A l’occasion de notre semaine du court, Showtime Folks a choisi de mettre en lumière le Festival Halte au Long. Organisé par l’agence H en partenariat avec Radio Nova, Dailymotion et Direct 8, le festival récompense les meilleurs courts de moins de 3 minutes. Une règle à suivre : ils doivent pouvoir se décliner en plusieurs épisodes.

L’année dernière, pour la première édition du Festival, le film promotionnel réalisé par Jean-Paul Rouve, avec Rocco Siffredi en guest, avait créé l’événement. Cette année,  le collectif Action Discrète, qui sévit sur Canal+, a joué les ambassadeurs et a donné le ton. Pas de place pour le consensuel, le but était de proposer un court original, drôle ou émouvant.

Hier soir,  la remise des  prix s’est déroulée au cinéma Mac Mahon dans une ambiance détendue. Le jury (Action discrète, Dailymotion, Radio Nova), satisfait par la qualité des courts proposés, a récompensé 3 projets :

• 1er prix : Marguerite de Julien David
• 2ème prix : Histoire, Fantôme, Chinois de Warec
• 3ème prix : Super (3 courts dont Super Les Femmes) de Christophe Blanc

Le premier prix, Marguerite, est une animation réalisée dans le cadre de la revue Cut Up de la chaîne Arte. Dans ce film construit autour d’un documentaire radio, une femme de 82 ans raconte ses retrouvailles avec un amant perdu de vue il y a 60 ans. Le film parle d’amour et du temps qui passe, de façon simple et touchante.

Un autre court réalisé par Julien David, Retraite, faisait aussi partie de la sélection. Basé sur le même concept, le film aborde, à travers l’histoire d’un pré-retraité, le problème d’une toute nouvelle vie et d’un vide à combler.  

Marguerite

Retraite

Pour en savoir plus,  http://www.halteaulong.com

“Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be La vie en rose”

These lyrics sung by French sensation Èdith Piaf carry truths of the anguish of life lived and love lost in the tragically riddled life befallen unto her.  Of the films depicting a life worth telling, La Vie en Rose stands above the innumerable titles available.

Fairytales begin with Once upon a time and end with They lived happily ever after.  The enchanting life of the fairest maiden gifted with an angelic voice that sets the world stages afire, soaking praise from the masses with champagne well wishes is devoid of grandeur Disney style.  Instead, Piaf’s life would best be illustrated by H.R. Geiger and written by Clive Barker.

Parents gave the gift of life to Èdith but neither had love to give to this child.  Little Èdith was neglected by her mother and was taken away from her maternal grandmother by her horrified father that served in the trenches of World War I after stealing away from the war and witnessing the child cradled in filth.  Èdith was brought to his mother for safeguarding during his continued absence.  Subjected to the sights, sounds, and smells of her grandmother’s brothel, the child finds love in a whore that cares for her as if she were her own.  Titine offers tenderness and compassion to Èdith who is besieged with illness and sudden blindness. Titine takes Èdith on a pilgrimage to Saint Thérèse de Lisieux to pray for her vision to be restored.  To this, they attribute her recovery.

A few years pass and Èdith is whisked away by her father against her will screaming impetuously amid the chaos that is amplified by the screaming pleas of Titine and a chorus of cries from the resident whores.  From brothel to circus, the young girl is nothing more than a burden and servant to her acrobat father whom foolishly parts company from this brigade of carnival acts.  As a street performer, he is unworthy of alms by anyone in passing.  With a firm hand and stern command Èdith must obey her father to sing and hold hat in hand.  The nine-year old Èdith sings aloud and only now does the “proud father” step forth proclaiming praise unto his child as he eyes the tossing of centimes and francs his way.  The streets are set for Èdith Piaf, a common “busker” reduced to penury.

Èdith avoids prostitution by crooning in bars and strolling the streets for listening ears, yet, she still must give a cut to a lecherous pimp.  An owner of a cabaret, Louis Leplée (Gérard Depardieu) was listening and starts her career singing in finer establishments than that of which she is accustom, presents a new listening audience, and dubs her, La Mome Piaf (The Little Sparrow.)

