Though centuries in the limelight can leave a city in danger of overexposure, Paris has remained relevant through reinvention. Last year, President Nicolas Sarkozy very publicly left his wife, Cecilia, for model-turned-actress Carla Bruni, ushering in a new era marked by unapologetic sexiness and youthful vigor. Following suit, a wave of risk-taking French films barraged American screens. Museums revamped and reopened. I caught Paris, taking a cue from its political head, in the midst of making its latest power play.
Clearly, the fascination with all things French has been intensifying stateside over the past several months, especially if box-office returns are to be believed. Marion Cotillard’s role in La Vie En Rose; Poupaud’s performance in Broken English; and Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette: The film evidence points to a city on the cusp of its latest cultural revolution—embracing the next set of up-and-comers muscling their way up the ranks. Poupaud avers that French cinema is continuing to up the ante, becoming “More courageous. More ambitious. Faster.”
Media-savvy displays are taking center stage at some of the city’s most recognized landmarks, and I ambled through them all. The Champs-Élysées, the atmospherically lit, impeccably groomed central avenue, now proudly proclaims itself a Wi-Fi zone. The sprawling Hotel des Invalides (129 Rue de Grenelle; www.invalides.org), final resting place of Napoleon, now contains a 2,500-square-meter video presentation detailing the life of Gen. Charles de Gaulle, the father of modern France. The iconic Eiffel Tower (+33-1-44-11-23-23; tour-eiffel.fr) displays 20,000 twinkling lights every hour. The Arc de Triomphe (+33-1-55-37-73-77; arc-de-triomphe.monuments-nationaux.fr) —central symbol of Napoleon’s military might—now boasts a high-tech exhibit tucked inside, with multiple plasma screens and a high-power telescope.
Everywhere I turned, something new and larger than life was putting on a show. Mesdames et messieurs, this is most assuredly not your grandparents’ Paris.
Fashion Forward
Still, I’m surprised in this chic-centric city to pass teenagers on the sidewalks looking tousled, wearing Chuck Taylors with their skinny jeans. “They fight, they rock and roll, they have good clothes, good haircuts, they wear ‘sticky’ jeans, they are loud,” says Poupaud of Paris’ youngest textile tastemakers. The city’s lineup of couture creators isn’t shying away, either. Suddenly polka dots are giving way to metal grommets at Givenchy and Chanel.
The first lady of France is foremost among the new wave of haute couture wearers. Combining a heady mix of powerful fashion houses and a potent personal style, Bruni keeps all eyes obsessively fixed on France these days. Not since Marie Antoinette has a French leading lady brought such a tabloid magazine sensibility to the political scene.
I indulged in the art of window-shopping at Azzedine Alaia (7 Rue de Moussy; +33-1-42-72-19-19), which anchors the Marais’ fashion scene. The oldest neighborhood in the city and home to many of the city’s Orthodox Jews, Marais now mixes in a heavy gay contingent, as well as fashion’s more audacious up-and-comers—a magnetic combination that makes people-watching a sporting affair. After glutting on the Right Bank, I wound back along the Champs-Élysées to the avocado-green edifice of Ladurée (75 Avenue des Champs-Élysées; +33-1-40-75-08-75; www.laduree.fr), a timeless French tearoom with a tower of confections that would make Eiffel blush. Their mountainous and not-too-sweet macaroons make America’s current obsession with $5 cupcakes seem downright gauche.
Looking to prove good fashion isn’t just for the richest, I took in the city’s favorite department store monoliths Au Printemps (Tuesdays at 10 a.m.; +33-1-42-82-57-87; www.printemps.com) and Galeries Lafayette (Fridays at 3 p.m.; +33-1-42-82-36-40; www.galerieslafayette.com), taking up a couple of blocks apiece on either side of Boulevard Haussmann. The stores offer weekly free fashion shows for the masses with wallets not quite fat enough for the swank couture boutiques of Avenue Montaigne or Rue de Faubourg St.-Honoré, with the added bonus of glass-walled top-floor eateries with commanding views of the city.
State of the Arts
Photo: Marco Secchi/Scoopt/Getty Images
On April 8, the Olympic torch was waylaid in Paris on its route to Beijing. Less than a week later, on my first attempt to enter the Musée Rodin (79 Rue de Varenne; +33-1-44-18-61-10; www.musee-rodin.fr), housed in Auguste Rodin’s former home in the 7th arrondissement, another protest blocked the Rue de Varenne and my entry. But if the heart of Paris is its heart, then Rodin’s The Kiss is its signature sculpture, so I returned undaunted the next day.
