Le Magnifique Belmondo!

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Le Magnifique Belmondo!
NEWSFLASH: The hidden, shadowy rumblings of a thousand heart-rending, laughter-making, tear-jerking, thought-provoking, awe-inspiring, erotically stimulating (see Jacqueline Bisset in Le Magnifique for further details), and just plain enjoyable cinematic experiences and celebrations finally erupted recently, breaking out of their numerous Parisian salles obscures and plastering themselves across the Hotel de Ville, the City Hall itself, to announce to all concerned, unconcerned, or just strolling casually by, the start of the 2nd edition of ‘Paris Cinema Festival’, the no-holds-barred celebration of the art of film, of film-making, and of the enjoyment of film. ROLL ‘EM! The festival takes in a collection of films and documentaries so huge that they are scattered throughout the arrondissements of Paris like so much twinkling star-dust; most in cinemas, many in parks and gardens; those not at the bargain price of 4.00 € are free of charge. The treats this year included: A Tour Of Europe’s Cinema, focusing on Great Britain; Tribute Screenings, including The Magnificent Belmondo and The American Friend, Oliver Stone; a tribute to Fernando Solanas; retrospectives; themed Screenings, including Rock and Cinema; a World Tour Of Musicals; French classics, with English subtitles; silent movies (free, in the gardens of the Senate, July 3, 4 & 5). And lots, lots more. See the end of the article for full information. Whilst the free-of-charge, grand opening at the Hotel de Ville didn’t bother with the question, “Are we sitting comfortably?” before beginning, as there was no seating in the huge area, the sight of Cary Grant being chased down a dirt road by an aeroplane in a scene from the Hitchcock classic ‘North by Northwest’ drew me in and held me completely spellbound as I turned my coat into a makeshift cushion and sat on that. Cary Grant was doing his stuff on a small screen set up at one end of the square, whilst the projection crew—working from several layers of scaffolding across from the City Hall—did their fine-tuning in preparation for the projection of the Jean-Paul-Belmondo comedy Le Magnifique (the film chosen as the festival’s official opener, with a promised personal appearance by the great man), onto an absolutely gigantic screen fitted to the front of the City Hall building itself. It was a warm summer evening, with pink clouds turning the moon a luminous green color just before the dark set in proper (probably something to do with pollution, but it looked good.) The moon was a fairy-tale special effect, telling us that in Paris, France, on a night devoted to cinema, the moon is made of cheese. It didn’t matter too much to me, though, a British born film-fanatic suddenly finding himself in a huge open-space on a beautiful summer’s night, awash with images and documentary clips of some of his all-time favourite movies. I was spell-bound. Faye Dunaway talked about the breakthrough action movie ‘Bonnie & Clyde,’ whilst George Clooney, the director of the brilliant ‘Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind,’ said some wise things: “The most important element—by far—in any movie is the script. With a good script, it is still possible to make a bad movie, but with a bad script, you can’t do anything but make a bad movie.” I was as impressed by the guy’s knowledge as I was by his directorial debut. Let’s hope we get more from Clooney. Then the clips came thick and fast: Marlon Brando, Jimmy Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Katherine Hepburn, Jimmy Stuart. Oliver Stone talked about his love of Hitchcock. Young actors named their inspirations and their heroes. Having arrived quite early, I glanced around at one point and found that I was surrounded by people. The place was choc-a-bloc with cross-legged couples, of all ages and races, talking and laughing, pointing or clicking cameras. TV crews strolled around, filming us in the act of celebrating film. It was a laid-back, cool, and totally enjoyable experience. Then, with the moon back to its usual silvery color, high in a dark, clear sky, and with hot little spot-lights clicking on here and there, the crowd started cheering as the doors to the City Hall slowly opened. Everybody started standing. I jumped up and saw some official looking types milling around the entrance. A long sequence of clips devoted to Jean-Paul Belmondo started on the small screen, and the crowd went wild. I knew of Belmondo. I had seen some of his movies over the years. A real tough-guy with a great sense of humor; an actor who knew how to put an action movie across with real style; and who performed his own stunts in spectacular fashion. When the sequence finished, the great man appeared: old now and using a cane, his hair snow white, but his broad, mischievous grin and his captivating smile bowling everybody over. To say the crowd was pleased to see him is something of an understatement; to say they were pleased to celebrate him would be nearer the mark. A speaker—probably a fellow actor, but my research fails me here—did the speaking and he played the crowd well, as Belmondo beamed at us and waved his cane in the air. When he disappeared back inside and the doors…
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