In this country, vices are without consequence,
but ridicule can kill.
Duke of Guinea

Patrice Leconte directed this film in 1996 based on a script written by Remi Waterhouse. Leconte’s previous work has reached the United States only sporadically, but two of his better known films are Monsieur Hire (1989) and The Hairdresser's Husband (1992), both of which related to obsessive sexual fantasies. In Ridicule, Leconte tackles the mannered shallowness of the court of Louis XVI, in 1783.

Historical Background: Louis XVI (1754-1793) was the last French King. After the early deaths of his father and elder brothers, he became dauphin of France. He married Marie Antoinette in 1770 and succeeded his grandfather as King in 1774. The France that he inherited was burdened by debt and imposed heavy taxes on the citizenry in order to fund the obscenely lavish lifestyle of the French court and aristocracy. Louis appointed ministers (Turgot for finance, Malesherbes for interior, and Vergennes for foreign affairs) who began to address the worst of the financial problems of the country by reducing some of the more onerous taxes, but the opposition of the aristocrats was so strong that Turgot was forced to resign. His replacement, Necker, was also later sacked when he proposed taxes on the nobility. Ridicule is set in 1783 when the court was still in full flower but with France on the precipitous decline that would lead to its bankruptcy in 1788 and the storming of the Bastille on July 14th, 1789. One major factor in the anger of the French peasants and their hatred of the nobility was the King’s wife, Marie Antoinette, who was the most openly arrogant and staunch defender of the prerogatives of the aristocracy. As had been the case since Louis XIV (see The Rise of Louis XIV), style in the French court was everything. In the court of Louis XVI, however, it being the age of Voltaire, style was defined not only by elegant costumes and ornate dwellings, but by one’s manner of speech as well. The cleverest of the clever had a knack for repartee that was sharp, witty, and oh so malicious. The bon mot was preferred to the rapier for the slicing up of one’s opponents.

The Story: An opening scene (preceding the credits) sets the tone for the film. A minor character pays a visit to a decrepit old courtier who had humiliated him at the court of Louis XVI many years earlier, nicknaming him the Marquis Stumblebum. This ridicule had taken hold and the man had soon found himself exiled from the court and his life and prestige ruined. He has come to take his revenge. The old man can no longer speak and depends on a bell to call for help. The offended gentleman seizes the bell, pulls out his member, and urinates on his old adversary – all shown in excruciating detail in the film. He then leaves, advising the help that the old man had apparently “forgot himself” in his excitement. We gather from this opening that ridicule counts for everything in 18th century France.

Following the credits, we meet the film’s main protagonist, the Baron Gregoire Ponceludon de Malavoy (Charles Berling). He is a provincial gentleman who looks over his peasant workers with admirable interest in their welfare, but, unfortunately, his property is situated on marshland where the waters are pestilent and the mosquitoes transmit feverish disease. The baron has studied water engineering and has a plan for draining the land so that it will be tillable, increasing both productivity and the quality of life of the peasants. What he requires is a grant and the only potential source for such funding is the government of Louis XVI in Versailles.

In Versailles, the Baron encounters bureaucratic red tape from both the right and the left. The rightwing elements of the court engage only in corruption, currying the favor of the King, and exchanging favors for political advantage. The leftwing eschews patronage but buries initiatives in the form of “studies” that are never read. The Baron is soon accosted on the highway by a thief and the beating he receives serendipitously brings him into contact with a physician and the Marquis de Bellegarde (Jean Rochefort). The latter takes a shine to the young Baron and takes him under his wing, teaching him how to succeed in the Versailles court. “Serious topics are deplored,” he tells his young protégé. “Puns are the death of wit.” “Never laugh at your own jokes.” “Be sharp, witty, and malicious!” Soon our young hero, who is blessed with something of a natural wit, has learned to survive as a lamb-in-disguise among the wolves. He quips and wields the double-entendre with the best of them. It doesn’t hurt that he also comes with a pedigree.

The Baron also meets the pure, comely, and voluptuous daughter of the Marquis, Mathilde de Bellegarde (Judith Godreche). They are drawn to one another, seemingly by animal magnetism, but plentiful obstacles stand between them. Mathilde is simultaneously surprisingly liberated for a gal of the 18th century and all too ready to throw herself into feminine servitude. She has a surprising acumen for science and longs to perfect a diving rig. On the other hand, she has voluntarily signed a contract of marriage with a wealthy and lecherous elderly gentleman, Monsieur de Montalieri (Bernard Dheran), and the wedding merely awaits the death of his current sickly wife. For his part, the Baron soon finds himself involved with an influential woman of the court, Madame de Blayac (Fanny Ardant). He is using her in order to get the King’s ear, she knows it, but doesn’t really mind so long as he learns to hide his insincerity so that she can yield without dishonor. This is how the games are played at court.

