DVD: Paris, je t'aime

Back when I was an exchange student, I spent a giddy evening at a Biergarten overlooking the picturesque Franconian city of Bamberg. Gathered around the table that night were students and teachers of various nationalities, including my German instructor from the university.

As it happened, one of us was writing a postcard to a friend while we were all knocking back the beer, wine, and Limonade. I don't know who started it, but at one point a competition erupted in which almost everybody at the table had a go at contributing messages to the postcard, the object being to use as many different languages as possible. I scrawled a bit of Hebrew my Palestinian neighbor had taught me, and then the only Hungarian phrase I could remember (and spell), szeretlek, which just happens to mean "I love you."

I don't recall whether we ever found out how the recipient reacted to this linguistic group effort, but writing that card certainly captured some of the energy, exhilaration, and occasional absurdity of testing life within another culture.

Perhaps that memory is part of the reason one of my favorite movies of the past year is Paris, je t'aime (Paris, I Love You). This unforgettable film is a letter from abroad written by many hands and in more than one language, with an emotional range to match.

The concept by itself is intriguing: a compilation of short films, each set in a different arrondissement of Paris, with a separate director or team helming each project. Joel and Ethan Coen, Alexander Payne, Wes Craven, Gurinder Chadha, Gus Van Sant, and many others took on the challenge.

In the past several years I've often felt I was searching in vain for movies worth seeing in the theater (such a contrast to the creative richness of the '90s). The exceptions have been notable: Amelie, Waitress, Brokeback Mountain, a Hungarian film called Kontroll, and of course last year's Little Miss Sunshine.

Paris, je t'aime proved to me that it's still worth seeing a film for the first time in a darkened theater, although my first thought as the credits rolled was that I'd get the DVD when it came out.

There's more than one reason for that, of course. Yes, it was a moving, intensely memorable collection of films, but I also simply wanted to relive some of the segments, which, by turns, haunted or charmed me.

And then there's the other reaction I had at several moments: What was that?! This is not your average Parisian film, folks. Expect touches of magical realism followed by quotidian details and then a reversal of course -- several times. Bring on the ghosts, vampires, tourists who speak French with an American accent, and -- perhaps the most terrifying prospect of all -- mimes.

In fact the filmmakers have chosen to capture the garish and the mundane along with ineffable loveliness, as if to say that if life includes romantic kisses, it also promises muggings and job interviews, and while that guy you met on the boulevard or in the cafe might turn out to be your soul mate, he could also subject you to the French equivalent of "Hey, baby, what's your sign?"

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Each vignette, whether comic or tragic, touches on the fragility of happiness, of life itself:

Two young Parisians make tentative moves towards a delicate interfaith romance.

A long-married man prepares to deliver some devastating news to his wife -- or so he thinks.

An estranged couple (Ben Gazzara, Gena Rowlands) meets to finalize their divorce, gradually peeling back initial charm and civility to reveal the bitterness underneath.

An Englishwoman (Emily Mortimer) and her fiance (Rufus Sewell) panic as their romantic Paris holiday threatens to turn into a revelation of their irreconcilable differences.

A recurring theme is the intensity of the love between parent and child, with Catalina Sandino Moreno in an ironic fable about an immigrant mother, Juliette Binoche as a grief-stricken woman whose comfort comes from an unexpected source, and Dylan Gomong as a schoolboy who introduces us to his blissfully unconventional parents.

Several of the tales have ironic twists, usually with a touch of poignancy. Most haunting for me is the story of an open-hearted immigrant (Seydou Boro) whose fate is determined by chance encounters and split-second decisions.

Fortunately the mood is lightened at several key points, particularly with the adorable Mortimer-Sewell sketch, followed somewhat later by Fanny Ardant and Bob Hoskins as a more mature (?) and decidedly kinkier pair in the midst of their own spat.

And be on the lookout for a gravel-voiced Nick Nolte in the "Parc Monceau" segment, with its O. Henry twist.

The Coen brothers apparently couldn't resist putting perpetual good sport Steve Buscemi through his paces again -- though without the violent extremes of, say, Fargo or Miller's Crossing -- this time as a hapless American tourist trying out the Paris Metro system. They make great use of that distinctive Buscemi face and persona.

But perhaps the most unexpected surprise is the final film, a bittersweet gem that hides its heart beneath a comic exterior. I would just as soon leave you to discover its director, cast, and themes for yourself.

Paris, je t'aime concludes with a montage showcasing several characters, capturing hints of emotion, destiny, fulfillment, lingering grief, and then segueing into split-screen images of all the vignettes and cast members -- not unlike the concluding sequence from Love Actually. It's not quite a summing up, though perhaps I need to view it again to determine if any further plot developments really appeared. But it hints at a sense of human interconnection explored by filmmakers as disparate as Richard Curtis and Krzysztof Kieslowski.

I'll bet you never thought those two could find their way into the same blog entry, let alone the same sentence. But Paris, je t'aime inspires thoughts of that sort.