BEAUMARCHAIS, THE SCOUNDREL
A Film Review by James Berardinelli
RATING: *** OUT OF ****
France, 1997 U.S. Release Date: 11/97 (limited) Running Length: 1:41 MPAA Classification: No MPAA Rating (Nudity, sex) Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 2.35:1
Cast: Fabrice Luchini, Manuel Blanc, Sandrine Kiberlain Director: Edouard Molinaro Producers: Charles Gassot Screenplay: Edouard Molinaro and Jean-Claude Brisville Cinematography: Michael Epp Music: Jean-Claude Petit U.S. Distributor: New Yorker Films In French with subtitles
While it would be unfair to pigeonhole the entire French film industry with one sweeping statement, it is true that when the American public thinks of a French film, something like BEAUMARCHAIS, THE SCOUNDREL frequently comes to mind. An impeccably-acted costume drama, this film transports us back in time more than two centuries to a France where growing social unrest is soon to doom the Bourbon monarchy. The movie essays approximately ten years in the life of playwright Pierre- Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais (Fabrice Luchini), the celebrated author of "The Barber of Seville" and "The Marriage of Figaro". The film is, by turns, an adventure, a dissection of the creative process, and a social commentary. Through it all, one thing remains constant: the script, by director Edouard Molinaro and Jean-Claude Brisville, refuses to relinquish its grasp on a tongue-in-cheek approach.
Molinaro is no stranger to films with a humorous edge – his LA CAGE AUX FOLLES took a serious theme and cleverly concealed it in a screenplay that was rich in comedy. BEAUMARCHAIS isn't as openly funny, but a constant sense of wit and satire underlies the production. One prominent reason for this is Fabrice Luchini's breezy performance, which depicts the title character as a likable rogue who, despite spending a lot of time in prison and suffering several significant lifestyle blows, never takes things too seriously. Beaumarchais may be a scoundrel, but he's the sort that it's easy to sympathize with.
BEAUMARCHAIS opens with a rehearsal of "The Barber of Seville" (in 1773) and closes with a performance of "The Marriage of Figaro." In between, Beaumarchais undergoes a series of adventures, including a trip to England as a secret agent and an association with America as an arms dealer. The latter earns him the praise of Benjamin Franklin and a letter of heartfelt thanks from the Congress of the United States, but not the financial riches Beaumarchais had hoped for. He has dealings with both Louis XV and his successor, Louis XVI, yet remains a popular figure with the masses because of his incessant attacks on the Court of Lords. Though he travels in the circles of the pampered and privileged, and enjoys the patronage of a prince, Beaumarchais' sympathies are clearly with the common man. At one point, he presages what is to come with a simple statement: "Paris is dangerous. Too much poverty. Too many taxes."
Two other, lesser characters wend their way throughout the entire narrative. The first is Beaumarchais' devoted protégé and would-be biographer, Gudin (Manuel Blanc), a handsome young man who comes to Paris to work as an aide to the man he views as the world's greatest writer. He learns, to his disappointment, that while Beaumarchais has a talent for writing, his energy is often expended elsewhere. Then there's Marie-Therese (Sandrine Kiberlain, of A SELF-MADE HERO), Beaumarchais' devoted third wife, who remains by his side even while aware of his many sexual indiscretions. Many of the smaller, supporting roles are played by well-known actors. Michael Serrault is Louis XV, Jean-Claude Brialy is a priest, and Michel Piccoli is the Prince de Conti.
What BEAUMARCHAIS, THE SCOUNDREL does best is to convey a sense of the era in which it transpires without drowning the audience in the ponderousness that often accompanies period pieces. BEAUMARCHAIS is very much a light film, like last year's RIDICULE or the as-yet- undistributed MARQUISE, yet it is not without substance. Beaumarchais' exchanges with Gudin explore the process of synthesis and compromise by which great art comes into being (there is a fascinating scene in which Beaumarchais nervously reads through "The Marriage of Figaro" before a group of censors). And, overshadowing all, is the growing feeling of political unrest. In viewing BEAUMARCHAIS, we are looking at the twilight of France's monarchy, which would fall five years after the film's end.
Unlike many American period pieces, French films tend to stick close to the facts. Beaumarchais' adventures, while fleshed out by Molinaro, are contained in the historical record. As a result, BEAUMARCHAIS, THE SCOUNDREL functions as an episodic biography of ten critical years in the writer's life, as well as a superficial overview of a segment of European history. This isn't a great film – it is occasionally disjointed and lacks an ambitious scope – but it is entertaining, especially for those who have an appreciation for one of the best-known products of French film makers: the costume drama.
Copyright 1997 James Berardinelli
- James Berardinelli e-mail: berardin@mail.cybernex.net
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