French Cancan


1h 33m 1955
French Cancan

Brief Synopsis

A café proprietor tries to turn a laundress into a dancing star, despite objections from his current girlfriend.

Film Details

Also Known As
French Can-Can, Only the French Can
Genre
Musical
Comedy
Drama
Foreign
Release Date
1955
Distribution Company
Gaumont; Interama Inc

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 33m
Sound
Mono (Western Electric Sound System)
Color
Color (Technicolor)

Synopsis

A world-weary impresario transforms a laundress into a theatrical star.

Film Details

Also Known As
French Can-Can, Only the French Can
Genre
Musical
Comedy
Drama
Foreign
Release Date
1955
Distribution Company
Gaumont; Interama Inc

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 33m
Sound
Mono (Western Electric Sound System)
Color
Color (Technicolor)

Articles

French Cancan


Jean Renoir, like many great directors, had a career filled with masterpieces overshadowed by one movie. Orson Welles, a giant who made one great film after another, had all of them overshadowed by Citizen Kane throughout his career and beyond. For Buster Keaton, it was The General. For Ozu, Tokyo Story. For Kubrick, 2001: A Space Odyssey. And Jean Renoir had The Rules of the Game. If another of his movies makes it onto a list of cinema's greatest, it will almost assuredly be Grand Illusion, another masterpiece. And yet he did so many more. In fact, many would argue, as Andrew Sarris did, that his greatest works came in the fifties, during his Technicolor era. One of those works cast his longtime collaborator, Jean Gabin, in the lead and celebrated France, the theater, love, and life. It was French Cancan, filmed in glorious Technicolor and lovingly shot, frame by frame, as if the whole world was a stage.

The story begins as impresario Henri Danglard (Jean Gabin) and his star and mistress, La Belle Abbesse, who goes by Lola (Maria Felix), all retreat from a successful night onstage by heading to the White Queen, a dive bar in the poorer quarter to, as one observer in the bar puts it, "slum" for the evening. There Danglard sees local women, and one in particular, dancing the cancan joyously and has an idea: Revive the cancan and pull his struggling act out of bankruptcy. The owner of the White Queen thinks it's a great idea and assures Danglard's manager that there's money to be made right there in his bar. Meanwhile, Danglard, taken with that one dancer in particular, Nini (Françoise Arnoul), asks her to waltz, much to the chagrin, and ire, of Lola and Paolo (Franco Pastorino), Nini's boyfriend. Later, on the way home, he tells Lola not to worry, as he will never see Nini again. Of course, we know he will.

The opening of French Cancan is quite extraordinary and possibly one of the most joyous extended sequences that Renoir ever filmed. Taking up almost the entire first reel, the characters dance and laugh and drink and then dance some more. It doesn't do much to advance the plot except, it does, for it's in Danglard's joy that we come to understand how he makes his way through life. Playing the scene out in five minutes would rob the audience of a deeper understanding of Danglard for we can only understand him through the way he experiences the joy of the dance.

For movie fans associated with only Renoir's two most famous films, The Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion, both of which featured on location shooting, the artifice of French Cancan may be a little surprising but absolutely necessary. The entire film used sets, even for exterior scenes, and it seems fitting that a movie about a life on the stage should take place entirely on one. Even the famous Moulin Rouge, where naturally Danglard premieres his triumphant production, is recreated onstage, windmill and all. It's as if all of it, from the dancers to the customers, are just performers in a fantasy inside Danglard's head. As he sits in his chair at the end, smiling in absolute satisfaction at the success of his show, it may well just be. At least, that's how it could be, for the success of a new production is all the happiness a man like Danglard needs.

Jean Gabin, the great French star, was the perfect choice to play Danglard even if most of his other roles would argue against it. Gabin, who had worked with Renoir three times in the thirties, was accustomed by 1954 to playing tougher, edgier roles than that of impresario Danglard, and yet he brings to the role a sense of release, as if all the years of playing tough guys had bottled up all the joy and he finally had to let it out. Working perfectly with Gabin are Françoise Arnoul and Maria Felix, two other stars of international cinema that Hollywood just couldn't figure out. Both Gabin and Felix made attempts at Hollywood stardom but sabotaged their own efforts (Gabin famously demanded that Marlene Dietrich costar with him in an RKO film until they finally fired him and Felix turned down practically every good offer that came her way) as neither actually wanted to make movies in Hollywood. Gabin spent much of his time on the stage and the rest of his career as a legend of the French screen.

