It was particularly thrilling to me that M. Chevalier chose to include my all-time favorite, “Ah! Si Vous Connaissiez Ma Poule” in his program. Not as well known as “Valentine” or “Mimi,” the song was so familiar to me I couldn’t wait for him to come to my favorite part where he injected his very French laugh into the notes of the title: “Ha ha ha… ah si vous connaissiez ma pou ou ou ou ou ou ou ou le.” If I had known how to say, “stage door” in French, I would have gladly stood in line to get his autograph—unfortunately, I left empty-handed.

Flash forward—Back in the States, ten years and two children after that first Parisian encounter, when I read that M. Chevalier was coming to this country to do a one man show at The Ziegfeld Theater in New York. I immediately wrote for tickets. My husband, who had always tolerated this rival and even brought him into the house (musically speaking) on several occasions, agreed to accompany me to the theater.

It was a blustery winter night in February 1963, but the house was full, and neither the audience nor Maurice was daunted by the weather outside. If his bio had not revealed his age as being 75, nothing in his performance would have given it away.

I sat enthralled as he went through his repertoire from “Mimi” and “Louise” in English to “Valentine,” “Place Pigalle,” Quai de Bercy,” and many of my other favorites in French. Mind you, I scarcely knew a word of French—I took Spanish in high school—but his gestures, his bearing and the tilt of his straw hat made the meaning of each song as clear as if he had been born on 42nd Street.

The audience that night was made up of equally enthusiastic fans who joined me in applauding wildly and shouting “Bravo” at the end. His curtain calls sent the audience into a tizzy of excitement. “Toujours Maurice,” we shouted. But many of us forwent the last of the bows to be first in line at the stage door where we could see our idol emerge and perhaps, just perhaps, get his autograph. I left my husband, still seated, with strict instructions to shout all my “Bravos” and Encores” and to meet me outside when the final curtain went down.

Almost tripping on my spike heels, I was still not the closest to the door. Others, savvier than I in the ways of autograph seeking, crowded in, but when a representative of M. Chevalier’s appeared in the doorway and said Monsieur would see a few people at a time in his dressing room, I took an uncharacteristic action that surprised even me. I elbowed my way to the front and boldly included myself in the very first (and for all I know the only) group to be ushered into the presence of The Star.

We were escorted past the guard at the entrance, who in an old movie would have been called “Pop,” and then we were there. And there he was, a tall, unsmiling, even dour man in a dressing gown and the obligatory ascot. Without his straw hat, he did not seem as jaunty as he had on stage until I heard him speak. Then I thought I would faint. It took me a moment or two to realize he was asking for the Playbill hanging limply from my hand so that he could write his name on it. That lilt, that accent, that voice.

And that was all there was to it. I walked out onto the street where my husband was waiting for me. In my hand was the autograph on my Playbill. Over the years, my 78’s became 45’s became tapes and now “Ah! Si Vous Connaissiez Ma Poule” is one band on a CD, “Le Roi Du Music-Hall.”

I never saw Chevalier in person after that. I have only my memories, my recordings and a precious piece of paper signed in his own hand. But if you walked into my office on any given day, you would see a large poster of that gentleman in the straw hat hanging over my desk, and in the background hear the unmistakable voice of my all-time favorite chanteur: Maurice Chevalier.

© 2022, Lyla Blake Ward

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© 2019, Gary Lee Kraut

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* * *

Passionate, lively and enthusiastic, Gilles Paquet-Brenner leads us into a flood of reflections about his latest film Sarah’s Key, starring Kristin Scott Thomas, his love for the cinema, and his own new role as a father. He is hopeful that his message in this film will touch the American public in a universal way that goes beyond the historical events of the round-up of the Jews of Paris in 1942, which is shown in the film’s opening scenes.

How to classify Sarah’s Key? For the director and co-author of the screenplay, Sarah’s Key is not just another Holocaust film written by someone directly affected by the event, even if Paquet-Brenner is aware of the disappearance of part of his own family, including his grandfather, a Jewish musician of German origins, who took refuge in a free zone and was deported after being denounced by the French.

While feeling a deep and resounding respect for the victims, Paquet-Brenner bemoans the fact that the Holocaust is often “put under a glass dome.” His approach, intended as positive, is to recognize through this film, beyond the dark period of the Vichy Government, “the wounds inflicted on minorities, whichever they may be.”

He explains, “Sarah’s Key is undeniably linked to a page of our history, the history of a Jewish family in Paris in 1942. Yes, but this event has parallels in our time. In today’s world, separatism is winning ground and I hope the film can show the dangers and the absurdity of the results when they are pushed to the extreme.”

What does he think of the obligation to remember? He resists the desire to teach the viewer a lesson or impose a feeling of guilt, which he sees as the best way to achieve the opposite effect.

“It’s a film, it’s a thriller; it’s neither a historical documentary nor a teaching tool.” The fast-paced plot, the back and forth between 1942 and the present, between Paris, the French countryside and the U.S., the quest for truth, and the painful resolution of the mystery keeps viewers holding their breath and leads them to ask the question, which Julia, the journalist played by Kristin Scott Thomas, asks her colleagues: “What would you have done in their place?”

