Sex, Lies and Aristocrats at Versailles

The Academie Francaise's much-publicized hysteria over the bastardization of the French language by Americanisms is only the tip of France's long-standing obsession with language. In the 18th-century court portrayed in "Ridicule," the skillful manipulation of language is the sole means of gaining and keeping social status. The world of Versailles is shaped by what they refer to as "wit." Lest one believe that this wit is based on the crass premise of merely producing amusement, one French noble dismisses disdainfully the "hew-mah" of the English as being far inferior to French wit. The use of wit is sadistic, funny only if you enjoy seeing people being cut down with a single brittle and elegant phrase. For all its elaborateness, it is a savage and blood-thirsty game, and one whose consequences can be deadly.

Into this milieu rides Gregoire Ponceludon de Malavoy (Charles Berling). Despite his lengthy name, by court standards he is a mere country bumpkin. His ancestral territory is a treacherous swampland, a breeding-ground for disease-bearing mosquitoes, and his people are dying. Gregoire is something of an engineer and he has a plan to drain the marshlands, for which he needs the help of the King. At court, he quickly discovers that access to the King is all but impossible for a humble man of the country. The only possible route is to scale the court hierarchy and win admission to the king's presence. Needless to say, the court has no interest in the drainage of the swamps. As one courtier remarks, "Those poor peasants! They're not only dying, they're boring." Gregoire has to play the game of Versailles on their terms, keeping his motivation in the back of his mind to drive him on, as do the other courtiers.

Like the novel/play/movie "Dangerous Liaisons," "Ridicule" captures the air of performance that pervades every aspect of court life. Only the audiences vary. Makeup and masks are only the exterior manifestations of the guile that these lords and ladies use to disguise their intentions. "Dangerous Liaisons," however, contents itself with skimming along the surface of social encounters where poisoned barbs are cushioned in silken words. "Ridicule" actually takes us behind the scenes. Gregoire is a quick thinker, with an aptitude for making perfect verbal ripostes, but he lacks finesse. Luckily, a sympathetic doctor agrees to sponsor him at court, and so Gregoire's education begins. Voltaire is the God of Versailles, and his works are its Bible. Through the doctor, Gregoire learns the rules underlying the smooth facade of verbal exchanges. "Be witty, sharp and malicious," is the basic idea, but he must never laugh at his own jokes. A good jab can make him the talk of the court, but unfortunately, so can a bad one. We see the doctor agonizing the next day about a comeback that he had jumbled the night before.

As if by coincidence, the doctor has an incredibly beautiful daughter. Born "in the age of Rousseau," Mathilde (Judith Godreche) is the antithesis of the world of Versailles that Gregoire is increasingly being drawn into. She, too, has a scientific mind and like Gregoire, is sacrificing her person for her goals by marrying a rich old nobleman who will finance her experiments. Their potential for romance is threatened by the single-mindedness that characterizes them both, and also by Gregoire's increasing involvement in the court. This also means involvement with the unofficial reigning queen of the court, the widow de Blayac (Fanny Ardant). The widow de Blayac is almost a spiritual twin of Dangerous Liaisons' calculating Marquise de Merteuil. Both of them rule with Machiavellian minds and Voltairian wits. She is the master player that Gregoire has to confront from whom he learns to play the game of seduction as well as the game of wit.

The director has a wonderful gift for setting up these situations which illustrate visually the key themes of the film. Gregoire is an outsider at court, but an insider at the Doctor's country mansion. One scene shows him learning to dance in the doctor's parlor with Mathilde, as young Paul, a deaf-mute of the Doctor's household, mimicks them, dancing alone in the field outside. Or the masquerade scene, where Gregoire is barefaced, ringed by the towering wigs and vulture-like beaks of the masqueraders, the sole non-player.

Another wonderful scene is the demonstration of the abilities of several deaf-mutes from a special education center. The deaf-mutes are at first an object of ridicule for the courtiers. After all, since they can't speak, they are necessarily excluded from the routine exchanges of quips that form the backbone of court life. But as the scene progresses, the deaf-mutes respond with their own wit, in their own language, with "plays on signs" that the court cannot understand, because they in their turn are excluded by language.

Like every other aspect of this film, The cinematography is perfect, adapted to the moods of each scene. The camera follows court conversations with avid interest, breathlessly tallying the putdowns and comebacks. Hand-held, it wavers gently during a love scene, in accordance with the tenderness of the moment. It also plunges through fields and over water for a flight to the countryside. Or it remains breathlessly still and grave for a duel, one of the sober possible endings to this game of wit.

"Ridicule" is indeed the recurrent theme of this world. Being ridiculed and being made ridiculous are the constant threats spurring the dangerous social interactions, and yet ridicule itself leads to dishonor and even death, by duel or suicide--endings with nothing witty about them, leading eventually to the questioning of all that this world and its ways exemplify.