Èdith’s “pimp” kills Leplée and it is she that is thrust aspersions, subjected to public persecution and scowl rather than the dirty seedy underground element that committed the deed that survives by devouring Èdith and other defenseless souls like she.  Thus, she reverts back to cruddy taverns singing for her dinner among lowlife deaf ears avoiding training by a man that attempts to train her musically and sees her for all her potential.  She proves to be a student of short attention span and lacking a work ethic longing to drink rather than fine tune her rough skills.  Eventually she succumbs to the tortures of musical training and becomes forever forged into musical history and revered as one of France’s biggest stars.  Through this, she battles inner demons of alcohol and drugs, failed marriages, deaths of her child and her true soul mate, boxer Marcel Cerdan.

La Vie en Rose is a true rag to riches story and if movies can inspire, this does just that. We become immersed into her tragedy.  Piaf is subjected to alcoholism, a vagabond most likely destined for squalor and certain death.  The most heart wrenching aspect of the film is not the atrocities afforded to a child devoid of the necessities by even the lowliest of standards.  It is her death at age 45. Shockingly, at 45, with no stretch of words to validate this point she is unrecognizable.  Physically, Piaf is well beyond her years.

Quite possibly equivalent to that of a 90+ year-old woman.

A scene wonderfully crafted is of Èdith Piaf’s making her big debut.  After strict discipline and finally coming to realization that music is emotion and her gestures accentuate her voice, the little sparrow spreads her wings and truly flies for the first time. The director does not allow us to hear her.  We are only given the gift of sight as the camera takes flight and shows us Èdith Piaf using her body to express emotion and come into her own.  This is truly a sensational piece of filmmaking.

The film opens in the year of 1959 and transverses back to 1918 then forward several years then crosses back and forth finally closing with her death in 1963.  The story is told totally non-linear, yet we never lose our way throughout the intricate weavings of the story.  Piaf’s appearance is in a constant change of transformation as we span he entire lifetime.  The costumes, settings, and her age are all elements presented authentically and never is the illusion that is cinema shattered.

The make-up application techniques used in this film were innovative.  The transformation of Marion Cotillard into Èdith Piaf was a hurdle that many artists viewed as impossible.  Many frayed from attempting this task because Olivier Dahan’s direction required the camera to be up-close and personal.  Didier Lavergne was up to the task and did it extremely well.

The film makes many references to Piaf’s  awareness of her looks.  She claims that her face is not what the American public desires.  One scene takes place after a performance in presumably a New York club in which a network bigwig’s words allude to not booking her on TV.  Maybe it is her looks, maybe it is that American audiences are not all that sophisticated.  Interrupted by Marlene Dietrich, the Hollywood starlet in enchanted by her voice and proclaims that she, Èdith Piaf, is indeed, the voice of Paris.  Piaf is elated and star-struck and eventually finds her way on American television.

Èdith Piaf’s discography is impressive.  Her most famous songs were La Vie en Rose (1946), Milord (1959), and Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien (1960).  What she had was her voice and she gave her life to music.  It gave her the strength to proceed.

The opening scene takes place in New York where she crashes to the stage.  This would not be the last occurrence.  Feisty and devout in her “old age,” it is bittersweet to watch her fight a battle against losing her dignity.  Another scene depicts another stage dive.  She makes a return exhaling exhaustion and with labored breath states, “this is not my suicide tour” just before she bellows angelically then takes another fall and this time the curtain falls.

Her life shares many similarities to singer Roy Orbison in that they suffered an immense number of personal tragedies.  The film title is Piaf’s anthem and it is the song that is mostly associated with Paris in so many films.  Perhaps that is why the title was chosen for American audiences.  Regardless of fame, Èdith Piaf’s life was anything but La Vie en Rose.