Jean Renoir, son of painter Auguste Renoir, was born in the Montmartre district of Paris where much of the action takes place (and which is depicted in his father's famous work, Bal du moulin de la Galette, and it must have felt like a journey back home for him. Today, it is considered one of his finest films, and one of the greatest triumphs of fifties cinema. There have been many movies taking on the Belle Epoque in general and the cabaret life of the Montmartre district in particular, from the original Moulin Rouge in 1952 and Can-Can in 1960 to the updated Moulin Rouge in 2001, but none have successfully captured the energy and joy that Renoir's French Cancan provides with seamless ease.

By Greg Ferrara
French Cancan

French Cancan

Jean Renoir, like many great directors, had a career filled with masterpieces overshadowed by one movie. Orson Welles, a giant who made one great film after another, had all of them overshadowed by Citizen Kane throughout his career and beyond. For Buster Keaton, it was The General. For Ozu, Tokyo Story. For Kubrick, 2001: A Space Odyssey. And Jean Renoir had The Rules of the Game. If another of his movies makes it onto a list of cinema's greatest, it will almost assuredly be Grand Illusion, another masterpiece. And yet he did so many more. In fact, many would argue, as Andrew Sarris did, that his greatest works came in the fifties, during his Technicolor era. One of those works cast his longtime collaborator, Jean Gabin, in the lead and celebrated France, the theater, love, and life. It was French Cancan, filmed in glorious Technicolor and lovingly shot, frame by frame, as if the whole world was a stage. The story begins as impresario Henri Danglard (Jean Gabin) and his star and mistress, La Belle Abbesse, who goes by Lola (Maria Felix), all retreat from a successful night onstage by heading to the White Queen, a dive bar in the poorer quarter to, as one observer in the bar puts it, "slum" for the evening. There Danglard sees local women, and one in particular, dancing the cancan joyously and has an idea: Revive the cancan and pull his struggling act out of bankruptcy. The owner of the White Queen thinks it's a great idea and assures Danglard's manager that there's money to be made right there in his bar. Meanwhile, Danglard, taken with that one dancer in particular, Nini (Françoise Arnoul), asks her to waltz, much to the chagrin, and ire, of Lola and Paolo (Franco Pastorino), Nini's boyfriend. Later, on the way home, he tells Lola not to worry, as he will never see Nini again. Of course, we know he will. The opening of French Cancan is quite extraordinary and possibly one of the most joyous extended sequences that Renoir ever filmed. Taking up almost the entire first reel, the characters dance and laugh and drink and then dance some more. It doesn't do much to advance the plot except, it does, for it's in Danglard's joy that we come to understand how he makes his way through life. Playing the scene out in five minutes would rob the audience of a deeper understanding of Danglard for we can only understand him through the way he experiences the joy of the dance. For movie fans associated with only Renoir's two most famous films, The Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion, both of which featured on location shooting, the artifice of French Cancan may be a little surprising but absolutely necessary. The entire film used sets, even for exterior scenes, and it seems fitting that a movie about a life on the stage should take place entirely on one. Even the famous Moulin Rouge, where naturally Danglard premieres his triumphant production, is recreated onstage, windmill and all. It's as if all of it, from the dancers to the customers, are just performers in a fantasy inside Danglard's head. As he sits in his chair at the end, smiling in absolute satisfaction at the success of his show, it may well just be. At least, that's how it could be, for the success of a new production is all the happiness a man like Danglard needs. Jean Gabin, the great French star, was the perfect choice to play Danglard even if most of his other roles would argue against it. Gabin, who had worked with Renoir three times in the thirties, was accustomed by 1954 to playing tougher, edgier roles than that of impresario Danglard, and yet he brings to the role a sense of release, as if all the years of playing tough guys had bottled up all the joy and he finally had to let it out. Working perfectly with Gabin are Françoise Arnoul and Maria Felix, two other stars of international cinema that Hollywood just couldn't figure out. Both Gabin and Felix made attempts at Hollywood stardom but sabotaged their own efforts (Gabin famously demanded that Marlene Dietrich costar with him in an RKO film until they finally fired him and Felix turned down practically every good offer that came her way) as neither actually wanted to make movies in Hollywood. Gabin spent much of his time on the stage and the rest of his career as a legend of the French screen. Jean Renoir, son of painter Auguste Renoir, was born in the Montmartre district of Paris where much of the action takes place (and which is depicted in his father's famous work, Bal du moulin de la Galette, and it must have felt like a journey back home for him. Today, it is considered one of his finest films, and one of the greatest triumphs of fifties cinema. There have been many movies taking on the Belle Epoque in general and the cabaret life of the Montmartre district in particular, from the original Moulin Rouge in 1952 and Can-Can in 1960 to the updated Moulin Rouge in 2001, but none have successfully captured the energy and joy that Renoir's French Cancan provides with seamless ease. By Greg Ferrara

