You could say that Marcel Pagnol’s movies are defined by the faces he cast, none more distinctive than that of Raimu, a music-hall legend turned big-screen star whom Orson Welles called “the greatest actor in the world.” As it happens, “The Triplets of Belleville” director Sylvain Chomet’s films are also marked by faces, which the French animator sketches by hand in a loving but labor-intensive process that reflects the previous century every bit as much as Pagnol’s best-loved novels (“Jean de Florette” and “Manon of the Spring”) and plays (“Marius,” “Fanny” and “César,” all three of which he adapted to screen).
What a beautiful marriage of artist and author “A Magnificent Life” should be, right? That’s only partly true, alas. Drawing from Pagnol’s career-encapsulating essay collection, “Confidences,” Chomet honors the man’s achievements — the way a dry textbook or pedagogic graphic novel might — but fails to convey why those who don’t already possess some level of fascination with Pagnol should care. Premiering at the Cannes Film Festival, the movie sports the same lively visual style as Chomet’s earlier work, which is by far its best quality (Stefano Bollani’s enchanting score is another of its strengths).
Less successful is the film’s script and the voice actors who read it in both French and English versions. The way Chomet operates, the film’s personality comes across via the detailed and incredibly expressive faces, not the dialogue or its delivery. If the goal was to ignite an interest in Pagnol’s life and work — to send audiences rushing to the Criterion Channel or a bookstore to brush up on his oeuvre — then it risks having the opposite effect, presenting Pagnol as that funny-looking man who made the leap from stage to screen at precisely the moment talkies were taking off in France.
But Chomet presumes you already know why that matters (a pioneer of the seventh art, Pagnol built his own studio and insisted that his characters speak in an authentic southern accent). Written with the participation of Pagnol’s grandson Nicolas, “A Magnificent Life” serves up a collection of anecdotes from the legendary creator’s bucolic early years in Marseille to the death of his daughter at an unreasonably young age, without establishing what the man is struggling against — or aiming toward.
As Pagnol himself put it, “Such is the life of a man. Moments of joy, oliberated by unforgettable sadness. There’s no need to tell the children that.” Subtract Chomet’s unmatched skill in conveying layers of comedy and melancholy that even the photographic camera can’t capture, and it’ll take more pizazz to interest audiences in his theatrical career — which is where the film begins, with a flop on the Paris stage (“Fabien”). A few scenes later, Pagnol is being complimented by an editor from Elle magazine, who promises to publish his memoirs … if only he can write them.
Confronted with the blank page, Pagnol seems to have trouble recalling his youth, until a boy named “Marcel” appears in his office. The movie’s French title, “Marcel and Monsieur Pagnol,” playfully identifies these two as separate characters. It’s a strange device, using the author’s younger self to pry meaningful anecdotes from the recesses of his heart, especially since the boy comes and goes at will from meaningful moments in Pagnol’s past.
Considering that other characters can see him, young Marcel is presumably more than just a projection of the scribbler’s subconscious. For audiences, he’s kind of a pest, making a racket and otherwise distracting from a relatively straightforward life story. The boy’s presence suggests an attempt on Chomet’s part to attract a younger audience, though it’s rather hard to imagine them finding either Marcel’s or Monsieur Pagnol’s exploits all that amusing.
In any case, we’re a long way from “The Illusionist,” Chomet’s homage to another French legend, Jacques Tati. “A Magnificent Life” seems more committed to educating than entertaining, though it’s choice of details can be perplexing at times. An extract from a play, in which two male actors disguised as old ladies comment on one another’s sagging bosoms, elicited the wrong kind of laughter from school children at Cannes — so maybe kids are not the ideal audience. One of the actors in that scene is the all-important Raimu, whose stage career Pagnol helps to launch with a revolutionary decision.
Instead of writing plays in “proper” French — as was the norm in respectable Parisian theaters — Pagnol decided to channel the colorful accents of his native Marseille. In the French version of the film, adult Pagnol is voiced by in-demand actor Laurent Lafitte with no trace of a regional accent, while young Marcel sounds like he comes from the south. But how exactly do you translate this nuance for English-speaking audiences?
When Paramount tasked Bob Kane with producing films in French and other languages, the exec approached Pagnol about adapting his plays for the screen — an idea that appealed to the playwright, who foresaw the popularity of cinema and embraced the way this emerging medium allowed him to accentuate comedy and drama differently (bringing audiences closer to those wonderful faces, for instance).
Pagnol insisted that he shoot “Marius” with authentic Marseille accents. French ears should appreciate not just the musical quality of voices like Raimu’s, but the impossible-to-translate idioms Pagnol wove throughout his dialogue (though it feels like a mistake to have cast Lafitte in the lead role). The English-language dub, while perfectly charming in its own right, can’t possibly do justice to this signature dimension of Pagnol’s work.
That leaves audiences to follow the anecdotal story of Pagnol’s setbacks and successes: the lucky night he wagered all his money while his play was being performed next door, a pitch meeting where Paramount short-sightedly passed on a sequel to “Marcel,” the goat he rented to appear on screen … and subsequently adopted to spare it being butchered. These fun facts don’t spark laughs in context, but might amuse when audiences repeat what they’ve learned to others down the road.
What the movie lacks is a clear sense of conflict — the sort of drama at which its subject excelled. Magnificent as Pagnol’s achievements may have been, it’s a pity that the decades-spanning account of one of France’s greatest storytellers didn’t make for a better story unto itself.
variety.com
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