Titre : Le Coach

Réalisateur : Olivier Doran

Date de sortie : 09 septembre 2009

Encore une comédie à la Weber avec un sujet pas franchement très original. Malgré tout ça se laisse regarder (surtout pour Anne Marivin toujours sublime) Jean Paul Rouve peine dans cette comédie qui est loin d’être brillante.

Ma Note : * *

Chêne est un coach renommé qui accumule les succès professionnels. Mais c’est aussi un joueur invétéré qui a des dettes colossales. A bout de patience, sa femme le quitte.
Pris à la gorge par ses créanciers, Chêne accepte un contrat qui peut le sauver : coacher à son insu Marmignon, un directeur très singulier qui semble être le pire coaché imaginable.

Comédie classique sur les bases d’un duo antagoniste que tout oppose. C’est dire s’il n’est rien à dire sur le scénario très peu inventif et porté uniquement sur la performance des deux acteurs. Le duo fonctionne bien notamment grâce au talent de Jean-Paul Rouve à être convaincant dans la stupidité. Richard Berry est plus insipide qu’une larve cuite à l’anglaise, c’est pour dire. Tout l’intérêt du film réside donc dans les rebondissements improbables qu’égrènent le réalisateur à travers son histoire. Seul point remarquable : l’apparition de la culture dans un film comme celui-ci. Très appréciable, la scène autour d’un livre de René Barjavel donne un petit piment ainsi que le concert de musique baroque qui clôt le bal de ce coach un peu brouillon. La réalisation est un peu pataude mais ce n’est pas vraiment ce que l’on demande aux films calibrés pour passer sur TF1 le Dimanche soir à 21h et c’est ainsi que la mise en scène n’est pas non plus bien affriolante et que la bo ne suit pas vraiment non plus…

Au final, les seules lumières du film, hormis celles qui s’allument à la fin du générique, sont les saillies verbales parfois bien balancées de la part de nos deux compères. Ne soyons pas bégueules, cela divertit le chaland mais on se prend à souffler de désespoir quant à la vacuité des propos et à la banalité de l’intrigue.

La comédie française est un genre à part entière puisqu’il en sort énormément chaque année. Elle répond quasiment toujours aux critères des vases communicants. Un grand con et un petit intelligent, parfois l’inverse, qui apprenne l’un de l’autre sur les valeurs de la vraie vie.

Les notes de chaque catégorie ne se valent pas entre elles. Il est inutile de crier au scandale lorsqu’une petite merde a une meilleure note qu’un film plus sérieux. Chaque catégorie possède ses propres critères et un 2/10 dans l’une peut ne pas valoir un 8/10 dans l’autre. Merci de votre compréhension.

Albert Spaggiari , né en 1932, est le cerveau du « casse du siècle » survenu à la Société générale de Nice, en 1976. Ancien soldat de la guerre d’Indochine, partisan de l’OAS, écrivain et photographe, il aura nargué la police française durant sa cavale qui durera 12 ans, jusqu’à sa mort, après une évasion spectaculaire.
Il meurt le 8 juin 1989, à 56 ans, d’un cancer de la gorge alors qu’il se trouve en exil en Italie. Sa compagne remonte en France en caravane sans éveiller les soupçons des douanes et dépose son corps à Hyères (Var), chez sa mère le 10 juin. Son pied de nez aura continué même après sa mort … Il est enterré à Laragne-Montéglin (Hautes-Alpes)
——————–
« Jean-Paul Rouve doit être obsédé par les « Robin des bois » (…)
Cette fois-ci, il ressuscite dans son premier film, un vrai Robin de Bois, Albert Spaggiari, photographe de ville le jour et génial égoutier-cambrioleur de banque la nuit qui trente ans avant Jérôme Kerviel avait mis en défaut la sécurité de la Société générale.
A partir d’une évasion chevaleresque du palais de justice de Nice, les aventures de ce personnage facétieux et décalé avait entraîné les Français amusés dans une cavale sud américaine ponctuée de provocations médiatiques bon enfant et de sympathiques pieds de nez à la machine policière.
En promo chez Fogiel pour vendre son film et visiblement incapable d’assumer la personnalité d’un héros dont le panache l’a contre son gré séduit, Jean-Pierre Rouve, réalisateur-acteur explosa littéralement en vol. Comment expliquer qu’un personnage si attachant qu’Albert Spaggiari, si gentiment désinvolte, si radicalement insolent fut aussi un soldat courageux en Indo, un militant nationaliste fraternel, un ami au grand cœur et, pour l’intelligentsia bien pensante, un « fasciste » de la pire espèce? Pris au piège du direct et de ses coupables affections, il fallait s’en désolidariser en vitupérant contre le colonialisme le racisme, l’extrémisme de son personnage et les idées prétendument honteuses de ses amis.
Maurice Rollet, ancien de l’OAS, qui était venu parler de son camarade sur le plateau, essuya avec calme et une sereine autorité les pathétiques assauts d’un Rouve moralisateur qui se décomposait au fil des minutes. Hier soir, Jean Pierre Rouve, échevelé par sa violence verbale, avait pour seule arme, la haine.
Du panthéon des nationalistes, notre camarade Albert a bien du se marrer d’avoir encore foutu la merde. »

