What would be a society in which sensitive poets metamorphose into advertising editors, talented writers into cynical journalists sold to the highest bidder? A micro Parisian milieu fiercely defending class privileges and acquired advantages, where the followers of beauty and sincere lovers, driven by a mad ambition of social ascension, see their ideal consumed at the gates of a ‘new’ world in full swing. commodification? Haunted since his first encounter (at the age of twenty) with the ‘capital work’ of ‘La Comédie humaine’ Balzacienne, Xavier Giannoli offers us a free adaptation of abundant richness, combining the flamboyant restitution of life socialite, arts circles and the press under the Restoration with the tragic fate of the young Lucien de Rubempre, magnetized by the fires of the capital, trapped by his own renouncements, dragged to the point of dizziness in the mirage of a better existence under the reign of profit.
Focused on the second part ‘A great provincial man in Paris’ [1839], composed by displacements, condensations and substitutions of elements of the original text, the “Lost Illusions” proceeds here from a dream of cinema, inspired by the spirit of Balzac, nourished by the imagination of Xavier Giannoli, creator at the screen of heroic failures in search of social recognition and ephemeral fame (“When I was a singer” 2006, “At the origin” 2009, “Supestar” 2012, “Marguerite” 2015 in particular). Dark fiction, the red and gold theater of pretense, transported by baroque music, brings back to life a time of profiteers, cheaters and other opinion-makers without faith or law, in disturbing resonance with our disoriented time. And today, suggests Xavier Giannoli, to cultivate a taste for beauty and love for others, can an ardent young man live far from the ‘magnificence of the abysses’?
Infinite hopes, precarious protection: an unknown poet in Paris
Even if the voice-over of the narrator (Xavier Dolan, sober, coldly descriptive) accompanies us from the start and aptly contextualizes the learning novel we are attending, the first sequences bathed in clarity let us glimpse a flourishing present. In the Angoulême countryside, the whiteness of Lucien’s shirt (neighboring Benjamin, resourceful interpreter) lying in the green grass with a book or a writing book in his hand adds to the natural light of the scene . The young man – who calls himself Rubempré (after his mother’s name, the one he is not entitled to bear, he the son of an apothecary named Chardon-passionate about literature, devotes himself with talent to poetry. He is supported in the exercise of his art by Mrs. Louise de Bargeton (Cécile de France, young nuanced and subtle). In his province, Lucien reads one of his poems in front of a few notables gathered, a barely veiled ode to his adored protector. Despite a polite welcome, his host utters praise and consolation towards the young chosen one of his heart. Hidden idyll. , clandestine embraces in the sunny nature (an invention of passage to the act of the co-scriptwriters Xavier Giannoli and Jacques Fieschi, unthinkable of the time of Balzac).
Some time and a scandal later, Mme de Bargeton leaves for Paris and embarks in her carriage (and under her wing) the young poet in search of success and recognition (who gives up his work as a corector in the small family printing house) .
Immediately we are, like Lucien, immersed in the noise and the fury of the capital, the grayness of the alleys and the sadness of the small boarding house where the newly arrived provincial is staying, not far from the sumptuous house of the Marquise d ‘ Espard (Jeanne Balibar, elegant embodiment of aristocratic codes and distanced irony) who welcomes his cousin Louise.
So in a few shots we have gone from the radiant light of a countryside inhabited by the poet’s ‘intimate religion’ and a budding love for the colors and contrasting architectures of the ‘monster city’ according to the filmmaker’s definition. As if we had seen in a flash of light and fleeting fade before us the time of innocence, the one that will never be found.
Commodification of art and the press: Lucien put to the test
Outfit bought at a high price, Lucien de Rubempré, during his first outing at the Opera, awkwardly stood out: he spoke loudly, pointed with his finger. It is a catastrophe of which the naive do not yet measure the consequences. The very influential Marquise royally ignores the protege of her cousin Louise. Besides, Madame de Bargeton quickly abandons the young poet, ignorant of the codes and conventions of ‘good’ society, codes that as a provincial she herself does not fully master. A fortiori in a period, as the voice-over underlines, when the aristocracy is getting back on its feet, closing ranks, wanting to enjoy its privileges again by ostracizing those who are not.
This is why Lucien’s first steps in the (also unknown) world of the press and publishing are strikingly naive. His only obsession: to publish his poetry. A naturally stated objective whose spontaneity is underlined by the staging: carried away in the movement of discovery and the frantic pace of meetings, the character no longer takes the time to reflect on what is happening to him, carried however by the same and tenacious ambition.