For just one euro, I chose to wander the chateau’s sizable sculpture garden, where I found The Kiss and other passionate works. Through July 20, the intimate museum will also fittingly house Rodin’s lover Camille Claudel’s work. Claudel admirers who can’t make that window needn’t fret—a few of her pieces also reside in the permanent collection.
Other museums are working the “so old, they’re new again” angle. Reopened after a five-year expansion project, the Petit Palais (Avenue Winston Churchill, +33-1-42-65-12-73), dating from 1900, hosts a collection that includes Sisley, Monet, Rembrandt and Cézanne, as well as Beaux-Arts furnishings and silverworks. It’s a relatively small-scale art space, and I was besotted by having my run of the airy expanse, with its inlaid-tile spiral staircase and circular interior garden.
Across the avenue, L’Orangerie (Jardin des Tuileries; +33-1-44-77-80-07; www.musee-orangerie.fr), which threw open newly refurbished doors in 2006 after six years of renovations, delivers a one-two punch. I lost two hours in just two circular rooms full of grand-scale, 360-degree Les Nymphéas (Water Lilies) created specifically for the place by Claude Monet and donated in 1927. Downstairs, the collection of early modern icons and Fauvists—Matisse, Cézanne, Derain, Renior and Rousseau—are unleased on the walls one after another in such quick succession it seems like artistic rapid fire.
Photo: Jeffrey Kibler
“You like it here?” Poupaud asks on my last day in the city, before he kisses each of my cheeks and heads up the hill toward Montmartre, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. He doesn’t even wait for the affirmative answer—he’s part of Paris, after all, and he knows I’m powerless against it. I linger over one last café crème, ensconced in warm lights, watching the windows mirror the glow from the storefronts beyond and the beguilingly chic Parisians milling about. One must give in to the city’s considerable charms. (I’m not made of stone, after all.) Ultimately, Paris demands total surrender—and that is the essence of its power.
If you had just one night’s hotel stay left in your life, it would be a good choice to use it here. Widely considered the most estimable night’s stay in a city of powerhouse boudoirs, the Hotel de Crillon (10 Place Concorde; +33 1 44 71 15 00; www.crillon.com) drips with Old World refinement, Baccarat crystal and Louis XV commodes, and is a fashion and celebrity see-and-be scene, having hosted everyone from Jackie O. to Madonna.
It’s impossible not to wake up feeling refreshed in Hotel Le Bristol’s (112 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré; +33 1 53 43 43 00; www.hotel-bristol.com) airy, toile-bedecked rooms, but the real calling cards are the generous garden (the largest of any Paris hotel) and a yachting-inspired rooftop pool with views of
Sacré Coeur.
Oscar Wilde famously died “above his means” at L’Hotel (13 Rue des Beaux-Arts; +33 1 44 41 99 00; www.l-hotel.com) in one of only 20 velvet-swathed chambers that wind around an equally opulent spiral staircase. Intimate is the key word here, including a private pool and hammam for two that is reservation only in the old cellars downstairs.
If you are craving a stately chateau with gravitas, go forth to the Saint James Paris (43 Avenue Bugeaud; +33 1 44 05 81 81; www.saint-james-paris.com), nestled near the Champs-Élysées. Forty-eight rooms and suites don’t make the place feel any less private, especially when you’re ensconced in the library bar. The Dalai Lama stayed here recently, as well as Johnny Depp, Sophia Loren, and other celebrities craving a bit of calm.
With just 58 rooms, Hotel Duo (11 Rue Temple; +33 1 42 72 72 22; www.duo-paris.com) is a contemporary delight, combining clean lines, acid colors, and astounding street mates in the ultra-hip Le Marais neighborhood.
Why are people drawn to Paris?
It is a good place to settle down—it’s like a country house. There is a lot of culture; once you are here, you can check out the world. It’s quiet, people are intelligent, they think critically, they don’t stay on the surface.
What started your fascination with movies?
In my childhood, I would make the same kind of movies with my child mind, you know. I would play the good guy and the gangster. I’d play all the parts … I’d shoot them in my room and I didn’t show them to anyone, even my mother didn’t realize what I was doing. And when I did those [Wachowski brothers Web] tests, it reminded me of all those movies I did since I was 10: Being alone, pretending you are in a car, being bad.
