The Ryndex

We went to a spectacle last night at the Palais de Congrès in the north of Paris. The play was On achève bien les chevaux (literally They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?). It was the story of a dance marathon in the Great Depression — hungry and empty-pocketed people with nowhere else to go enter a grand contest put together by a rapacious and opportunistic showman. Somewhat depressing. It was also a film starring Jane Fonda in the late sixties.

At the intermission, Robert Hossein comes out. He was an actor in old movies (almost a hundred of them), then an important director and screenwriter, and now he’s a producer for the stage. All the French know who he is. He talks a bit about why he did this play and how much work and effort the actors put into it. He explains that none of them were particularly trained dancers at the start, and invites the audience up onto the stage to give it a go.

So Nadia and I rush up (we weren’t alone — there were probably about sixty audience members that took the chance). The band plays five or six one-minute snippets of dance music and we follow along as best we can.

Afterwards, we stand in line to shake Robert Hossein’s hand. He was very nice — not at all self-important.

I’d love to wreck the end of the play for you, because it was surprisingly depressing. What’s the opposite of uplifting?

I’ve read English commentary on French theatre that claimed that the French are superior because they don’t demand a happy ending, or even a clear ending. The play just ends, and it’s good.