Category — General

I’ve just seen my second film of the 2010 French Film Festival currently showing here in Melbourne. Tonight’s film La Journée de la Jupe couldn’t be more different from the film I saw last week, Les Herbes Folles, which I would rather not have seen so that my view of Resnais’ genius, based solely on my viewing of his famous film Hiroshima Mon Amour, made 50 years ago, would have remained intact.

It will take some time for the images and issues of La Journée de la Jupe to cease whirling around in my head. The film takes the issues of the recent Entre les Murs (The Class, in English), also set in a French outer suburban (or rather, les cités—the low socio-economic housing projects inhabited mainly by migrant families) secondary school, to a whole new level.

It’s hard to know where to start in describing the issues: the abuse teachers undergo in very rough schools (an issue relevant also to Australia, attested by the person with whom I saw the film, a former high school English teacher of thirty-five years experience teaching in the outer Melbourne disadvantaged suburbs); misogyny; the generations of disadvantage wrought by first colonialism then late capitalism; alienated Muslim youth; and the inadequacy of many such schools to deal with these issues and to support their own staff.

When abused, stressed, and undervalued French teacher Sonia Bergerac (played brilliantly by Isabelle Adjani, for which she won her fifth or sixth Cesar) discovers a gun in the bag of one of her most troublesome students, during a ‘normal’ lesson in which she is abused, barely listened to, has to physically break up fights, and so on, an unforeseen but (strangely) wholly believable chain of events is set off, and which can only end in tragedy. At first I thought this was going to be a film in which I’d have to sit with my eyes clenched shut (I have a low tolerance for graphic violence), but while I was constantly braced for this eventuality, it didn’t actually happen expect perhaps once or twice towards the end (and I don’t know how graphic those moments were as my eyes were closed). All characters were utterly believable. I don’t know who the young kids were, but they were superb. As with Entre les Murs, the students’ performances were utterly real and gritty, too real in fact.

What saved this film from being a depressing piece of social realism was the thread of black humour which surfaced now and then in deft and unobtrusive ways: the police negotiator’s private troubles, the idiosyncrasies of some of the teacher’s colleagues, and the occasional ‘keystone cops’ moments. But I don’t believe the film ever wavered from its primary genre—that of tragedy. In that, it resembled La Haine (Hatred), another film set in the impoverished world of les cités, existing as a sort of shadow-city of romantic Paris (and probably of many wealthy first-world cities), the underbelly that no one wants to know about. Made in 1995 by Mathieu Kassovitz (who, incidentally, played Amelie’s love interest inLa Haine Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amelie), that film is more depressing, yet less multifaceted than La Journée de la Jupe. My French Cinema lecturer last semester said that not much had changed in the fifteen years since La Haine was made. Tonight’s film certainly supports that view.

Partially inspired, I think, by a real-life call for a skirt-wearing day (or maybe even a longer period, as the French site calls it a Skirt Spring) by young French people in 2009, in an effort to combat gender inequality and stereotyping, this film was released due to budgetary constraints first on the French/German Arte channel, and then in the cinemas just under a year ago.

Its disturbing story and the issues it explores are as much a part of Paris as they are for other so-called first-world cities, although many visitors to Paris won’t see this side of it, and very likely don’t want to. The question is: can anything be done? And if so, what? At the very least, I’d like to see all politicians going to these films. Starting with Monsieur Sarkozy.

When some people hear that I try to go to Paris for two to three months each year, rent a flat and stay put, they often express surprise. ‘But what do you do?’ they ask. I was reminded of this question the other day when I saw Karen Fawcett’s interesting article, ‘Reflections on Paris’, on her Bonjour Paris site.

Like Karen, I always take my laptop when I go away, and almost always have some work to do. I don’t run an online magazine, as she does, but as a lecturer and researcher, I never really ‘switch off’. There are usually students’ essays to mark, or a draft of a thesis to look at and comment on, or some research to write up into an article. I often continue my thesis supervisions while away, using Skype. There are very few parts of my work now, except actual lecturing—and that only happens for two twelve-week semesters each year—that cannot be done on the move. I love my work, but I also love staying in Paris, and the new (well, they’re not really so new anymore) technologies enable me to do both. I actually prefer having work to do. I hate the idea of being a tourist, and for that reason I can’t bear to be part of a tour (although, paradoxically, I have led tours!). I like to move into a neighbourhood, settle down, pick a favourite café, get to know the waiters, the local baker, pharmacist, greengrocer, fishmonger.

Once in France, I also get into my ‘student of French’ persona, and try to do something each day that will improve my French. Everyday conversations are best, and not hard to come by, now that I have a lot of good friends there. But even on a day when I don’t see any friends, there are still numerous opportunities for conversations. For example, I never seem to be able to go into a Franprix supermarket without an elderly person coming up to me and asking me to read the label on the food—how much sugar is there in it? Or some similar query. There is always a need to buy everyday things, like supplies from the chemist, or a stamp or pre-paid parcel from the post office. Before I could speak French properly, I would look up all the vocabulary I thought I’d need for each particular shopping trip beforehand. A great deal of my French vocabulary was learned—and then used—in this way.

