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In 1936, workers throughout Paris are joining together to decry their unfair treatment. But as strikes erupt in the factories—and in the streets—the former staff of the Chansonia theatre looks back fondly on the days when they actually had poor working conditions to complain about. Ever since shady businessman Galapiat (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu) forced the theatre to close, they’ve been unemployed and struggling to survive.
Things are even worse for poor Germain Pigoil (Gérard Jugnot). On the night that the Chansonia closed, his wife left him. Then, after he lost his job, the government took his son away from him. So, inspired by the striking workers—and with nothing left to lose—Pigoil agrees to join with the performers to produce a new show in the vacant theatre.
The unexpected star of the new show is Douce (Nora Arnezeder), a pretty young girl with a beautiful voice. The audience immediately falls in love with her—as does outspoken socialist stagehand Milou (Clovis Cornillac). But, in order to win her affections, he’ll have to compete with the theatre’s underhanded landlord.
With its stunning sets and its classic, theatrical feel, Paris 36 (or Faubourg 36 in its native French) is an endearing film—the inspiring story of a group of nobodies and has-beens who are fighting to stay in the spotlight. It’s a beautiful tale of passion, dedication, and love.
Visually, it’s a gorgeous film, effortlessly capturing the lively Parisian streets and the vibrant (but appropriately threadbare) theatre. The music, too, is delightfully catchy—especially toward the end of the film, as the theatre’s productions become more spirited and elaborate.
Arnezeder steals the show—both onstage and off—as Douce. Sure, she’s beautiful—and her voice has a classic tone that seems right at home in a 1930s music hall—but she portrays Douce with the right combination of enthusiasm, naiveté, and spunk. And, in doing so, she makes it easy to believe that every man in the city would fall in love with her. You will, too.
At the same time, however, the film is a bit too ambitious. It tries to do too much—and tell too many stories. As a result, there are an overwhelming number of plotlines running through the film. In addition to the story of the theater, there’s also a love triangle, a broken family, a character’s political ambitions, the rise of fascism, and the strange recluse who lives nearby—and it’s all told in the form of a confession, after Pigoil is accused of a mysterious murder. The storytelling tends to wander off on tangents—and as the dialogue zips by in subtitles across the screen, it’s sometimes hard to keep up with the characters and their various storylines. There are so many threads running through the film, in fact, that it’s really no surprise that a few of them are left hanging loose in the end.
Though the script would have benefited from some additional editing, the overambitious story is nevertheless a delight to watch. With its entertaining musical productions and its (huge) cast of lovable characters, it’s worth the trip to your neighborhood theatre.
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