Stage and Spectacle - Three Films by Jean Renoir


In the 1950s, internationally acclaimed director Jean Renoir delivered a trio of splashy, colorful period pieces dominated by strong international leading stars and all revolving around the themes of theatre mirroring life. With this trilogy, artifice and immediate joy win out every time as the social concerns of Renoir's more famous early films are subsumed by color and visceral emotion.

In 1953's The Golden Coach, a Peruvian engagement in the early 1800s for a group of comedy actors proves challenging for the tempestuous leading lady, Camilla (Anna Magnani). However, she soon finds her resistance to the strange environment tempered by the attentions of three very different men: a devoted Spanish soldier (George Higgins), a macho bullfighter Antonio (Riccardo Roli), and most prestigiously, the distinguished but thick-headed Viceroy Ferdinand (Duncan Lamont) whose golden coach from Europe has caught the eye of his people - as well as his possessive mistress. When he decides to bestow the lavish prize to the preening actress, pandemonium ensues.

Beautifully mounted from its meticulous framing (with even the real life scenes appropriately smacking of staged compositions) to its exquisite color design and jaunty Vivaldi score, The Golden Coach (based on a play by Prosper Merimee) would be little more than a diverting trifle were it not for the chance to savor an unadulterated vehicle for Magnani, who performed the role for variations in Italian, French, and English (the last of which is presented here in accordance with Renoir's own preference). She's a wonderful presence; though not a typical cinematic beauty, her radiance and star power carry off a wonderfully showy role as an actress on every possible level.

Made two years later, French Cancan (also released as Only the French Can) offers a fictionalized look at the Moulin Rouge and its cultural influence through the tale of Nini (Françoise Arnoul), a gifted woman working as a scullery maid. Fortunately she's discovered by a promoter, Henri Danglard (Jean Gabin), who's trying to launch the Moulin Rouge. Romantic complications ensue between the pair, with the presence of Henri's prior lover - spitfire dancer Lola (Maria Felix) - offering even more comic twists and turns as amour complicates the path to success.

Designed primarily to showcase its splashy musical numbers, this equally colorful thematic successor offers less star power than the other two films in the set but compensates through sheer technical virtuosity and a freewheeling spirit that keeps one distracted from how little is really going on. Equipped with barely enough material to keep a sitcom episode afloat, Renoir loads up his tree with the finest ornaments imaginable (including a singing cameo from Edith Piaf and an entire third act devoted to the music hall's opening that feels like a French counterpart to Visconti's ball in The Leopard) and pulls off a sumptuous entertainment from start to finish.

It takes quite a stretch to connect the third film, Elena and Her Men, with its more theatrical companion pieces, though one can connect the dots thanks to its fascination with role playing, perception, and dissembling as a way of life. Here the artifice belongs not in the theater but in the real world where Polish noblewoman Elena (a luminous, French-speaking Ingrid Bergman) keeps her eye out for wealthy eligible men despite her technical engagement to a footwear entrepreneur (Pierre Bertin). Among her suitors are the dedicated Henri (Mel Ferrer) and the most attractive prospect of all, General Rollan (Cocteau regular Jean Marais), whom she meets on Bastille Day and quickly entrances with her beauty and charm. The various lovers real and frustrated circle each other in a series of comic misunderstandings as political forces intervene to control the actions of Elena and the military man she could either make or destroy.

Inspired by the life of noted French general Georges Boulanger, this film was intended as a music-studded romantic drama but transformed at the last minute into a frothy bedroom farce. The strain shows at times, but Bergman's charisma keeps the film afloat even when it doesn't all hold together. Some of the mishaps and bedroom shenanigans could have slipped in as Pink Panther outtakes, not what one normally expects to find in a Renoir film. That said, it's an aesthetically stunning film and proves the director could guide even a damaged vessel into port.

