Since May 2007 France has been ‘led’ by a President whose outlook on the arts is practical to a fault, ie. creativity is not practical and therefore unnecessary. However, French artists have battled through much worse than reduced funding in the past, a matter to which Paris 36 seems to pay homage both within its narrative and as a production.

Quite topically, the film opens with the owner of Chaubourg’s music hall committing suicide at midnight on the eve of 1936 due to his massive debts. The Chansonia is then taken over by the political thug Galapiat (Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu) and closed down much to the despair of its many loyal employees. Ringing in the new year with even more misery is the Chansonia’s curtain-puller of close to 60 years, Pigoil (played by an ever-endearing Gérard Jugnot) whose adulteress wife is exposed this same evening as cheating with not one but two (and possibly more) of the Chansonia’s workers, including Pigoil’s good friend and passionate union worker Milou (Clovis Cornillac). 1936 is looking like a tough year for our protagonist, and considering the Pigoil has now been arrested for murder (the film is a flashback), we assume it’s only going to get worse. However, amidst this jumble of politics, romance, family, failure and music, director and writer Christophe Barratier yet again uses many idyllic notions of traditional France to fashion a tourist-board nationalistic patchwork which does not go deep enough to offend, but challenges and entertains just enough to rally an audience – albeit into a sing-along.

Alongside the drama of the Chansonia, Pigoil has turned to alcohol. Consequently his son Jojo (Maxence Perrin) is taken away so Pigoil must find himself a job with regular pay to get him back; no mean feat in a country torn by political strife, union strikes and changes in government. In an attempt to secure a job and not betray his beliefs Pigoil leads the charge in ‘occupying’ the Chansonia in an attempt to rejuvenate it as a business. With the fortunate arrival of Douce, a mesmerising and talented beauty, and the questionable but affordable talents of some of Faubourg’s characters, the Chansonia does eventually reopen to miserable reviews and is a failure. So continues the ups and downs of Pigoil’s trials, Douce’s career aspirations (and those of many less talented than her), Milou’s political and romantic endeavours and the constant scheming of Galapiat.

Needless to say, amidst the ever-playing piano accordion, Parisian skylines and distracting caricatures it is sometimes easy to forget the troubled times of Paris in 1936 were just as real as the recession we face today. Not to mention the challenges French film-makers and other creatives are facing at the merciless funding cuts under Sarkozy’s regime. So why and wherefore has Barratier made this film now? And why has he sprinkled such comedy and pantomime through it when the seriousness of the content matters so much?

On the surface it looks like Pigoil and his gang are reclaiming not only their right to use the Chansonia as it deserves to be used, but also reclaiming their right to perform for performance’s sake. Booking in any ‘artist’ who is willing to perform simply for the love of their art (apparently) or merely for the sake of something to do when work is rare, is truly sticking it to ‘the man’ who merely saw the music hall as prime real estate. However, relying on animal imitations and a set of sexy legs does not prove a financial success and even Pigoil is reduced to stating “Keep the ideal. I’ll keep the steady job.”. So for a moment an audience is lost; has Barratier stopped fighting for ‘the ideal’ in a social, political and financial state where entertainment is batted away as an unnecessary luxury? Is he not going to reclaim the Chansonia for its rightful artistic resource? Au contraire: the Chansonia / Pigoil / Milou / the arts will not necessarily win but in the most charming of old-fashioned maxims Barratier suggests that love and music will always endure.

Despite the family drama, political undertones, bloodshed or other strands of meta-narratives, Barratier proves within his own text that with sweet-faced men, one lovely dame, a bit of pantomime, uplifting songs and of course the ambience of Paris, the Fascist landlord can be shot dead and the music will still play. This attitude, it must be said, is in itself quite bohemian and befitting of the Faubourg and the old-fashioned music hall spirit.

However, despite its political and artistic commentary, it is difficult to say that Paris 36 truly holds its own alongside recent French productions. To state the obvious: Nora Azeneder as Douce may be truly mesmerizing but her on-screen and on-stage performance merely reminds a spectator of the epic La môme [La Vie en Rose] (2007) which, despite being of a different genre, is still the far superior model of powerful and everlasting music. Pigoil’s fight for his son seems mediocre when placed next to the family dramas like Un conte de Noël [A Christmas Tale] (2008), and Milou’s ill-advised (and untrue) shouts and fists for worker’s rights seem so clichéd next to revolutionary revelations like Entre les murs [The Class] (2008).

Perhaps these are slightly imbalanced comparisons considering the different source material and genres, but if anything the farce and exaggeration of Paris 36 should have offered more room for incisive and witty perceptions that many other genres do not allow. Perhaps in saying so I am merely reiterating Barratier’s own sentiment that sometimes art exists purely for entertainment’s sake and nothing more. In a time of a suffocating Sarkozy and a global recession, it matters more than ever before to celebrate this stance.