To this Paquet-Brenner adds: “In France, many viewers asked themselves what their parents’ role was during the war, what position they took, whether they had been collaborators, resistance members, passive witnesses or victims…”

“There are few remaining survivors from this period. Other than several films such as Mr. Klein, these episodes have never been mentioned except between the lines. One can talk about them more calmly today. My film brings a very modern point of view on history; it’s a reflection on the past, restoring it to better confront it, assimilating it to let us construct our future.”

Gilles Paquet-Brenner, in writing a faithful screenplay of the novel, also wanted to deal with historical facts and their repercussions on future generations. But he wants to conclude with a message of hope. Though the film contains numerous scenes about the past, perhaps due to the power of the images, major portions of the film focus on the present and the future—the future of little Sarah. In the French version, he chose for the final frame the little girl, behind the picture window of a restaurant, looking, wide-eyed, with the park spread out at her feet.

A sign of destiny? He chose to call his first child, born on the last day of the shooting for Sarah’s Key, Sunniva: ‘the gift of the sun’ in Norwegian.

Daniele Thomas Easton is the Director of France-Philadelphie, which provides consulting for French-American business and cultural projects. She is the former Honorary French Consul to Philadelphia (PA) and Wilmington (DE). She lives in Philadelphia. In 2007 she received France’s Legion of Honor.

Un entretien avec le jeune cinéaste français Gilles Paquet-Brenner: “Il faut apprendre et connaitre le passé pour pouvoir progresser.”

Passionné, vif, enthousiaste, il vous entraîne dans un flot de réflexions sur son dernier film, Sarah’s Key, qu’il est venu présenter en avant-première dans plusieurs grandes villes américaines (sortie officielle le 29 juillet) -, sur son amour du cinéma, qui lui a permis de cotoyer Marion Cotillard, Patrick Bruel, Laura Smet, avant de diriger Kristin Scott Thomas dans l’adaptation du roman de Tatiana de Rosnay, ou encore sur sa vie personnelle de tout nouveau père. Il est surtout animé par l’espoir que son message touchera le public américain de façon universelle, au-delà de l’événement historique de la rafle du Vel d’Hiv, présenté dès les premières images du film.

Comment “classifier” Sarah’s Key? Pour ce réalisateur qui a aussi participé à l’écriture du scénario, ce n’est pas un énième film consacré à la Shoah par quelqu’un de concerné directement, même si Gilles Paquet-Brenner évoque à demi-mot la disparition d’une partie de sa famille, notamment de son grand-père, musicien juif d’origine allemande, réfugié en zone libre, déporté après avoir été dénoncé par des Français. Tout en éprouvant un très profond et vibrant respect pour les victimes, il déplore que cet holocauste soit parfois “placé sous cloche”. Sa démarche, qu’il souhaite être positive, est de faire reconnaître par le biais du film et au-delà des sombres moments du Gouvernement de Vichy, “les blessures infligées aux minorités, quelles qu’elles soient.”

“Sarah’s Key est indéniablement relié à une page de notre histoire, l’histoire concerne une famille juive, à Paris en 1942. Oui, mais cet événement est en résonance avec la période à laquelle nous vivons. Dans notre monde actuel, le communautarisme gagne du terrain et je souhaite que le film puisse montrer les dangers et l’absurdité des dérives lorsqu’elles sont poussées à l’extrême.”

Que pense-t-il du devoir de mémoire? Il se défend de vouloir donner une leçon au spectateur et d’imposer un sentiment de culpabilité, “le meilleur moyen d’obtenir l’effet contraire.” “C’est un film, c’est un thriller, ce n’est ni un documentaire historique ni un outil pédagogique. Il faut non pas montrer du doigt mais intéresser.”

Il est vrai qu’on serait presque tenté de parler d’enquête policière si le thème n’en était pas aussi tragique. Le rythme rapide de l’intrigue, le va-et-vient entre 1942 et le présent, entre Paris, la campagne française et les Etats-Unis, la quête de la vérité, et la douloureuse résolution du mystère gardent le public en haleine et l’amènent à se poser la question, comme le fait avec ses collègues Julia, la journaliste interprétée par Kristin Scott Thomas: “Qu’auriez-vous fait à leur place?” À ceci Gilles Paquet-Brenner ajoute : “En France, bon nombre dans la salle se sont demandé quel rôle leurs parents avaient pris pendant la guerre, quelle position ils avaient adoptée ou subie, collabos, résistants, témoins passifs ou victimes…”

“Il reste peu de survivants de cette époque. À part dans quelques films comme Monsieur Klein, ces épisodes n’ont été évoqués qu’en filigrane. On peut en parler plus calmement aujourd’hui. Mon film apporte un point de vue très contemporain sur l’histoire; c’est une réflexion sur le passé, le restituant pour mieux l’affronter, l’assimilant pour permettre de construire notre futur.”