Despite a solid pedigree in the arts thanks to biology (as the second son of renowned painter Auguste Renoir) and environment (growing up in Paris at the height of its cultural post-Impressionist revolution), Renoir suffered quite a bit throughout his motion picture career. Even his undisputed masterpieces, The Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion, were beset with difficulties and rocky receptions, while his years in Hollywood proved frustrating as well. With these three films marking his return to France, one senses Renoir cleansing his creative palette by diving into fantastic worlds filled with color, beautiful women, dashing but vulnerable men, and unexpected laughter around each corner. Though not really milestone works, these are enjoyable romps that show a master kicking back and enjoying his craft within the confines imposed by the producers.

In a box set dubbed Stage and Spectacle, Criterion gathers the three films in superlative transfers boasting razor-sharp detail and vivid color better than one would probably find in most revival screenings. The quality ascends with each title; Golden Coach looks solid but reveals some inconsistent blacks and occasional fluctuations in color; French Cancan looks excellent; and Elena and Her Men features one of the most dazzling Technicolor transfers on DVD to date, rivaling many of Warner's elaborate restorations.

Extras are modest but enjoyable, putting these films in their proper context. In keeping with his frequent practice, Renoir filmed introductions for two of the films (The Golden Coach and Elena and Her Men) in which he chats with the viewer about his working relationship with the leading ladies and his general intentions for the project. Martin Scorsese turns up for a new video appraisal of The Golden Coach in which he understandably focuses on Italian screen goddess Magnani as well, while the ubiquitous Peter Bogdanovich offers his thoughts on French Cancan. (Fortunately he's more bearable here than on his Hitchcock DVD supplements.) Other extras include a three-part series hosted by Jacques Rivette, "Jean Renoir parle de son art," spread out over the three discs, along with a segment of a BBC documentary, "Jean Renoir - Hollywood and Beyond," and an interview with French Cancan production designer Max Douy.

For more information about Stage and Spectacle, visit Criterion Collection. To order Stage and Spectacle, go to TCM Shopping.

