Le Grand Blond avec une chaussure noire

A hapless orchestra player becomes an unwitting pawn of rival factions within the French secret service after he is chosen as a decoy by being identified as a super secret agent.

The film was remade in English as "The Man with One Red Shoe", which makes me want to see that version -- I never really had an interest before. This version is quite good, and I especially love the score. It is whimsical and light, keeping the material fun.

The topic of secret agencies against themselves sort of suggests a Kafka-type plot, but it never reaches that level. Because of the humor involved, it might be closer to compare this to a Peter Sellers film. Certainly more deserving of attention than it generally receives.

Successfully spawning a sequel and a Hollywood remake, Tom Hanks' starrer THE MAN WITH ONE RED SHOE (1985), and augured from its ingenious legerdemain in the opening credits, Yves Robert's THE TALL BLOND MAN WITH ONE BLACK SHOE is a beguiling divertissement that mocks the espionage profession and retains the essential Gallic funny bone.

Our protagonist is the titular tall (?, he looks very average), blond François Perrin (Richard), a French violinist, who is randomly chosen as a bait because he wears one black shoe and one brown shoe (owing to a practical joke) when he arrives in Orly airport from Munich, a whim of Perrache (Le Person), the assistant of Louis Toulouse (Rochefort), the chief of France's Counter-Espionage department, who clandestinely retaliates his treacherous second-in-command Bernard Milan (Blier) by deliberately letting the latter on that François is a top spy who has kompromat to hazard his position.

Milan rises to the bait immediately, with his whole team working in succession to stake François out, break into his apartment (and playing with a set of matryoshka dolls) and keep tabs on his visitors and telephone calls, trying to fish out what he knows, obviously, all to no avail. Only after a recoiling honey trap set by agent Christine (Marc), Milan finally loses his patience and demands François to be roundly dispatched, but unbeknown to him, Perrache assigns two agents to safeguard François, so the ensuing internecine shoot-out takes a heavy toll on both sides, and completely behind François's back.

Yes, the off-piste leitmotif is that, during the whole shebang, François is insouciantly oblivious about the happenings, resumes his daily routines - a tryst with Paulette (Castel), the harpist in the same orchestra and the wife of his best friend Maurice (Carmet), a percussionist - and plays in an evening concert (a cock-up to the dismay of the conductor, played by Robert himself), then a wee-hour consummation with the mysterious, sultry Christine, who even more mysteriously, falls head over feet for him and defects her superior afterward, and in the jolly ending, the pair flies to Rio together, in different airliner compartments though, only leaving Maurice, beset by his numerous encounters with the goings-on and its unsavory aftermath, firmly believes that he is mentally unstable and needs heavy medication.

Comédien Pierre Richard relaxedly inhabits François with a mix-bag of clownish, aw-shucks, yet louche facades (although gobbing gums in the airport doesn't leave a great first impression), playing off against the agents' collective callousness and dead seriousness, he is endowed with a Benigni-esque comical facility to dampen the plot's innate implausibility, so is Jean Carmet, a dutiful foil that nails the deadpan impression after his character becomes increasingly enmeshed with and befogged by contradictory situations, so much so that questioning his own sanity seems to the only possible way to justify it. All in all, the film is a thoroughly pleasurable vintage comedy that has enough sophistication and élan to spare for a second go-round.

This comedy/mystery is simply delightful. You can call it a masterpiece of its genre(s) or you can just enjoy its great timing, hilarious physical comedy, its story that involves spies, murders, and a sexy blonde (Mireille Darc) in a dress you have to see to believe. Pierre Richar is excellent as the blond man of the title who one day became a "person of great interest" for two rival departments in the French secret service. As we know, it is very difficult to find a black cat in a dark room especially if the cat is not in the room and that's what the experienced employees of the secret service try to do - to find the sense in the routine activities of a man they are convinced is an important spy and who is in reality an absent-minded and oblivious violinist and the object of the practical jokes by his fellow musicians.

If it is not enough, there is a soundtrack written by Vladimir Cosma and performed by the King of Pan Flute, a famous Romanian musician Gheorghe Zamfir. Cosma recalls that when he was composing the music for The Tall Blond Man, he was thinking of the movie "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold" and he wanted to use the elements of the Eastern European music. His idea to use the themes of Romanian doinas played by Zamfir was a stroke of genius. Once you hear the melodies, you won't be able to forget them.

YES to the movie and YES!! to the soundtrack

Many, many years ago -- the mid-70s, in fact, this movie was on TV in our local area. It was one of the few times I'd seen my dad really excited about a movie, and watched it with him.

It's stuck with me ever since.

This is a brilliant piece of film-making, satisfying as both a comedy and a spy movie. Pierre Richard has a masterful sense of comedic timing, on par with Buster Keaton.

If you get a chance to see this, do.

This is one of the funniest films I've ever seen. Pierre Richard is HILARIOUS! The script is tight as a mosquito's leotard and the action unrelenting. The story, based in part on a serious of government agencies play SPY vs. SPY games and bureaucratic CYA, arbitrarily pick a fall guy for their foil and who better than a musician hooked on modern music. The amazing thing is Richard's apartment where the walls are covered with pictures of modern composers, dominated by a huge picture of Stravinsky. And, the riotious aside when he tells the girl trying to pump information from him that he has a "secret." When all of the spying evesdroppers stretch their ears to hear, he announces, "Je compose." Is this some new code? They look from one another as Pierre takes his violin and warns, "Mais, elle est moderne," and launches into a chromatic allegro ala Stravinsky. The movie goes on with great slapstick abetted by the marvelous timing of Richard who is rivalled only by Peter Sellars in that means. As the other reviewer noted, there was a decent American version with Tom Hanks, who played the part a lot more low key than Richard. I've seen this movie more than a dozen times and plan to see it again soon. Each time I find some new twist that gives me an extra tickle. Check it out! On s'amuse assez avec ce film-ci!