Serge Renko and Cecile Cassel, The Romance of Astrea and Celadon, Rohmer, 2007
Since I don’t entirely trust Koch Lorber products (and have also lost touch with the publicist who could give ’em to me for free), I took advantage of the current attractive Pound/Dollar exchange rate and shelled out for the Region 2 UK Artificial Eye disc of The Romance of Astrea and Celadon, French master Eric Rohmer’s latest and reportedly final film. I thoroughly adored this picture when I first saw it in Toronto in 2007, but I was in something of a minority at the time. Rohmer’s period piece, set in a somehow enchanted 5th-Century Gaul, got the gas face from quite a few critics in attendance, many of whom found it so simple as to be, well, dumb.
It’s not, of course, but I’m not gonna get into that here. Instead, I’m gonna get into what the title of this post says it’s about. Now the picture is about the two impossibly attractive young Gaulish folks of the title, who get into a fight about some silly thing, after which Celadon, the guy Gaul, goes off in a huff to drown himself. The body of water he throws himself into is insufficient for the task, and he winds up unconscious downstream, where he’s rescued by the lead nymph of a gang of totally hotother nymphs. No, really, that’s what they’re called, nymphs. The chief nymph tries to enslave Celadon, who flees and finds sanctuary with a druid priest and his niece, who put him up in their castle and persuade him to dress as a girl. (It’s complicated.) When the priest announces that an upcoming event obliges a change in the castle’s sleeping arrangements, it means Celadon’s gotta bunk with a bunch of other girls, and all hell’s gonna break loose.
This is where the bit you see in the above title occurs. Celadon has to move from his bedroom, because the castle is going to be “lodging the local druids.” In the original French, he says, “donné l’hospitalité aux druids…” something or other. On the print I saw at Toronto, the subtitle read “hosting the local druids,” which is even funnier. I don’t know what’s more rib-tickling, the verb[s], or the phrase “local druids,” but it had me and my buddy Keith Uhlich chortling up a storm for a couple of minutes.
Actually, Keith and I had bonded—discovered our soul-mateyness, which has endured through one or two disagreements—over something similar on the day after we first met. It was a marathon, two-afternoon press screening of Rivette’s epochal, nearly 13-hour Out 1 at the Museum Of The Moving Image. The picture was being shown with video-projected subtitles, which were pretty good. But during the final section of the film, there’s this scene in which Michael Lonsdale, whose character we mostly see conducting endless rehearsals of an experimental production of Seven Against Thebes, has finally been pulled out of the theater and brought to a beach house. Exhausted, he nearly collapses onto a couch, and tells his friends of his feelings of woe. “I’m pretty depressed,” the subtitle was supposed to read, but the subtitler—who by this point of the film might have been similarly drained—interpolated an “a” between the words “I’m” and “pretty.” Thus, the subtitle read, “I’m a pretty depressed.” At which point Keith and I looked at each other, simultaneously making that hand gesture that people imitating Italians like to make to signify “bellisima!” or “delizioso!” or some such, and fell into a mild giggle fit. A major giggle fit just wouldn’t do at a Rivette film. After the film ended, we all (the other critics, that is) hung out for a while, very excited about what we’d seen but a little punchy, too, and it wasn’t long before we started saying “Eh, I’m‑a pretty depressed!” over and over in the best Mario/Luigi voices we could muster. We began thinking of designing t‑shirts with Lonsdale’s face on the front, the legend “I’m‑a pretty depressed” below it, and “Out 1: I Saw It.” on the back.
Aren’t you glad you’re reading this? Isn’t this more fun than following Jeff Wells as he grumbles on and on about how he hates seeing film grain on Blu-ray DVDs?
Just kidding, Jeff. Anyway, I thought this post had a point, but I guess it really doesn’t, except maybe to prove that even highfalutin film critic types can be funsy and stoopid, and isn’t that great! But mainly I just wanted to share “local druids” with you.
Put me down for one of those Lonsdale t‑shirts.
I actually think “lodging” is funnier than “hosting,” maybe due to the alliterative effect. And I do believe that “The Local Druids” would make a fine band name.
There may have been no point, but I found it pretty funny nonetheless.
Now excuse me – I gotta go lodge some local druids…
It’s impossible for me to hear the word “druids” without thinking of the “Stonehenge” number from Spinal Tap, but this iteration of the word made me take the association a step further:
“Do you know what I spend my time doing? I sleep two or three hours a night. There’s no sex and drugs for Ian, David. Do you know what I do? I find lost luggage. I locate mandolin strings in the middle of Austin! I prise the rent out of the local druids. That’s what I do.”
While I disagree wholeheartedly with his take on the film, I found “the romance…” to be absolutely brilliant, Michael tully’s review, of which I don’t have a link at that moment though its easily googleable, is hilarious. His description of that scheming fellow in the film is perfect. But yes an amazing work from rohmer.
Saw out 1 at momi as well and, well, now is not the moment to get into that but simply to say “i’m a depressed” is even better when thought of not in a Mario/luigi voice but in that distinctive add an a to the end of words when they don’t exist style of mark e. Smith.
Dear Glenn Kenny,
Sometimes, many times, I love you very much. You were the only film critic I followed for a good number of years at ‘Première’, and although I sometimes miss your voice on what was the hottie or the nottie at a recent film festival, I’ll take however your writing voice takes you.
Just wanted to let you know. Encourage you, maybe.
Wonderful anecdote, thanks for sharing.
Coming late to this, but just wanted to say how much of a pleasure it was to experience the local druids with you. I’m a no longer pretty depressed.