by Nathaniel Thompson

Stage and Spectacle - Three Films by Jean Renoir

In the 1950s, internationally acclaimed director Jean Renoir delivered a trio of splashy, colorful period pieces dominated by strong international leading stars and all revolving around the themes of theatre mirroring life. With this trilogy, artifice and immediate joy win out every time as the social concerns of Renoir's more famous early films are subsumed by color and visceral emotion. In 1953's The Golden Coach, a Peruvian engagement in the early 1800s for a group of comedy actors proves challenging for the tempestuous leading lady, Camilla (Anna Magnani). However, she soon finds her resistance to the strange environment tempered by the attentions of three very different men: a devoted Spanish soldier (George Higgins), a macho bullfighter Antonio (Riccardo Roli), and most prestigiously, the distinguished but thick-headed Viceroy Ferdinand (Duncan Lamont) whose golden coach from Europe has caught the eye of his people - as well as his possessive mistress. When he decides to bestow the lavish prize to the preening actress, pandemonium ensues. Beautifully mounted from its meticulous framing (with even the real life scenes appropriately smacking of staged compositions) to its exquisite color design and jaunty Vivaldi score, The Golden Coach (based on a play by Prosper Merimee) would be little more than a diverting trifle were it not for the chance to savor an unadulterated vehicle for Magnani, who performed the role for variations in Italian, French, and English (the last of which is presented here in accordance with Renoir's own preference). She's a wonderful presence; though not a typical cinematic beauty, her radiance and star power carry off a wonderfully showy role as an actress on every possible level. Made two years later, French Cancan (also released as Only the French Can) offers a fictionalized look at the Moulin Rouge and its cultural influence through the tale of Nini (Françoise Arnoul), a gifted woman working as a scullery maid. Fortunately she's discovered by a promoter, Henri Danglard (Jean Gabin), who's trying to launch the Moulin Rouge. Romantic complications ensue between the pair, with the presence of Henri's prior lover - spitfire dancer Lola (Maria Felix) - offering even more comic twists and turns as amour complicates the path to success. Designed primarily to showcase its splashy musical numbers, this equally colorful thematic successor offers less star power than the other two films in the set but compensates through sheer technical virtuosity and a freewheeling spirit that keeps one distracted from how little is really going on. Equipped with barely enough material to keep a sitcom episode afloat, Renoir loads up his tree with the finest ornaments imaginable (including a singing cameo from Edith Piaf and an entire third act devoted to the music hall's opening that feels like a French counterpart to Visconti's ball in The Leopard) and pulls off a sumptuous entertainment from start to finish. It takes quite a stretch to connect the third film, Elena and Her Men, with its more theatrical companion pieces, though one can connect the dots thanks to its fascination with role playing, perception, and dissembling as a way of life. Here the artifice belongs not in the theater but in the real world where Polish noblewoman Elena (a luminous, French-speaking Ingrid Bergman) keeps her eye out for wealthy eligible men despite her technical engagement to a footwear entrepreneur (Pierre Bertin). Among her suitors are the dedicated Henri (Mel Ferrer) and the most attractive prospect of all, General Rollan (Cocteau regular Jean Marais), whom she meets on Bastille Day and quickly entrances with her beauty and charm. The various lovers real and frustrated circle each other in a series of comic misunderstandings as political forces intervene to control the actions of Elena and the military man she could either make or destroy. Inspired by the life of noted French general Georges Boulanger, this film was intended as a music-studded romantic drama but transformed at the last minute into a frothy bedroom farce. The strain shows at times, but Bergman's charisma keeps the film afloat even when it doesn't all hold together. Some of the mishaps and bedroom shenanigans could have slipped in as Pink Panther outtakes, not what one normally expects to find in a Renoir film. That said, it's an aesthetically stunning film and proves the director could guide even a damaged vessel into port. Despite a solid pedigree in the arts thanks to biology (as the second son of renowned painter Auguste Renoir) and environment (growing up in Paris at the height of its cultural post-Impressionist revolution), Renoir suffered quite a bit throughout his motion picture career. Even his undisputed masterpieces, The Rules of the Game and Grand Illusion, were beset with difficulties and rocky receptions, while his years in Hollywood proved frustrating as well. With these three films marking his return to France, one senses Renoir cleansing his creative palette by diving into fantastic worlds filled with color, beautiful women, dashing but vulnerable men, and unexpected laughter around each corner. Though not really milestone works, these are enjoyable romps that show a master kicking back and enjoying his craft within the confines imposed by the producers. In a box set dubbed Stage and Spectacle, Criterion gathers the three films in superlative transfers boasting razor-sharp detail and vivid color better than one would probably find in most revival screenings. The quality ascends with each title; Golden Coach looks solid but reveals some inconsistent blacks and occasional fluctuations in color; French Cancan looks excellent; and Elena and Her Men features one of the most dazzling Technicolor transfers on DVD to date, rivaling many of Warner's elaborate restorations. Extras are modest but enjoyable, putting these films in their proper context. In keeping with his frequent practice, Renoir filmed introductions for two of the films (The Golden Coach and Elena and Her Men) in which he chats with the viewer about his working relationship with the leading ladies and his general intentions for the project. Martin Scorsese turns up for a new video appraisal of The Golden Coach in which he understandably focuses on Italian screen goddess Magnani as well, while the ubiquitous Peter Bogdanovich offers his thoughts on French Cancan. (Fortunately he's more bearable here than on his Hitchcock DVD supplements.) Other extras include a three-part series hosted by Jacques Rivette, "Jean Renoir parle de son art," spread out over the three discs, along with a segment of a BBC documentary, "Jean Renoir - Hollywood and Beyond," and an interview with French Cancan production designer Max Douy. For more information about Stage and Spectacle, visit Criterion Collection. To order Stage and Spectacle, go to TCM Shopping. by Nathaniel Thompson

Quotes

Trivia

Miscellaneous Notes

Released in United States Winter January 1, 1955

Released in United States 1956

Released in United States November 1989

Released in United States July 1990

Shown at Sarasota French Film Festival November 14-19, 1989.

Shown at the Public Theater (Renoir Retrospective) in New York ity July 22 & 24, 1990.

Released in United States Winter January 1, 1955

Released in United States 1956

Released in United States November 1989 (Shown at Sarasota French Film Festival November 14-19, 1989.)

Released in United States July 1990 (Shown at the Public Theater (Renoir Retrospective) in New York ity July 22 & 24, 1990.)