Quai d'Orsay

Legendary film director Bertrand Tavernier has completely changed register for his latest film, moving from the 16th century court of Charles IX of his last outing, La Princesse de Montpensier, to the corridors of the French foreign ministry with Quai d'Orsay based on the cult comic strip book of the same name. The book was co-produced by Antonin Baudry (writing under the pen name, Abel Lanzac), a young diplomat who worked as a speechwriter for former French foreign minister Dominique de Villepin. It has already enjoyed a huge critical success in France and this year took the prestigious best book prize at the annual comic strip festival in Angouleme. Quai d'Orsay draws on Baudry's experience of working with Villepin and his close knit circle of advisers and friends to depict a Kafkaesque world of confusing complexity deftly brought to the screen by Tavernier. Despite a career spanning nearly forty years, this is Tavernier's first venture into pure comedy. He has produced a film running at full tilt which weaves farce, burlesque, and fantasy into a tight, funny package that casts a sharp eye over the political machine without sliding into political satire.

Raphael Personnaz is Arthur Vlaminck, a recent graduate from the highly prestigious Ecole Nationale d'Administration, which produces most of France's top politicians from both sides of the political fence. Although he doesn't fit the stereotype of a young diplomat with his shabby clothes and gauche manner, he is hired by the minister Alexandre Taillard de Vorms (Thierry L'Hermite) to work at the foreign ministry drafting speeches for the minister himself. His lack of previous political experience makes him an easy target for the power struggles and back- stabbing of the minister's support network of advisers and back room staff. And it's not long before he's spinning between the minister, his chief of staff (Niels Arestrup) and a cabal of hard- nosed technocrats. Gradually Arthur learns the skills he needs to survive and find his place in the cut-throat world of high-level international diplomacy.

Translating what works on the written page to the big screen is a difficult task and Tavernier has plumped for the rhythm of the original comic strip, with one scene following another in quick succession. A couple of devices come straight from the comic strip format itself. Each time Vorms enters a room, for example, he is preceded by a gust of wind, a visual 'woosh', that sends books and papers flying and his language at times descends into childish invention. But Vorms is no fool. He is passionate about his role as foreign minister and is an exacting, if at times, slightly hysterical boss. L'Hermitte is perfectly cast as the academic, haughty minister who has the heart of a poet but not the talent. He shows a skill for comedy rarely exploited in recent years. One of the film's funniest scenes is a lecture by the minister to his staff on the importance of using a fluorescent pen to highlight a text delivered by l'Hermitte with just the right touch of insanity. Arestrup, as the faithful, world weary eminence grise, is the perfect counterpoint to the high-maintenance foreign minister and his Buddha-like presence often acts as a brake to stop the action from spinning out of control.

The film ends with a speech delivered by Vorms/Villepin to the UN back in 2003, the only speech ever to have received a standing ovation from the other members of the organisation. It's a moving finale to a whirlwind, behind-the-scenes tour of French diplomacy. Although some of the scenes seem to stretch credibility, Villepin is said to have seen the film and reported that it doesn't go far enough!

Quai D'Orsay (retitled The French Minister for some markets) is a likable and highly amusing French political farce from director Bertrand Tavernier, perhaps best known for 'Round Midnight. Quai D'Orsay presents the shenanigans within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with a wonderfully straight face, while delivering laugh-out-loud moments by the portfolio-ful. Thierry Lhermitte's turn as Minister Alexandre Taillard de Worms is delightfully effective, every bombastic centimetre the Gallic Jim Hacker, with no sense of the events around him, yet, unlike Hacker, he is brimful of arrogant confidence in the face of every disaster. His foil is not a scheming Parisienne Sir Humphrey, but his long suffering chief of staff Claude Maupas, excellently portrayed by Niels Arestrup. Enter Raphaël Personnaz as the youthful and politically naive Arthur Vlaminkck, then sit back and chortle as young Arthur learns the workings of the ministry the hard way, doing his best to manoeuvre through the eccentricities of the minister's characterful staff. Quai D'Orsay is an enjoyable film with plenty of smiles and laughs, yet at almost two hours, it does begin to feel a bit baggy after the first half, still well worth seeing however.

