A Kyiv festival takes on the outrageous French celebrity.
pop singer was such a phenomenon – such a miracle of dissolution, of sleazy charisma – it’s hard to know what to say about him. What more needs to be written about the Sistine Chapel? Or anything else that’s perfect in its own way?
I discovered Gainsbourg back in college. A classmate had brought back from France the whole Gainsbourg recorded opus, and we’d sit around in our filthy flannel shirts, getting loopy on cherry malt liquor ($3.89 a case on 125th St. in West Harlem – if you’re ever in the neighborhood, try some), and snickering over the compact discs. Serge was gloriously offensive, peering out from the record covers with his simian, unshaven face, his scummy sex appeal, his loucheness. He was the ultimate Left Bank ponce.
And while much of the music was twee French pop, some of it was not. Some of it was visionary. Sure, everyone knows “Je t’aime…moi non plus,” his classic, slimy duet with Jane Birkin. But there’re also lesser-known gems like “Melody Nelson,” in which a purring Gainsbourg sucks onto an innocent English girl, whose part is sung by Birkin; “69, l’annee erotique,” the title of which speaks for itself; and “Lemon Inceste,” which I guess does too. Most of the great songs from Gainsbourg’s more than three-decade-long career are from the 1960s and 1970s, because he had no shame, and just stole whatever was going on in pop at the moment. Sixties mellotron-and-feedback psychedelia and seventies reggae are better to steal than eighties techno-pop, and lent themselves better to Gainsbourg’s profane mumblings.
Most of his great songs, too, make you want to wipe yourself down with rubbing alcohol. That’s the strange Gainsbourg magic.
Gainsbourg was also known for other things besides music. One of them was being a pain in the ass. He’d do things like burn money on TV, or appear half-clothed in the “Lemon Inceste” video with his teenage daughter (the now-well-known actress Charlotte Gainsbourg), or come out with a reggae version of the “Marseillaise,” to the outrage of the Legion of Honor.
Another thing he did was get over on really good-looking women. He was involved not only with English model-actress Birkin, but also with Brigitte Bardot. No surprise. He was Serge.
Gainsbourg did more than just womanize and slime around producing sometimes brilliant, sometimes brilliantly terrible pop. He also made some movies, such as the love story “Je t’aime…moi non plus,” named after the song, and starring Birkin. And he wrecked his heart and liver with hard living, dying too young in 1991.
It’s his film work, actually, that’s at the center of this current festival. Besides the film version of “Je t’aime,” you’ll be able to see “Charlotte Forever,” which stars Gainsbourg as a screenwriter in (here we go again) an incest-tinged relationship with his daughter. With typical Gainsbourgian good taste, his real daughter plays his daughter.
The festival will also feature a photo exhibit and a concert by the French group Scenic Railway.
Play “Mr. Iceberg,” dudes!
Serge Gainsbourg Festival
(Nov. 4-7). Films: “I Love You”;
“Je t’aime…moi non plus”; “Charlotte Forever.”
Photo-exhibition: “From Gainsbourg to Gainsbarre.”
Performance by Scenic Railway.
Dovzhenko Film Studios
For invitations, please contact the French Cultural Institute
(102 Gorkoho, 269-4157/2759).
