Le Magnifique (1973)

"Devoured by a shark in a telephone booth..."

‘Jacqueline Bisset: the girl next door…’

Le Magnifique: Jacqueline Bisset, Jean-Paul Belmondo, and the Romance of Paris.

One of the many things I like about old films is the way they improve with age, developing a patina, much like a fine old claret, whisky, or cognac. In Phillipe de Broca’s spy comedy, Le Magnifique (1973), aka The Man from Acapulco, aka How to Destroy the Reputation of the Greatest Secret Agent, there’s an extra layer of fantasy. François Merlin (Jean-Paul Belmondo) is broke — a divorced, struggling writer, banging out endless, trashy pulp paperback thrillers (typewriter and Gauloise) from his shabby Parisian flat, in the manner of Ian Fleming gone wrong: super suave, blow-dried Bob Saint-Clar (Sinclair?), possibly British, most certainly an agent of America; glamour puss Tatiana, his English sidekick; and Evil Genius, Colonel Karpov. That’s fantasy numéro un. It’s a bit like The Prisoner (1967), Late Avengers (1968-9) or Batman (1966) when television went bonkers and lost the plot: zany, saturated, technicolorful camp psychedelia — you know, midgets dressed up as Napoleon, red carnations in brass tubas, shoot-outs at the OK Corral, that sort of thing.

And yet, now, with the passing of time, we can add an extra layer — call it fantasy numéro deux. The romance of Paris in the early 1970s: a presidential Citroën DS in black, pollarded limes in the Jardin du Luxembourg, a grey 2CV van, silvery rooftops, television aerials and dormer windows (like Disney’s The Aristocrats (1970), rain streaming down greasy windows, and the wonder that is Jacqueline Bisset — as the girl next door. Of course, back in 1973, when Le Magnifique was released, none of that existed. It was just modern-day, ordinary life.

‘Suave, blow-dried Bob Saint-Clar…’

But it’s more than nostalgia. Readers may be surprised to learn that, actually, I’m anti-nostalgia. Wary of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Nothing worse than a sad, old, long-haired git in stained T-shirt and flabby jeans, rabbiting on about Prog Rock (as much as I like it), Reading University and The Old Grey Whistle Test or The Stones (as much as I like them). You know, “Those were the days, my friend.” Things weren’t necessarily better back then, although life was simpler and certainly less coarse. But certain times and places do have an appeal.

And to that time traveller’s topographical list, we must add France in the late 1960s and very early 1970s. The France of Les Biches (1968), La Piscine (1969), La Femme Infidèle (1970) and The Day of the Jackal (1973). The France of old men playing boules, pinball machines, white garden chairs in wrought iron, raked gravel, Pcshitt lemonade (which came in those delightful frosted glass bottles) — and vending machines found outside shops, with coloured plastic balls, in primary reds, yellows, blues and greens, which cracked open to reveal a special prize. And it’s easy to understand the appeal of Dirk’s old stone farmhouse in Provence, found near the sunny scented uplands of Grasse. And why he moved there: then rustic (in 1970) with olive trees and views stretching to the glittering cobalt of the Côte d’Azur. I would have bought — and done up — the next-door hovel like a shot. Altho’ these days, zooming in on satellite views via Google Earth, Dirk’s idyll, alas, now appears to be surrounded by suburban development: the luxury villas, swimming pools and electric gates (Attention! Chien méchant!) of the rich.

‘Glamour puss Tatiana…’

I am, of course, a huge fan of Ms. Bisset, as readers may remember, and we need to cover more of her films at a later date. The Mephisto Waltz (1971), Truffaut’s Day for Night (1973) and Claude Chabrol’s La Ceremonie (1995) immediately spring to mind. And, in a strange way, I think, she’s perfectly cast as the plaited and denimed Christine, François’ neighbour in the apartment above, an English sociology student. She’s as brilliant in the ‘girl-next-door’, ‘come to borrow a pint of milk’ roles as the more obvious glamorous stuff —Miss Goodthighs in Casino Royale (1967), Laura in The Thief Who Came to Dinner (1973), or Countess Andrenyi in Murder in the Orient Express (1974). And once you get your head around the fact that all the zany, slapstick James Bond spoof stuff in Le Magnifique — the evil sharks, Mexican beach resorts, torture chambers and huge American cars — is actually all in the head of this loser of a thriller writer, everything falls into place — and the film becomes something much more interesting.

Le Magnifique (1973) has, over the years, acquired cult status, at least in France, and I was pleased to discover a plethora of positive, fond and generally upbeat reviews on IMDb. ‘Surprisingly good’, ‘Jacqueline Bisset is insanely hot’, ‘A brilliant confrontation between Belmondo and de Broca at their artistic peak’, ‘The French Paris when it Sizzles’. One might watch it for the first twenty minutes and think, “Oh, God, yawn, not another Bond spoof”, yet by the end of the film, entirely changed your mind and even found it touching. Like so many of the films we’ve covered on WEEKEND FLICKS. Cinema for Grown Ups it just has that certain je ne sais quoi. And there’s the added bonus of a Claude Bolling soundtrack.

France in the early 70s: Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jacqueline Bisset in Le Magnifique (1973).

I watched Le Magnifique (1973) on Amazon Prime Video, where it’s a freebie for Amazon Prime subscribers. It’s also available on DVD and Blu-ray. I couldn’t find the complete film on YouTube, but if you’re clever, it might be there.

Checking the archive, I’m reminded that the very first post on WEEKEND FLICKS. Cinema for Grown Ups dates from December 2023. The great idea (which, like Archimedes, came to me in the bath) was to create a feel-good film newsletter for subscribers to enjoy, and hopefully use, over the weekend — inspired by the old LWT ident — when, at Friday teatime, earnest Thames Television handed over to the racier London Weekend. So here’s a quick word about the paid subscription, which costs £5 a month or £50 a year. Paid subscribers receive their own special post on Friday mornings, special additional posts (when I can, and please bear with me on that), and access to the entire archive — now running at 152 films. The Sunday morning posts are free and can be read by anybody and everybody. I’ll be back on Friday with another recommendation. Until then. Ciao.