Olivier Carer (Altermedia. Info)
——————————————————————-

Un concept original qui veut donner la priorité au court métrage (mais alors très court : moins de 3 minutes!) et laisse place à la créativité !

Un festival qui se déroule à Paris sur 2 jours début décembre, avec pour partenaires Jean Paul Rouve et Rocco Siffredi, ce dernier ayant fait une petite “bande annonce” très rigolote !

Plus d’infos sur le site : http://www.halteaulong.com/festival.html

Guillaume Depardieu

A primeira-dama francesa, Carla Bruni, compareceu ao funeral do ator francês Guillaume Depardieu, filho de Gerard Depardieu, que morreu na última segunda-feira aos 37 anos, vítima de uma pneumonia.

Estavam presentes na cerimônia, realizada em Paris, diversas personalidades, como o cineasta Luc Besson, a ministra da Cultura da França, Christine Albanel, e o ator Jean-Paul Rouve.

“Foi um garoto e depois um homem de quem se perguntava sempre se voltaria à noite”, disse a mãe do ator, Elisabeth. A irmã Julie, também atriz, declarou que “Guillaume sempre sonhou em desaparecer, enquanto todos sonhavam em encontrá-lo”.

Guillaume passou suas últimas semanas na Romênia e em outros países do leste europeu, trabalhando nas filmagens de um thriller psicológico.

Voltou à França no último domingo, “em graves condições de saúde”, segundo seu advogado, Jean-Yves Lienard, e morreu no dia seguinte em Paris.

A matéria foi encontrada neste link.

Post relacionado: “Guillaume Depardieu (1971-2008)“

Vispār jau man Edītes Piafas daiļrade ir samērā vienaldzīga – aptuveni tikpat, cik viss franču šansons kā tāds. Un biogrāfijas nebūt nav tas pateicīgākais darbs kino. Nereti tās mēdz ieslīgt garos, dokumentālos liecinieku un laikabiedru apcerējumos vai atmiņās. Šoreiz režisoram bija krietni paveicies – Piafas dzīvesstāsts ir aizraujošs pats par sevi, tādēļ nekādas gumijas vilkšanas nav, piedevām vēl ir izdevies  ļoti diskrēti un delikāti tikt galā  ar slidenajiem jautājumiem  (kaut vai  narkomāniju dzīves beigās). Un atslēgas brīži uzfilmēti arī lieliski (moments, kad Edītei ir pirmā superlielā uzstāšanās mūžā Parīzes izmeklētākajai publikai; viņa pieiet pie mikrofona šausmīgi satraukusies un sāk dziedāt, bet režisors tā vietā mums atskaņo nevis dziesmu, bet parastu klavieru melodiju, lai ielauztos vēl dziļāk brīža emocionalitātē – cepuri nost!)