The first decisive contacts with Etienne Lousteau (Vincent Lacoste, astonishing interpreter of cruel disenchantment and melancholy nostalgia), a provincial petty bourgeoisie, met in a restaurant in the Latin Quarter and, for the time being, editor in a small-scale newspaper. The latter, however, takes interest in Lucien and opens his eyes bluntly. He quickly discovers his interlocutor ready to extol the merits of a profession dedicated to ‘enlightening’ readers on the arts and the world.
At the speed of a galloping horse, through encounters – with the demanding writer and poet Nathan (Xavier Dolan, with a precise game without ostentation) – and the revelations of Lousteau, entirely dedicated to his own career, Lucien discovers the world of the arts and the press, incestuous relations with commerce, while profound changes are underway at a time of nascent economic liberalism and the reign of profit.
Lusteau, brilliant mind and acerbic pen, exposes the rules of the profession, such as he practices it: humor tickets bought to criticize (even destroy) a book, a spectacle, a public figure. It is not a question of seeking the truth but of creating controversies, of inventing spikes that maintain chain reactions. Or even create from scratch a character or an event that we are talking about.
A critique of a form of journalism, in keeping with Balzac’s work, revealing the functioning of a society all in masks and pretenses where even the successes of the plays of the Boulevard du crime can be created by articles purchased or defeated by a slap (paid, a real phenomenon brilliantly embodied by Jean-François Stévenin in the skin of Singali, chef de claques, an invented character not existing as such in the novel).
In the same way, the composition (disturbing, earthy by the game of Gérard Depardieu) of the illiterate publisher Dauriat from several characters in the book reinforces the decisive weight of money in the hostile forces that the dominant society opposes to the poetry, publication and all artists who do not have the strength of soul to resist.
Betrayed poetry, lost loves: lessons of life
In accordance with the Balzacian approach, the filmmaker, even if he sometimes forces the line in criticizing the devastating effects of a mercantile press in the service of those who finance it, does not adopt a moral point of view, in particular by report to Lucien de Rubempré. He describes his sad obstinacy in obtaining from the authorities (by political intervention in high places, we hope) the right to bear the (particle) name of his mother. Another futile attempt to belong to a world of which he is not. The filmmaker also grasps the defeat of the spirit in Lucien: to be able to earn a living, he agrees to write a ticket against Nathan’s novel, whereas he finds it successful. He agrees to write alternately for a monarchist newspaper and an opposition publication. His weakness manifests itself and his (former) friends then go on a rampage to punish his treachery and organize his killing.
As in the novel, the love shared between Coralie (Salomé Dewaels, immediate presence, gripping play), young courtesan and actress tempted by the risky bet of classical theater, and Lucien, this love at first sight is placed under the sign of sincerity and authenticity, like a break in the fall. But the lack of resources (Coralie has given up on her rich protector), the nonconformity of their union removing Lucien from his support and the organized interruption (slap bought and returned to the highest bidder) of the performance with Coralie in Bérénice precipitate the destitution, ruin, sickness and death of the beloved.
Beyond the relentless satire of misguided journalism and the commercial press (through scathing dialogues and the vertiginous rhythm of the existence of the protagonists, filmed like a theater of simulacra and ghosts, magnified by shimmering colors and pieces baroque music), sometimes appear underground traces of the humanity (damaged) of Lucien, in particular.
By freeing himself from Balzac’s text, the filmmaker chooses to fleshly embody the birth of love which for a time brought Louise de Bargeton and Lucien closer to the ultimate embrace in the twilight of souls and the lucidity of minds ( ‘What did they do with us?’). In another register, Lousteau cannot play all the time with mastery at the cynical journalist driven by a single objective (‘enriching the shareholders’). His role in the commodification of public opinion does not prevent him from letting out in one breath a melancholy confidence addressed to Lucien: ‘And yet, I was good …’.
The last sequence, in correspondence with the opening of “Lost Illusions” still causes confusion. Back in Angoulême, in the clearing of his childhood, standing with his back and naked in front of a lake with flat water and sparkling reflections, Lucien stands still. And the voice-over accompanies this enigmatic long wide shot by emphasizing that he did not know if he was going to dive into it to purify himself or to disappear. With this final precision: ‘He was going to stop hoping. He was going to be able to start living. ‘
Behind the cruel denunciation of a society in the throes of commodification, “Lost Illusions”, Xavier Giannoli’s film resonates in us today as an act of faith in cinematographic art and in its capacity to embrace the world, to preserve humanity.
Samra Bonvoisin
“Lost Illusions”, film by Xavier Giannoli-released on October 20, 2021
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