In one of the final scenes of the movie, “Paris,” the character Pierre (Romain Duris), says something to the effect of “Parisians are never happy.” While a vast generalization about a city of millions, director Cedric Klapsich goes to great lengths to prove the verity of this statement, presenting portraits of miserable characters from all walks of Parisian life who come together to create a bitterly interesting story of prevailing tragedy as only the French can do it.
One of the most impressive things about the film, besides the wonderfully cringe-worthy display of uncoordinated dancing and awkward make out scenes between numerous ill-matched couples, is the diversity of depression the film depicts. No matter their age, income or interests, each character is equally dissatisfied.
Elise (Juliette Binoche), the struggling single mother who must shoulder the burden of her brother’s heart condition, the impoverished immigrant from Cameroon with grandiose dreams of Paris, the lecherous professor who seduces his beautiful student and then (surprise surprise) is left heartbroken ““ are only a few examples of the many sad sacks “Paris” has to offer.
Similar to “L’Auberge Espangol,” another of Klapsich’s films, this film uses a wide array of characters to muster an eclectic flavor, made all the more interesting by the interconnectivity of seemingly unconnected stories. However, the film falters where the emphasis on certain characters is neglected. For instance, the immigrant from Cameroon is forgotten midway through the film, so much so that I found myself surprised when he suddenly reappeared.
Furthermore, a group of Sex and the City-esque women, well-dressed, wealthy and promiscuous are depicted only in short scenes during which their snobbish upper crust oblivion to the working class is lambasted.
Thus, the half-developed story of the immigrant’s plight and the satirical treatment of the rich seemed to draw on cliches, as opposed to the more original characters of Pierre, the heart patient who loves to dance, or Kahdija, the Northern African with a penchant for the baguette.
If the film does one thing very well, it is that it ruthlessly pursues irony. Ironic undertones reoccur in almost every aspect of the film ““ the rich woman cloaked in fur standing next to the skinned carcass of a cow in a meat freezer, children rocking out to profane punk music, the potential last moments of Pierre juxtaposed with the peppy song “Carpe Diem.”
Another one of the film’s strong points is its fearless portrayal of gritty real life. The film does not shy away from dumpy apartments, the homeless population of Paris, the wrinkles of aging actors. However, “Paris” goes about this grittiness in a way that neither demonizes nor glorifies the historic capital of France. Rather, the whole film, other than some short dream sequences, just feels real.
Though hyped as Klapsich’s “homage” to the great city of Paris, the film is not nearly so sappy and romanticized as one might expect. If the name of the film conjures images of beret-clad lovers wandering hand in hand down Les Champs Elysees, the decadence of the Moulin Rouge, or marriage proposals atop the Eiffel Tower ““ think again.
What “Paris” seems to be saying, through it’s departure from the typical view of Paris as the city of luxury and love is and its emphasis on simply the grittiness of life is, “We may all be miserable, but we are lucky to be alive at all.” Thus, the enjoyment of the film rests upon the viewer’s reaction to Parisian vinegar rather than Champagne ““ and whether or not he is willing to swallow it.
E-mail Brown at sbrown@media.ucla.edu.