It is odd how the French talent for satire can sometimes give rise to no actual laughter. This film is one of those strange examples. The original French title is QUAI D'ORSAY, and for those who are unfamiliar with the meaning of that, it does not refer to the Musée d'Orsay so dear to all art lovers (which is inside a converted former railway station on the Quai d'Orsay beside the Seine) but to the French Foreign Ministry. Because of its address, the Foreign Ministry has throughout the whole of modern times been referred to by the French as well as all foreign diplomats simply as the 'Quai d'Orsay'. This film is a wildly satirical spoof on the lunacy that the French imagine (and who can say they are wrong?) takes place inside their Foreign Ministry. The Foreign Minister is played with rampant satirical flair and panache by Thierry Lhermitte. He portrays the Foreign Minister as a charming lunatic who constantly contradicts himself, and never, never, never stops talking. He is constantly quoting the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus (whose work survives only in fragments, many of which make great quotes), but rarely with relevance. The comedy is enhanced by the film containing many inserted full screen cards giving spoof quotations from Heraclitus which are, of course, nonsensical. If only this film showed the subtlety of satire at which the British excel, but it is too 'in your face' and slapstick. They are just trying too hard to be funny, and although they certainly succeed at being most amusing, I did not laugh once, whereas at a British film of that type I would undoubtedly have laughed often. (As for the Americans, they have never heard of subtlety in satire, and true satire is largely unknown to Hollywood, and is better found in a performance by the Second City group, who have never made it to the screen and remain firmly onstage as satirists.) The finest performance in this film is certainly by the wonderful Niels Arestrup, who despite his Danish name (his father was from Denmark) is as French as they come. He calmly runs the Foreign Ministry and deals with the continually recurring international emergencies amidst all the chaos around him, while his incompetent minister and the other hopeless staff run around in circles like mad dogs. No one ever notices that he is doing this. Let us hope that there is at least one Niels Arestrup in every French Government ministry, for otherwise the country could collapse under the weight of its collective political idiocy. And speaking of idiots, lest we forget the current President Hollande, his girl friend Julie Gayet appears in this film as one of the Foreign Ministry staff, though she makes no big impression. But then perhaps that is because I do not have a motor bike and have never learned her finer points. (Now that is subtle satire for you!) The omnipresent Jane Birkin has a good cameo in this film as a Nobel Prize-winning authoress whom the Minister wishes to meet and takes to lunch but talks so much himself that she does not get a word in. And for Jane not to get a word in is something! Hardly likely in real life. The director of this confection is the distinguished and well known Bertrand Tavernier. I wonder whether the French themselves laughed out loud at this film, and that my own laughless and wholly silent appreciation of it was merely a cultural artefact. Do I lack a Gallic organ? Such thoughts haunt me at nights.

at the first sigh, a splendid comedy. seductive for humor, impeccable performances, for the air of French style to banter itself , with grace and precise art. at the second sigh - portrait of contemporary diplomacy. the minister as image, the hard work of staff, the delicate international files, the solutions and errors and bizarre advice, the family life and the pressure of job, conflicts, expectations and selfish. a fundamental institution as a clock. or labyrinth. "Quai d'Orsay" has the virtue to be more than a good film. but a guide for see the international relations. sure, in an ironic note. but fair and useful. for understand the responsibilities of a great European power diplomacy. and for discover a new perspective about events of every day.

Anyone who's been confounded by bureaucracy at work will know that it's no laughing matter. Indeed, it can be the most frustrating thing in the world when an obvious solution presents itself, but red tape or bungling co-workers insist on getting in the way. It's a lot funnier when someone else is suffering the quiet ignominy of office politics, however, as evidenced by sparkling - if occasionally tedious - French political farce Quai D'Orsay (The French Minister).

The last thing Arthur Vlaminck (Raphaël Personnaz) expects is to get a phone call summoning him to an interview at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (known colloquially as Quai D'Orsay due to its location on the left bank of the Seine). He meets Minister Alexandre Taillard de Worms (Thierry Lhermitte) in a whirlwind interview, and is sufficiently impressed to agree to join the ministry as a speechwriter. As he meets his new co-workers, including the Minister's long-suffering chief-of-staff, Claude (Niels Arestrup), Arthur begins to realise that his boss' public persona might not quite reflect his private concerns or capabilities.

Anyone anticipating a grave, serious-minded look at the intricacies of French diplomacy should take note - Quai D'Orsay is really a raucous workplace comedy that happens to take place in the hallowed halls of the French Foreign Ministry. It's not that foreign affairs and public policy don't feature - they do. There's a ring of veracity to the proceedings, likely due to the fact that the film is based on the eponymous comic book by Antonin Baudry, which recounts his own experiences as a speechwriter for real-life Foreign Minister Dominique de Villepin.

But the emphasis here is firmly on the comedy of the situation. Arthur's optimism begins to fade as he's plunged into workaday reality, much of which involves the minister's staff frantically fixing problems while he storms around in the background and screams truisms lifted wholesale from Greek philosopher Heraclitus. There's something almost tragic to Arthur's increasingly desperate attempts to write the perfect speech for Taillard de Worms - it goes through several iterations, the focus shifting (oftentimes nonsensically) as the minister's moods dance, sway and waltz away with logic and good sense. At every turn, Claude is frustrated in his noble efforts to ward off a crisis in Lousdemistan - a surrogate for Iraq - by bickering colleagues and the fretful fluttering of his foolish boss. The film is constructed firmly around Lhermitte's breathless and, ultimately, breathtaking performance. Taillard de Worms is a character who is, in effect, a human hurricane: he literally churns up paper flurries (and thereby makes a mess) whenever he enters a room, flinging out pompous statements in jogging shorts or dragging down a meeting with non sequiturs. A lesser actor would not have been able to play the minister's curious blend of insanity and incompetence - one which somehow works just well enough to make it credible that this character is somehiin power. But Lhermitte does so with flair to spare, whether Taillard de Worms is obsessively speechifying about the importance of yellow highlighters or terrorising a Nobel Laureate at lunch.

While the film largely works quite well as a farce, Quai D'Orsay suffers somewhat in its editing. After a point, Arthur's travails and his encounters with Taillard de Worms grow repetitive and even tedious, particularly when the film nears the two-hour mark. That could be partly the point - imagine what it must really be like to live and work with someone like Taillard de Worms day after crazy day - but there's really only so much bumbling incompetence one can take before the comedy becomes a tragedy. Tavernier's film is smart and savvy in its satire but, like its main character, starts to grate on one's nerves the longer it belabours the same point.