Opinion A silent movie that says it all

There were hosannas for Dujardin across the ideological spectrum in the French press. His aquiline profile illuminated the front pages of L’Humanité,whose editor emphasised the state’s role in financing the film. Le Figaro described Dujardin as “a symbol of value” for France — a value,however,that seems to have little to do with state subsidies. La Voix du Nord,which began life as a resistance journal during World War II,declared,in a graceful pun on both the silence of the film and its own name,that Dujardin’s victory left them “voiceless.”

This was not the case,of course,for France’s politicians. President Nicolas Sarkozy saluted Dujardin’s exceptional English at the ceremonies: “He was fantastic because his English was understandable.” All the while,his staff pointed out,if the Socialists have their way with the proposed 75 per cent tax on France’s wealthiest citizens,Dujardin would pack his bags for Hollywood — this time,the real one.

For his part,the Socialist candidate for president,François Hollande,praised Dujardin’s Oscar as a victory for l’exception française — one based not on the actor’s English,but (once again) on the culture ministry’s support for films that could not be made elsewhere. There was no need to add that by elsewhere Hollande meant the United States. His staff did not say,however,that if Hollande became president whether he would exceptionally excuse Dujardin’s tax rate in order to keep him in France.

Welcome to France’s new Eiffel Tower — or so might Roland Barthes claim,were he alive today. Little more than 50 years ago,the French literary theorist published a small book called Mythologies. In a series of essays,Barthes dissected the everyday objects that furnished the French cultural and physical landscape. From the Citroën DS to women’s magazines,Barthes peeled back,layer by layer,the meanings of objects that seemed as empty as,well,the Eiffel Tower.

In fact,Gustave Eiffel’s creation is the subject of Barthes’s most famous essay. As Barthes notes,there is “virtually no Parisian glance it fails to touch at some time of the day.” But not only does it serve as a common point for Parisians,the towering iron lattice “attracts meaning the way a lightning rod attracts thunderbolts.” Yet this is less because of its height than its emptiness: The Eiffel Tower,Barthes suggests,is so compelling because there is no there there. “This pure — virtually empty — sign — is ineluctable,because it means everything.”

Dujardin has become a signifier as looming and elusive as the Eiffel Tower. Overnight,thanks to a silent film,he has come to mean everything for the French public. The muteness of his character,the fin-de-siècle contours of his face,the black-and-white backdrops to his scenes are themselves screens,Barthes might say,against which the French are projecting their hopes and fears.

For some,Dujardin embodies a certain idea of French cinema; for others,he represents the surrender of that idea to American tastes. For some,the film reminds the world that the French claim of cultural exceptionalism is valid; for others,the film reveals that such exceptionalism requires powerful American backers.

Of course,Dujardin signifies no less for the American public than he does for the French public. What we see,though,is quite different from what the French see. Not only is it a French movie made in America,but a French movie with neither subtitles nor dubbing. The accent of even Maurice Chevalier in Gigi,or Leslie Caron in An American in Paris wears thin after a while. We prefer our Frenchmen and Frenchwomen silent. Dujardin’s handlers understand this,which is why they kept a tight lid on the news that a scene from his upcoming movie,Les Infidels,contains a tasteless joke involving 9/11.

Needless to say,the scene was cut for the American market. Vive The Artist — and vive la différence!

The writer teaches history in the Honors College at the University of Houston