Satie - Gymnopédies / Gnossiennes
I can't find it anymore, but there once was an amazing collage of René Claire's movie Entr'acte with Satie's (who also composed the original soundtrack) Gnossiennes on youtube. If I ever find it again, I'll post it, but fear it got deleted. It started with some sort of can-can / variéte dancers, if I remember correctly.
Ah, Satie - his Gymnopédies/Gnossiennes are exquisite - must have a listen later this evening.
I haven't seen that René Clair movie. However, over twenty years ago in Paris, I did have dinner with his widow and the widow of the actor Gérard Phillippe also attended. The host was the grandfather of the family I was staying with, a French cinema critic named Georges Charensol, who was a friend of René Clair's, and was also his biographer. (And, as I have since learned, M. Charensol was also one of the people who was involved in the setting up of the Cannes Film Festival).
On consideration, this post is probably more appropriate for the cinema/movie thread.......oh, well. Venerable French movies (and their stars and directors) can turn up anywhere.......as maybe, they have a timeless appeal.
Quite speechless. But wrong thread, I'll bother you in the more appropriate one....
But re Satie: which interpretation do you favor? I do adore
Aldo Ciccolini's - in contrast to the awful Reinbert De Leeuws.
Since you're going to listen to it probably later, what do you think about
Mouvements En Forme De Poire - Mvt. 3 / En plus? That's also one of my favorites.
Re Satie, I'll have to check my recording; back in the day, (1980s), I had an old vinyl LP (lovely) which I bought in London, and a newer (and quite cheap) Nexus CD; the latter is what is on my iTunes. I'll try to locate it...
Re René Clair, his widow, and the lady who was the widow of Gérard Phillippe, - another guest at the dinner had survived Auschwitz, but questions on such topics were not especially encouraged - it was an extraordinary experience, but, as is so often the case, much of what was discussed then was new to me, and, it is only with subsequent reading, learning and experience that I understood much more, and now, would love to be able to be present at such a meal, and ask questions framed with much greater knowledge, understanding and insight.
I was young (that particular dinner took place in the late 1980s), and had been exposed much more to anglophone cinematography, rather than more continental influences, though I did pay heed to whatever crossed my path. In fact, the esoteric nature of much classic French cinematography was unknown to me until I stayed with that particular family in Paris - initially, as a teenager in the very late 70s, later as a student, and later still, shortly after I started teaching, which is when this dinner occurred.
We, the 'youngsters' i.e. students, the grand-children of the family and myself, were seated at the bottom of a large French dining table. M. Charensol, and his guests, were at the head of the table. My own hosts, the parents of the family, M. Charensol's utterly charming middle-aged son and his equally wonderful wife, were seated mid way down. Speech from us was not especially welcome, I recall.
I also recall the stunningly Francophone nature of the discussion and perspectives - and while something of a Francophile myself in those days, I was surprised at their disregard and lack of respect and complete lack of interest in the Anglophone world. Madame Clair asked about the 'charmante Irlandaise' (me) and wondered whether Ireland was independent. Somewhat indignant, I tried to formulate a polite reply (while avoiding the standard snarled response of 'oh, only for about the last 70 or so years' as was the case in the 1980s); before I could even open my mouth, M. Charensol had silenced me with a stare, and coolly informed the table that yes, he believed it was. Of course, he knew perfectly well that it was; his family had stayed with mine, and I with his on several occasions.
However, I was struck by something which had also come up at dinners in London; even as a - very intellectual and exceptionally nerdish (though that word had not then been coined) teenager, I was aware of the history and politics (and later, the culture) of every country in Europe. I knew what sort of Government and political culture each country had; I couldn't believe that leading intellectuals from large countries lacked such knowledge. It took me a while to realise that some pieces of information simply didn't register on their radar.
Georges Charensol himself was an exceptionally interesting man. Handsome, erudite, effortlessly charming and so extraordinarily knowledgeable. He counted Marc Chagall and René Clair as friends. I knew him when he was elderly - but he still worked each day, on his terms. Afternoons would see him strolling, or taking the Métro to the cinema, or an exhibition, and, later, joining his family for dinner in the evenings sometimes. Mornings would sometimes see him sitting propped up in bed, dressing gown around his shoulders, typewriter on his knees, calmly crafting his piece which reviewed the movies he had just seen. He had a programme on French national radio reviewing movies of the week, which was broadcast each Sunday night; the family (and I, when I was there) would listen, awed and impressed.
His grandson informed me that at the age of 18, in late 1917, he had been called up for military service. A medical examination showed a severe case of tuberculosis and military service was ruled out on medical grounds, the doctor, laughing ironically, saying that he wouldn't even live long enough to be sent to the trenches. In fact, he died in 1995.
I have autographed copies of his biography of René Clair, which he presented to me, and also of his account of the Dreyfus Affair, one of his earliest books, published in the late 1920s, which he gave me on a subsequent visit. As part of the background research for the book, he had actually interviewed Captain Dreyfus, who was still alive in the late 1920s, and I was utterly absorbed and entranced listening to him describe it. That was a smaller dinner, just M. Charensol, two of his grandchildren and myself. I had wondered about Dreyfus, and was astonished to be told - by M. Charensol - that he was 'un homme très froid'.
Later reading on my part confirmed that Dreyfus, who was from Alsace, had a cool, collected, composed, controlled, demeanour, a reserved air, a sort of 'stiff upper lip', which went down very well in the UK and US, as these were societies, which, at the time, prized an ideal of stoic heroic masculinity. It did him no favours at all in the court room in Paris, where his lack of fervid passion was ascribed to guilt, and helped, along with good old-fashioned anti-Semitism, to convict him. However, I rather imagine that his cool self-possession must have helped him survive his hideous ordeal.