Gilles Paquet-Brenner, dans sa transcription cinématographique très fidèle du roman, aura lui aussi traité de faits historiques et de leurs répercussions sur des générations futures. Mais il veut terminer sur un message d’espoir. Si les séquences consacrées au passé semblent nombreuses, peut-être en raison de la puissance des images, une place prépondérante est donnée au présent et au futur, au futur de la petite Sarah. Dans la version française, il a d’ailleurs choisi en ultime image de cadrer la petite fille, derrière la grande baie vitrée du restaurant, regardant, les yeux écarquillés, le parc qui s’étale à ses pieds.

Signe du destin? Il a choisi d’appeler son premier enfant, qui a vu le jour le dernier jour du tournage de Sarah’s Key, Sunniva : le don du soleil en norvégien.

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I mention Egypt today—date of the official launching of the new version of this web magazine—not because France Revisited is now intent on analyzing world affairs (we have enough trouble keeping track of our own) but to note that, coincidentally, I attended this past week two cultural events in Paris with Egyptian themes: a photo exhibit and an opera. Both were planned long before the crowds started gathering in Tahrir Square.

The first was an opening of “Night Colors,” an exhibit of photographs by Thibault de Puyfontaine at Montmartre’s Little Big Galerie. As I note in my review of the exhibit, the photos, taken between 2007 and 2010, reveal the colors of night rather than the politics and frustrations of day.

The second was a performance of Handel’s Giulio Cesare (in Egitto), Julius Caesar (in Egypt), at the stunningly beautiful and grotesquely ornate Garnier Opera, where the seats up by the ceiling are so cramped that it’s unlikely anyone would stand for them anywhere else.

You won’t find a review of the opera on France Revisited because the opera critic was out of town that evening (hence my ticket). Suffice it to say: Cleopatra was, for all intents and purposes, naked on stage (hence so many binoculars?), Julius Caesar fell for her beauty and charm, he liberated her and Egypt from the hands of her brother Ptolemy, they don’t make castrati like they used to, and Egypt and Roman power and intercultural love nevertheless triumphed.

I found myself thinking how amazing it is to write such a work, how ambitious it is to conceive and construct buildings like the Garnier Opera, what dedication it takes to sing like those singers, play like those musicians and conduct like that conductor, what imagination it takes to design such a set and direct such a production, how honorable resistance can be, and all kinds of uplifting thoughts about go-getters and their achievements, followed by the usual comedown as I headed for the metro.

But I’m not the least bit envious. I’m just glad to be back in the editorial saddle again now that the new version of France Revisited has been launched.

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Instead, Zorro arrived (though June 30, 2010).

Zorro is the stuff of dreams. He spends less time in the gym than Superman, he’s less closeted than Batman, he’s more seductive than Robin Hood. He’s got wit, he’s got talent. He’s lived in California, he’s live in Spain. He speaks both English and Spanish, and now he speaks French too!

Too bad he was doing all that while confined to Zorro, Le Musical.

Zorro, in this incarnation inspired by a novel by Isabel Allende, is seeking his path in life, feeling that he can’t live up to his father’s hopes to turn him into a leader. He gets kicked out of military school for being footloose despite his talents with a sword, makes friends with gypsies, takes on the persona of Zorro, rescues the poor people of California from repression, returns to Spain with his gypsy friends, meets up with his childhood girlfriend, discovers that his older brother is a tyrant who has deposed their father (apparently the older brother became a tyrant to get back at Zorro for being his father’s favorite). Zorro with the slashing Z to the rescue.

I wasn’t sure whether I was going to write about Zorro, Le Musical since I would only do so if I found it more or less recommendable. Allow me to explain my mixed feeling:
Music: one thumb up for the dancing and the Gypsy Kings’ gypsy and flamenco music, one thumb down for the Gypsy Kings’ other songs.
Staging: one thumb up for use of the theater, one thumb down for being so cartoonish.
Singing: One thumb up for the voices, one thumb down because nothing can be done to help those other Gypsy Kings songs.
Storyline: One thumb up (for visiting English-speakers) because it’s simple enough to understand it in French; one larger thumb down because Zorro deserves a better vehicle than this is a psychodrama without .
The theater: two thumbs up for the Folies Bergère.

Two months after it opened I was still hesitant or perhaps lazy, but then I attended the press opening for Roméo & Juliette, a French musical showing at the Palais des Congres until April 4, and that show was so dreadful—from concept to music to décor (admittedly I only saw the first half before quitting the theater)—that I realized that Zorro, the Musical did make for a decent evening of family entertainment in Paris.

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Musicals in Paris

Zorro, Le Musical at the Folies Bergère until June 30, 2010. Another thumb up on pricing since tickets are currently available at two for the price of one. Inquire about 2 for 1 possibilities when reserving.

Roméo et Juliette at the Palais des Congrès until April 4, 2010.

Le Roi Lion (The Lion King) at the Théâtre Mogador until July 25, 2010.

Violin sur le Toit (Fiddler on the Roof) at Le Palace until July 31, 2010.

Coming in spring: Les Misérables at Théâtre du Châtelet May 26-July 4, 2010.

© 2010, Gary Lee Kraut

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He is buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery.

See this Youtube page for examples of his work and his voice .

Here’s a video of one of song in particular:

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