My absolute favourite activity is going to French theatre. My French is not usually good enough to go to a play ‘cold’, so I pick a play for which I can buy the text and read it first. That way, my vocabulary is enlarged, and I can enjoy the play so much more. I also go to French films, but it’s harder to understand those if there is loud music in the background, or if the characters speak quickly, shout, or speak ‘argot’. So I pick films very carefully. Speaking of films, the French Film Festival opens in Melbourne soon, for which I’ve booked half a dozen films already. I’ll be back soon to blog about that.

During my seven-month stay in France a couple of years ago, a colleague explained to me the thrifty French tradition (well, from her region and era, at any rate) of gathering up all the leftover food (les restes) on Fridays and making it into a pie (la tarte). Of course, it’s necessary to combine ingredients judiciously. I looked around for a book of recipes at the time, so I could have some instruction on making these pies, but I couldn’t find anything. Then one day on a television cooking show, I saw a woman named Sophie Dudemaine demonstrating how to make tartes from all manner of things–fish, leftover meat, andouille (I’ll pass on that one), lentils, escargots… you name it. So I went into Amazon France and, sure enough, Sophie has a whole range of books, one of which is Les Tartes et Salades de Sophie, which I ordered toute suite.

So although today is Friday, I didn’t make a tarte a la Sophie, but I did apply the principle of using up les restes. In my case, after all this horrible hot humid weather in Melbourne, les restes were some very sad looking peaches, a wrinkled nectarine or two, and a couple of dozen cherries which had seen better days. I flung them all into a saucepan with some leftover red wine, and various spices–cloves, cinammon stick, mixed spice, and a little strawberry cordial and some water–and boiled it all up for about half an hour (adding the nectarine and cherries about half way through).

This is actually a variation on a famous Melbourne dish known as peach Melba, which requires raspberries to be added at the end (some people puree the raspberries, but I prefer them whole). As it’s not raspberry season, I flung in a handful of the frozen variety once I’d taken the saucepan off the heat. The verdict? Eaten warm with ice-cream or plain yoghurt, it can only be described as magnifique!

(A review by guest writer David Siddall)

Stephen Clarke’s A Year in the Merde tracks the adventures of twenty-something English (anti) hero Paul West as he spends a chaotic year in the French capital.

Monsieur West has successfully marketed French cafés to the English but now finds himself recruited with the sterner task of marketing English tea rooms to the French. Armed with the least productive team in Paris and a boss possessing the cataclysmic combination of a relentless political will and a distinct lack of morals, it becomes clear that the project’s chances of success are limited. Paul finds a further challenge in coming to grips with the Parisienne way of life as he learns how he must stop wanting to be liked and start being rude to get his way, a tactic epitomized in his embrace of the French ‘shrug’.

Whilst the title of this book is somewhat uncouth and the story comes complete with the typical clichés of snails, suppositories, steak hachés and strikes, Clarke somehow manages to breathe new life into them in a most hilarious manner thanks to the lucidity and simplicity of his prose. Through the ambitious and somewhat arrogant character of Paul West we quickly learn how to manipulate the French system in our favour, bed an array of Parisienne beauties (editor: and Parisiens also, by analogy?), and get our piece of the good life with a French house in the countryside.

Clarke presents an addictive insight into French life that is hard to put down. Being an Englishmen who has had the pleasure of a recent trip to France as well as living with a French couple for the past year in Melbourne, I can see just how accurate Clarke’s musings really are. And even if the soothsaying is thin on the ground in parts, you can forgive Clarke’s poetic license in heightening the comedic effect.

A Year in the Merde has been read by everyone in our house in the space of about three weeks and loved in equal measures by French and English alike. My ‘three Days in the Merde’ was an exhilarating experience which should be shared by those who love anything French or those just just love a well spun yarn.

For a few weeks now I’ve been listening to various French radio stations via my computer,  thank to a great application called Radio Sure. This free internet radio application permits access to hundreds of radio stations all over the world–all in real time. With the Radio Sure program open on my desktop, as shown, I group all the stations by language, to make it easier to brows the French language stations; then I scroll through the French list to find my favourites. My current one is called Nostalgie La Legende–chansons francaises, a bit like ‘golden oldies’. It seems to play all the French songs from my childhood, through to those from the eighties. I can have the radio on in the background while working on other programs, or even while doing something else in the room. I have just the standard application, but you can buy fancy ’skins’ quite cheaply from the Radio Sure website, including some that look like actual radios.

My hometown newspaper the Melbourne Age features a long article today on how the Atlantic salmon are returning to the Seine, and how this is a sign of the improved water purity. Love the picture of the fisherman at Suresne with his 7kg salmon!