18th century in films /2: Ridicule, by Patrice Leconte (1996)

Survival of the wittiest.

"In this country, vices are without consequence, but ridicule can kill."

The country is France, in the years immediately preceding the Revolution. Grégoire Ponceludon de Malavoy, a enlightened but impoverished country nobleman from the Dombes, can only watch powerlessly as the local people succumb to swamp fevers. He goes to Court in hope of getting a grant for a draining project that would eradicate the disease. The atmosphere at the court, however, turns out to be just as noxious as the swamps. At first Ponceludon tries to appeal to reason and humanity to defend his cause, but to no avail; he soon understands that to get heard, he will have to speak the language of the court - irony and wit.

‘Marie-Antoinette’ vs ‘Ridicule’: A similar subject - the excesses of the French court under Louis XVI -, and two very different films. Marie-Antoinette is the sensuous reinterpretation of a period, with extravagant costumes and accessories; ‘Ridicule’ is more of a moral and intellectual portrait, equally interesting and devilishly clever.

Ridicule: one word, which sums up the ultimate disgrace that can fall upon a courtier, a word synonymous with social death, if not actual death… Outshine your rival before he humiliates you is the one rule of conduct; polite malice the dominant value. Among the most spectacular show of cruelty, the scene where fashionable Abbot Vilecourt burns the shoe of a sleeping nobleman just before his meeting with the King, that he had been waiting for months. The graphic opening scene, where a courtier avenges himself for a past humiliation on a former wit, now a mute invalid, is also most shocking.

Even the most adept eventually fall prey to ridicule, as Vilecourt – what a fitting name – discovers at his own cost. At the height of his glory and popularity, the abbot ‘proves’ the existence of God in front of an admiring court ; but, intoxicated by his success, he concludes by a boast out of place in front of a king by “divine right”: “This evening I proved the existence of God. But...I can prove the opposite if it pleases Your Majesty!” As soon as he utters this the whole court, including Vilecourt’s mistress, leave the room. It is the end of him.

The film sketches the damning portrait of a society where obscene luxury and extreme poverty lie side by side; where the destiny of a region depends on a few “bon mots” and on timely flatteries. Ponceludon himself is progressively contaminated by court manners, so that paradoxically, his final failure comes as a relief. His defeat is only temporary: the Revolution is not far, and with it, at last, the beginning of his engineering works in the Dombes.

The 18th century is also a period of fantastic scientific and intellectual progress, and the film amply shows it too. The Marquis de Bellegarde, a retired courtier who becomes Ponceludon’s mentor, is the very image of the “enlightened” nobleman. A lover of the “bel esprit”, he collects witticisms with the scientific passion of a botanist – he is one too -, classifying them into repartees, quips, wordplays, retorts, epigrams or paradoxes. A convinced anglophile, like many of his contemporaries, he is fascinated by this elusive way of speaking that “causes laughter, but is not quite wit”, “humour” – a word first introduced in the French language by the famous wit and philosopher Voltaire (1). His daughter is a well educated, fiercely independent young woman, who relishes in daring scientific experiments. Ponceludon’s romance with her, in an idyllic nature, certainly has Rousseau-esque undertones.

Especially interesting is the inclusion of enlightened abbot Charles Michel de l’Épée, a pioneer in the education of deaf people, through the story of Paul, the Bellegardes’ deaf and dumb servant sent to his newly created institution. The abbot brings his young pupils to the Court to demonstrate their progress in front of a disbelieving audience. Deprived of speech in a society where the word rules as king, the dumb are thought to be half-wits, little better than animals, yet the audience ends up expressing their admiration by sustained applause, as the young pupils conclude their witty exchange by a play… on signs.

Although far from revolutionary in its form, Ridicule boasts superior dialogue and very good acting, and perfectly captures the 18th century zeitgeist.

(1) Voltaire, Letter to the Abbott d'Olivet, 21 April 1762.

Ridicule, a film by Patrice Leconte (France, 1996).
Starring Fanny Ardant, Charles Berling, Bernard Giraudeau, Judith Godrèche and Jean Rochefort.