Starbucks in Paris—are they an atrocity?
I like it. Because I like to walk, and I like to walk drinking my coffee.
What do you think is the next generation of French film?
The next are better. They are less shy and introverted; my generation was very shy and we had burdens to carry—and we were of the May ’68 generation. I’m not attached to the golden age of French cinema. So I think the new people will do great things. More courageous. More ambitious. Faster.
How does working on an American set differ from a French set?
I think there is more respect. More confidence in what each one is doing. They are used to being very professional [in America]. “You are here, you do your work, and it’s good. That’s why we chose you because you are the best.” When you are on set that’s it: hit your mark, do your job. We [actors] are more responsible in America. If you are not good, you are out.
Will you make more American films?
Yes. Because I like to travel, I like to meet all kinds of people. I like American movies, American directors. I like talking with different minds. It’s not that hard to connect, and once you connect, it’s a very rich communication. It can be a great exchange.
Americans are more apt to sit inside and plug in. Are you a Wi-Fi kind of guy?
I compare the Internet to the ***hole of the world. I hate it. You can get drawn in, they want you stuck in it. I don't want to be caught in this spider trap. I don't have Internet in my house.
Interesting. You're in a film about everything fast, and you hate high speed?
Speed Racer was nice. You know how they chose me? The internet. My agent called me from London and said, you have some tests for Speed Racer, can you put yourself on tape? I said I'd try; I'd never done that before. I took my laptop and with the iSight camera pretended I was driving a car, then I turned to QuickTime, and sent it through my neighbor's Wi-Fi. And it worked. They [the Wachowski brothers] called me and said come over to Berlin, we have a part for you. It was great to put myself on tape, because I'd always done that since I was a child. All by myself with my video camera.
Do you think now that you've made some American movies, more Americans will watch your French films?
That is an idea, but not many French films are translated into English. But maybe... The longer you keep things hidden, the more when they appear, they have an impact.
What's your "big break" story?
My mother was in PR, she was working with great directors like Duras, directors in France during the '70s. At one point I met an important Chilean director. My mother was working with him on one of his movies. He saw me at a press conference. I was with my mother just waiting, and he was telling stories to the journalists—he's a kind of surrealistic guy—and they all fell asleep, except me. I was the only one staying in the audience listening to him. He said, I want you to be in a movie. He took me to make a movie on a small island in Portugal where I played the devil killing everybody. I was nine. Anyway, it was a very weird movie—nowadays you wouldn't be allowed to make a movie like that. It's the story of a boy who incarnates the devil, and he comes back every ten years in the shape of a beautiful little kid and he commits murders.
Have you always worked in film, since making that first one when you were 9?
We made those first movies during the summer holidays, and when I came back to school everything was so weird. People were small and young, they were playing weird games. I preferred to go to the set.
You play a racer in this film—the truth, are you a lead foot?
I don't have my driving license. I drive in some movies, but otherwise, no. Anyway, I wouldn't have a car in Paris. It's crazy.
As bad as Rome?
You know the worst? Beirut. In Beirut you can die in a minute. ...I prefer to walk.
You were in the rock band MUD with your brother Yarol. Were you always passionate about music?
I was crazy about music. My brother is a great musician, and my mother used to date heavy metal rock stars, so I learned to play drums. I love it; I'm a big fan of AC/DC. So I loved music when I was a child, and my brother began to play guitar, and I wanted to play with him so I bought drums. Because I did that first movie, I had money, so I bought this video camera and then the drums. Very heavy hard rock, very small children. My solo album is pop. I wanted it to be pop, but then it didn't work at all. I wanted people to listen to it on the radio then whistle it in the bath. But no one did; it was not whistleable.
So you stopped?
I don't do it anymore. I am not good. It was like Jeanne Moreau. I asked her why she didn't make movies anymore, why she stopped. She said "I realized my talent was not enough for my ambition."
What are your favorite places in Paris?
I like Montmartre. I like my friend's nightclub, Le Baron—It's the most charming place. And I like Le Jardin des Plantes.
Doesn't it bother you, all the tourists in Montmartre?
I love tourists. They make me feel like I am not at my home, like I am traveling and I am a tourist myself. They are an entity, they are not one person, two people, they are part of the landscape. It's anonymity, you know.—JR
