgia, Giannoli’s film succeeds in depicting the decline of a fondly remembered world and its protagonists.

© 2007 Sheila Cornelius. All rights reserved.

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