Piafas fani vēsta, ka Meriona Kotilāra slaveno dziedātāju ir nospēlējusi vienkārši lieliski. Par autentiskumu es neko nezinu, taču viņai brīnišķīgi ir izdevies būt pastāvīgā pālī un nodziedot dziesmu nepazīstamai publikai briesmīgi samulst un bailīgi skatīties apkārt ar plašām actiņām – kā man izdevās? Sekunde klusuma. Un tad ir aplausi. Un ovācijas.

in 2008 martcore says
apmier.ņurd.

O filme traz algo mágico. Não sei se conseguirei explicar. É que não parece que estamos vendo um filme. Parece que estamos ali, olhando as coisas acontecerem. Não se “percebe” a câmera. Fica a impressão que nós nos transformamos nela. Meio louco o que digo. Mas talvez por méritos da direção, como também dos atores parecerem pessoas comuns, de não estarem atuando… Que viagem a minha!

Entrando na história do filme… No tempo que se passa: verão de 1942, sob uma ocupação  alemã, 2ª Guerra Mundial, em Paris. Embora, retrate uma página triste da História da Humanidade… Aqui, a troca de farpas entre franceses e alemães dão humor ao tema. É  muito divertido!

Para quem ache os filmes franceses muito lentos, e por isso, os evita, irá perder bons filmes. Esse, inclusive. Num diálogo com sua filha, Batignole respondendo do porque se propôs aquela missão, diz algo assim: “Eu nunca tirei férias. Estou tirando-as agora!” E é esse o ritmo do filme. Sem a menor pressa seguimos, prazeirosamente, assistindo-o.

O título brasileiro, mesmo “contando” o filme, não nos tira o prazer que essa história nos dá. E quem seria esse herói? O dono de uma salsicharia que se sente responsável por um menino judeu; e que depois, também por duas primas dele. Por conta de sem querer, ter facilitado dos nazistas levarem os pais do menino.

Os dois, o salsicheiro e o garoto, dão um show de interpretação! Há cenas que emocionam; outras que nos divertem. Uma, quando o menino conta que ele é médico; e ele se ver obrigado a cuidar de um alemão…Até que ele saiu bem…

O tempero picante, fica nas trocas de farpas entre franceses e alemães.

Um filme gostoso de ver e rever! Nota: 10.

Por: Valéria Miguez.

Herói por Acaso (Monsieur Batignole). 2002. França. Direção e Roteiro: Gérard Jugnot. Elenco: Ticky Holgado, Elisabeth Commelin, Jules Sitruk, Gérard Jugnot, Hubert Saint-Macary, Michèle Garcia, Jean-Paul Rouve, Alexia Portal, Viollete Blanckaert. Gênero: Comédia, Drama. Duração: 104 minutos. Classificação: 12 anos.

Jean-Paul Rouve, Mélanie Doutey et Kad Merad… Un film de Olivier Baroux… 1h24 de bons moments où chacun(e) se retrouvera sans effort!
Ce soir, je dors chez toi est l’histoire d’un couple qui veut passer le cap de la vie à deux: “Vivre ensemble, oui! mais pas dans le même appartement”… Alex aime Laetitia, c’est même la femme de sa vie. Le problème, c’est qu’il a une peur bleue de l’engagement. La suite coule de source, non?
Bref, un film frais, sympa, sincère, drôle et tellement actuel. De supers acteurs: je suis une inconditionnelle de Jean-Paul Rouve (et ce depuis Les Robins des bois) et j’aime beaucoup Mélanie Doutey depuis sa prestation dans Clara Sheller il y a deux ans.
Finalement, pas besoin d’en écrire des tonnes: ce film a illuminé mon après-midi de grisaille et de grèves parisiennes. J’ai beaucoup rigolé et même versé ma petite larme sur la fin…

Un film del 2007, regia di Olivier Dahan, con Marion Cotillard / Sylvie Testud / Clotilde Courau / Jean-Paul Rouve. Prodotto da Mikado (140min)

Drammatico

La vita della celebre cantante Edith Piaf: dalle umili origini ai grandi concerti internazionali.

