Slumping singers and
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>> Gérard Depardieu is back in form in Quand j’étais chanteur, That Beautiful Somewhere is a murder mystery with too much angst

by MALCOLM FRASER

Quand j’étais chanteur

Gérard Depardieu has some serious quality control issues. He averages three to five films a year, and lately hasn’t been putting a lot of effort into his roles whether the films are good, bad or mediocre. It’s therefore pleasantly surprising to see him deliver a heartfelt and moving performance in Xavier Giannoli’s Quand j’étais chanteur.

Depardieu plays Alain Moreau, a washed-up crooner making his living performing in cheesy music halls, restaurants and seniors’ homes. At one of his shows, he meets a young real estate agent, Marion (Cécile de France), and after a one-night stand, falls in love with her. Much to his dismay, the love is unrequited as she struggles to deal with post-divorce custody issues with her young son. Meanwhile, Depardieu keeps plugging away at his fading career with the help of his ex-wife and manager Michèle (Christine Citti).

Giannoli perfectly captures the downmarket side of the music business; he doesn’t shy away from its tragic aspects, but refuses to condescend to Alain and his ilk. In fact, the film is a poignant tribute to the fading tradition of music-hall entertainers. As Depardieu explains, “People become corny because they last.” His smallest gestures and expressions subtly convey the character’s tattered dignity.

The tone and pacing are understated, with a lot left to the viewer’s imagination. The film slows down a bit in the last third, but is nonetheless worth seeing for a unique take on a subject that could have been played for cheap laughs by a lesser director and cast.

That Beautiful Somewhere

In this Canadian murder mystery, a corpse that turns up in a northern Ontario bog results in the mismatched, yet decidedly un-wacky partnership of detective Conk Adams (Roy Dupuis) and young scientist Catherine Nyland (Jane McGregor). He’s struggling with his dying mother’s wish for merciful euthanasia, while she’s tormented with chronic migraines, which bring on sickness and suicidal impulses. Somehow, they manage to pursue the case, convincing grumpy native elder Harold (Gordon Tootoosis) to impart some wisdom of the ages to help them out.

Director Robert Budreau has a franco-Ontarian background and uses a Québécois star, but the film is English-Canadian to a fault: the tone is grim, the aesthetic stark and cold and the theme of anguishing alienation suffuses every frame of the film with nebulous angst. I have a friend who once suggested making a parody of our national cinema called Not Another Canadian Movie; it might feel a lot like this.

You could say there are three kinds of bad movies. There’s the so-bad-it’s-good/love-to-hate-it model; then there’s the type of film that you want to like, or feel you should give a chance, but in the end you just can’t deny the truth—the kind usually made by students, first-time directors and, sad as it is to say, Canadians. This film starts out in the second category, but its muddled plot, painfully clumsy exposition, cringe-worthy dialogue and cheap romanticizing of native culture gradually edge it into the final, most brutal category of bad film, that of sheer, unredeemable crapola.

Both films open this Friday, April 20

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