The villain of the piece is another lover of Madame de Blayac, the Abbot de Vilecourt (Bernard Giraudeau). He is a prince of poisonous put-downs – malicious, razor sharp coup de mots. He has his way, scheming alongside the Madame, until he dazzles the court with an especially witty “proof of God’s existence.” Then, in a moment of misguided arrogance, he offers to take the other side and prove God’s nonexistence. “The soul of wit is to know one’s place” and blasphemy does not sit well with the King.

Themes: One theme of Ridicule is the pernicious effect of excessive concentration of wealth on the morale as well as the financial health of a country. The lavish court of Louis XVI and the lifestyle of the aristocratic courtiers drove France into bankruptcy, brought on the French Revolution, and, in the end, cost Louis his head. The man simply had no head for figures. While he ruled, France was in decay, destroyed by its own propensity for favoritism. The viewer holds one distinct edge over the haughty aristocrats of this film knowing that they will all soon plummet into the bottomless abyss of the Revolution. The moral dilemma of the film belongs to the Baron. He must choose between retaining his purity and sincerity while his peasants die or participating in the shallow and dishonest intrigues of the court to advance his worthy cause.

That much of the story of 18th century France, however, was hardly unique and could be told in relation to many other countries, times and places. The second and somewhat unique theme of Ricicule is the power of language – the ability of a few cleverly chosen words to elevate or destroy. Louis’s was a court that valued caustic one-liners and acidic comebacks above all else. The way to the King’s side in that hostile environment was via a sharp turn of phrase. One should understand, however, that it was not intelligence per se that was in vogue. As important as was wit to the value of a remark, it was equally important that it be devoid of substance. The poor Baron quickly came to understand that no one in Louis’s government or court cared to hear about pestilent swamps, engineering projects, or, especially, sob stories about the suffering of peasants. Sincerity, honesty, and compassion were distinctly out of style but manipulation, seduction, and heartless ridicule were the currency of the day. In short, it was a time of shallowness somewhat like our own! In the American of today, elections are decided by political infomercials. A single ill-judged word or phrase can result in public humiliation and political death. Never mind the reality of position papers, platforms, experience, or track record – image is everything! The superficial dominates the substantive. A single phrase or even an innuendo that comes to life sometime in October will decide a country’s future come November. We – the court of American public opinion – bear an unseemly resemblance to the court of Louis XVI and its infatuation with superficiality.

Now (wandering off topic for just a moment), since we’re talking about bon mots, here’s my humble offering for the day: Brevity may be the soul of wit, but a soul in court wearing half-briefs is just a half-wit. So . . . . how do you like my chances of impressing His Majesty?

Production Values: The script is very nicely paced and clever up to a point, but fails in several respects. First, the characters do a lot more talking about wit than exhibiting it. The array of one-liners and comebacks are not really all that stellar. Secondly, Mathilde as a character is really not all that credible. Other than Madame Curie, there were precious few women with an interest in science prior to the twentieth century. Thirdly, the plot really doesn’t wrap up in any very convincing way. The last third, or so, of the narrative is rather weak. Ironically, Ridicule’s principal theme and main weakness are the same: a preponderance of style over substance. But, oh what style! As a period piece, Ridicule is everything that a film-lover could desire. Frame after frame is filled with lavish décor, elaborate wigs, and ornate costumes. Many of the scenes were actually filmed in the gardens at Versailles.

Charles Berling was a newcomer in this film but gave a commendable performance that earned him a later role in L’Ennui (1998). Fanny Ardant delivered possibly the best performance of this film as the mostly malevolent Madame. She has a substantial resume that includes The Woman Next Door (1981), Life is a Bed of Roses (1983), Confidentially Yours (1983), Melo (1986), and The Family (1987). Judith Godreche had a poorly written role to play and, on top of that, her cleavage steals most of the scenes in which she appears. Her acting goes relatively unnoticed! She appeared earlier in The Disenchanted (1990) and, later, in The Man in the Iron Mask (1998). Jean Rochefort, who played the Marquis, has made a career as a long-faced character actor in films such as The Tall Blond Man with One Black Shoe (1972), The Clockmaker (1973), and The Hairdresser's Husband (1992).

Bottom-Line: Ridicule won four Cesar Awards and was nominated in the Best Foreign-Language Film category at the American Academy Awards. It’s splendid as a period piece and its script includes some witty word games. The performances are solid. It’s main weaknesses are a lack of substance and an unsatisfying denouement. I recommend it but not highly. Viewers with a taste for period pieces will probably be the ones who will find it most entertaining. Ridicule is in French with English subtitles and has a running time of 102 minutes. It is rated R, mainly, I would think, due to the raunchy opening scene, as the rest of the film is pretty much PG.

Recommended:
Yes

Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age