The problem with La Vie en Rose isn’t that it takes liberties with the facts of Edith Piaf’s life. So did she; Piaf epitomized the self-made myth, enough so that historical accuracy from her biographers has a way of becoming thematic inaccuracy. Legend keeps the so-called “little sparrow” as the tragic chanteuse whose mournful ballads of seamy street life—sung from obvious but embellished experience—turned her desperate, tremulous rasp into the sound of Paris.

Whatever the legend, the real life brought rude awakenings and many abandonments. Her mother, a street-singing hooker, dumped her on her father, a circus contortionist, who in turn dumped her on her grandmother, the madam at a Lisieux bordello. Later, the important men in her life (unsurprisingly, there were many of less importance) tended suddenly to die. Once you know all of this about her, you can’t not hear it in her voice. Piaf herself expired at 47 in 1963, and has lived ever since. Allegorically, she’s a biopic protagonist for the ages, or at least for next year’s awards season.

So maybe the problem with La Vie en Rose is its reverence of allegory. Director Olivier Dahan, with co-writer Isabelle Sobelman, stirs up a palpable, flatly accepting astonishment at how many dramatic highlights Piaf’s short life was said to contain. For fidelity’s sake, apparently, his film doesn’t seem to mind feeling 47 years long.

This has the unfortunate effect of dulling the music’s immediacy, which isn’t an easy feat and probably is the last thing a movie about Piaf needs. But OK, yes, there is also good news: She is played by Marion Cotillard, in a fierce and brilliant and finely controlled performance that you actually don’t have to be French to understand.

The camera adores Cotillard’s face; she’s more of a stunner than Piaf herself (and Dahan can’t be blamed for wanting to look at her forever), but what really matters is magnetism. The endlessly allusive, ruefully jaunty charisma radiating from her heavy-lidded eyes seems congruent with that of the sparrow’s voice, which Cotillard lip-synchs easily and impressively. Better still, she makes good, strong choices to show how the life Piaf absorbed informed the artist she became. Actually, the actor is much more efficient about this than her director, who inclines to saturating every scene with decadent gestures and dwelling on the significance of heavy emotions. Such bracingly vinegary music doesn’t need so honeyed an elaboration.

Unnecessarily, the movie reminds us to consider Piaf as the proto-diva, but Cotillard goes confidently deeper, also presenting her credentials as a progenitor of rock (oversharing about her own sexual development, at once accelerated and arrested), of rap (solemnizing the street life of pimps and hos), and even emo (sad and sultry, she was a ravaged waif, not even 5 feet tall, not even 100 pounds).

At her disposal is a standard array of biopic set pieces: the forcible discovery of Edith’s talent by her father (Jean-Paul Rouve) on a street corner; the career launch from club owner Louis Leplée (Gérard Depardieu, perhaps inevitably); the Pygmalion dynamics of her training (eventually, when denied some indulgence or other, she snaps, “I can’t? Then what’s the point of being Edith Piaf?”); the breakthrough of technique, by which her hands became part of her voice; the benders of her youth, the morphine addiction later; and so on.

La Vie en Rose jumps around through Piaf’s lifetime and takes too much of ours. Establishing the earned authority by which she famously sang of having no regrets requires so much preparation that it becomes—regrettably—a slog to wait for her to do it. Cinematically, Dahan seems better off within his protagonist’s febrile, drug-addled death-bed recollections, where the movie simply gives itself over to a flow of imagery and music—as when St. Therese de Lisieux appears to her in a fire-breather’s cloud, or when, in what serves as the film’s climax, her assimilation of some especially tragic news becomes a dream and then a performance. This latter scene is so elegantly staged that it could stand alone as a short film and still feel like the definitive Piaf movie.

But maybe a movie can’t even get at what Piaf really means to us. Maybe cinema’s too barefaced and literal for that task. Even, especially now, only her music seems adequately descriptive, the perfect ephemeral braid of fact and legend.