One of the more remarkable things about Xavier Giannoli's French film The Singer is that it predates Aronofsky's The Wrestler by about two years. Like The Wrestler, Giannoli's film is about a man people of a certain age within the film's universe would no doubt look back on with fondness when thinking back to specific people within the annuls of a very specific, rather popular medium; that of music rather than professional wrestling entertainment. It is the tale of that man, much more older now, at a point in which dishevelment and old age appear to have kicked in; a realising of one's loneliness and one's stone cut chances passing one by. It is first and foremost a love story, a fascinating study of the duality that exists between the lead and another woman, whom, is rounded enough and suffers enough from her own problems to keep her from being a one dimensional love interest.The cut and dry figure of Gérard Depardieu is that of whom embodies the lead, the titular singer named Alain Moreau; a man we first see occupying a small and dingy little dressing room the local establishment appear to additionally store the vacuum cleaners inside of. Outside in the main hall, his portrait on a poster paints a far more positive image of him in his looking happy and holding a rose in the process as the place fills up with elderly people ready for a night of entertainment and socialising. The item of the strained differences in the man's existence as to what the public see and what's honestly lurking underneath, here, being the two different things which are brought to our attention. His life sees him work through the night with a band; their coming to an end with the conclusion of another gig seeing Moreau leave the establishment upon payment in the morning, both bleary eyed and a little shell shocked at the bright early light to an accompaniment of gentle electronic music. Moreau appears lonely, he sleeps at a relatively large home by himself and lives a generally muted existence with what seems to be nothing bar a pet fawn of some kind, whom totters around the house his closest form of company.The sense of life generally passing Moreau by is highlighted by way of a number of amusing quips to do with the distinction between young and old; the then and now; the modern and the classical. The item of 'older' people attending his shows is verbally illustrated by a character whom deems his audience members "too old for nightclubs" and so they attend Moreau's shows whereas Moreau's own views on the contemporary item of karaoke and the ability for any swinging-guy to have a bash at singing up on a stage, however badly, is dismissed. The greater extent of this particular statement enabling us to draw on comparisons to similar contemporary opinions extended to other art forms and mediums, namely television and cinema in the form of the rise of more online based opinions which hardened academics often state are trivialising forms of journalism if they aren't already destroying it.Through an old friend named Bruno, played by the ever dependable Mathieu Amalric so-much-so that he just appears to blend into proceedings, who used to be a bit of a gambler and now owns an estate agency; Moreau meets Marion (De France), a divorced woman who's dishevelment and downbeat nature matches that of our lead's and whom works with Bruno at the company. The subject matter and material the film eventually comes to cover is handled in a methodical and mature manner by director, also the writer, Giannoli. Moreau's organising of house visits purely to see her and the manner in which he keeps coming back neither as lecherous nor as misjudged as it might have been following the early spending of a night together. Principally, the two of them are linked more intrinsically by way of the nature of their jobs; Moreau the singer on stage at a designated place so as to guide customers through their nights out involving drinking and socialism, as Moreau himself verbally identifies that "they come here to drink champagne, that's all". In regards to Marion's role, her turning up to another designated establishment so as to show potential customers around a home they might buy bring to attention the fact that both people are present in their jobs, but not crucial; they add a dimension to an experience but appear largely unnecessary to proceedings as the greater extent of the trip unfolds around them.The character is explored in a fashion that sees come across as so much more than a mere photogenic supporting act, whom cannot get a man despite these qualities, and must act purely as the subject of another man's attraction. Their coming together is well observed and nicely unfolded; complications linked to Marion's own life situations involving grief additionally given ample attention. The film as a whole cracks along at a right old pace, its internal music propping everything up with a series of belting tracks which hop between fast and punchy numbers to slower, more resonating ballads nicely echoing the film's own ever-shifting atmosphere as the lead attempts to get to know his supporting female around the ever present Bruno. Giannoli's film is a mature mediation on middle age, a wonderfully involving tale of romantic affection and a well constructed study of two people at respective points in their lives.

The middle-age tacky singer of romantic songs Alain Moreau (Gérard Depardieu) is singing with his orchestra in the Royat Casino. When he meets the younger real-state agent Marion (Cécile De France) in the show with his friend Bruno (Mathieu Amalric), they have one night stand and Marion leaves the room without saying goodbye to him. Alain has a crush on Marion and seeks her out in her office telling that he wants to buy a house. Alain finds that she has a son and the distant Marion gets closer to Alain but the unrequited love drags him down."Quand j'Étais Chanteur" is a weird and messy romance. Gérard Depardieu and his character Alain Moreau are totally out of the league of the gorgeous Cécile De France and they do not have any chemistry along the whole story. The tacky songs of the movie are recommended for very specific audiences where I do not include myself; therefore, it is hard and boring to see Gérard Depardieu singing those songs. The footage of Stromboli (1950) is totally out of the context and last but not the least, the resemblance of Cécile De France with Patricia Arquette is amazing. My vote is five.Title (Brazil): "Quando Estou Amando" ("When I am in Love")

In Xavior Giannoli's film, an ageing lounge singer (a magnificently ramshackle Gerard Depardieu) seduces a pretty young woman; and then falls in love with her. She quite likes him, but with the gap in their ages, it's unlikely that either can be a long-term solution to the problems of the other. He then gets a chance to revitalise his career; and doesn't take it. I spent most of this film wondering when something was going to happen; in fact, almost nothing does, beyond what is predicted by the premise. Although there is sexual contact, the film can be thought of as a French equivalent of 'Lost in Translation', although without that film's annoying sense of self-reverence and faux-profundity. It makes good use of the singer's repertoire which serves as both soundtrack and commentary, the performances are nicely judged, and at the end, in spite of the absence of obvious content, I found myself oddly moved.

Depardieu has been rather untrustworthy in his choice of film roles; the occasional gems like Le Dernier Metro and Tous Les Matins Du Monde being unbalanced by strings of ordinaire throwaways, but with Alain Moreau (et son Orchestre) he has a character that really fits him in every way. Alain, as in 'Tous les Matins', is a musician who cares about his craft and feels under threat by changing fashions and by his own diminishing abilities. Supported by his faithful wife/manager (Christine Citti), he is just keeping his band scene going despite the rise of karaoke and younger, smaller, rock-based combos, when he meets Marion (Cecile de France), sparky but fragile, an estate agent. The aging and corpulent singer is used to having women swoon over him, so he gives Marion the big treatment when her boss (Matthieu Amalric) brings her to the dance hall. She resists at first, but spends the night before running off without stopping for coffee. Although Alain is not as sure of himself as he once was, he decides to pose as a house-hunter so that he can get close to Marion again - barely credible, as he already has a large rambling, crumbling house in its own grounds, with a live-in goat. She disappears for a while, as does his voice. Despite the stop-start relationship, they continue to connect somehow, and it falls into place after he decides to walk out of his chance at the Big Time in a stadium concert. There are no certainties, really, although they end up together; and the film's strength is really in recreating the tiny provincial world where Music elevates the people to a better world for just one evening at a time. Alain, in his white suit and streaked hair maintains his dignity, believes in the songs he sings for his customers, be they ever so corny (but life is corny), and Depardieu fills the skin so well. The original French title, Quand J'étais Chanteur, is better than the one we have here, with its bittersweet overtone. I'm looking forward to a CD featuring Depardieu singing Brel, including, of course, Jackie.