The peculiar history of people breaking into song
Like most everyone these days, I consume a lot of media but forget the finer points of the enjoyed thing once the consumption’s done. I blank on the name of the author whose op-ed I re-tweeted only hours before; I forget the title of the book I was mad about last week. But I remember every second of a French film I saw in 2001.
Let me preface this by saying that I’ve always been a Romain Duris fan. The first time I experienced the swarthy genius of this compact French actor was on a date in college — there was an international film festival going on and I chose “Gadjo Dilo” to see. I was completely taken by Duris’ interpretation of a grieving music journalist on the hunt for his deceased father’s favorite singer in Romania; my companion was not. We did not date again.
Fast forward four years, I actually met Duris in a Paris glam club, Pulp. This cemented a standing belief from 2001 onwards that I was fated to be with this French actor — after all, he saved me from having a second date with an American. This belief cemented when Duris bought me a pack of cigarettes from the bar, but began to crack when he introduced me to his coked-out friend with the instructions that he’d be a “bon petit copain” before spending the rest of the evening waltzing with a subwoofer in the corner of the club. I digress, but wouldn’t you digress if you had…
