The mythic Armenian and the legendary Frenchman: The Film “Monsieur Aznavour”
The film “Mr. Aznavour” (2025, Mehdi Idir and Gran Korp Malad) narrates the cinematic story of how Şanur Aznavuriyan became Charles Aznavour, the European equivalent of Frank Sinatra, with over 1,200 songs and 200 million records sold. It serves as a classic biopic and a synthetic acculturation of Hollywood narratives, ranging from “La Bamba” (1987, L. Valdez) to “Elvis” (2022, B. Luhrmann), all set within a French context. The prefix “Mr.” signifies respect for a gentleman, a maestro, a symbol, and one of the few sacred figures (as French critics often refer to the term hagiography) of French chanson.
The film tells a conventionally narrated story, chronologically divided by the titles of famous hits. Each title of a chanson marks the beginning of a new cinematic and life chapter. The personal and, above all, professional journey of a child from an Armenian refugee family traverses war years and lesser-known episodes involving the resistance movement and the hiding of Jews. It follows his initial steps on the stages of Paris, the secure monotony of years spent in Canada, up to the glories of “Olympia,” “Carnegie Hall,” and worldwide tours.
Hypnotic Rhythm
The emotionally hypnotic rhythm is enhanced by chansons that comment on (“She” with the fateful encounter with Uli (Petra Silander)), recount (“Deux guitars”), foreshadow (“La Bohème”), and illustrate a glorious era. The intimate tone is deepened by the film’s culmination in investigative endeavors, its personal archives, and well-researched biographies (notably “Retiens la vie,” 2018), along with family involvement, as Aznavour’s son-in-law, Jean-Rachid Kalous, is also the film’s producer. The poetization of Parisian boulevards and corners, the music “under the roofs of Paris,” and the voice of growth on the streets and “sidewalks” are beautifully contributed to by co-editor and co-screenwriter Gran Korp Malad, i.e., Fabien Marsaud, a poet, musician, director, and versatile artist from working-class neighborhoods, who was specially chosen and invited to articulate the essence of this artistic soul.
The “heart” of the film is encapsulated in the performance of the leading role by Tahar Rahim, an actor of Franco-Algerian descent. He overcomes any lack of physical resemblance to the famed singer after weeks of dedicated work mastering Aznavour’s distinctive stage choreography and captivating gravelly, “cracked,” and subdued voice, which sang everything from sensual American jazz to interpretations of Russian romances and authentic French chansons (Rahim performed all the numbers in the film).
Tahar Rahim does not merely act; he embodies Charles Aznavour, which aligns with the film’s premise that art must be grounded in lived and emotionally experienced realities. This leads to the equation that chansons mirror existence itself, and through Aznavour on stage, his private life radiates. A narratively and realistically significant character is Édith Piaf, who embodies both the benevolent and somewhat “mephistophelic” spirit of Aznavour’s career (accompanied by the iconic scene where Édith introduces Aznavour to Gilbert Bécaud). However, the commendable Marie-Josée Croze is yet another figure among the illustrious Évelyne Bouix (“Édith et Marcel,” 1983, K. Lelouch) and Marion Cotillard (“La Vie en rose,” 2007, O. Dahan), but not better than them.
Flavor of the Pomegranate
The film’s structure, which begins and ends with two documentary montage sections, spans a chronological range of events and offers a diverse reading spectrum of the film. It covers everything from the historical narratives associated with the 1915 Armenian genocide to the ode to French chanson as the context from which Aznavour emerges, having become its monument and a “symbol of French culture” in the eyes of the world.
The prologue features images of the suffering of refugees and survivors of the Turkish genocide against Armenians. A perceptive viewer will not miss a shot of exhausted people climbing external steps onto a ship (the colorful paraphrase of a documentary footage can be found in the film adaptation of Franz Werfel’s novel from 1982). This refers to the historical episode wherein a French ship rescued the last heroes of the Siege of Musa Dagh, bringing them to safety in Port Said and Cyprus. The struggle, hope, and salvation of survivors from “Moses’ Mountain” were immortalized by Viennese writer of Jewish descent, Franz Werfel, in his novel “The Forty Days of Musa Dagh,” which swiftly became a symbol of Jewish suffering and the quest for homeland, refuge, and shelter for a wandering people in Palestine, later continuing through the Holocaust. It is perhaps for this reason that in the film “Mr. Aznavour,” questions about his Jewish identity arise frequently. He responds that he is Armenian, a long and unknown yet fundamentally identical story of the oppressed “other.”
Scenes from the film’s beginning, enveloped in set pieces and nostalgia, depict life in a refugee family—an eccentric and impractical father, a warm, emotional, and pragmatic mother, and a sister as an everlasting support—strongly evoke the autobiographical films of Ashot Malakian, also known as Henri Verneuil: “588, Rue Paradis” (ironically “Paradise Street,” 1992) and “Mayrig” (“Mother,” 1993). Verneuil also directed one of the most famous titles of the French “crime” genre, “The Sicilian Clan,” featuring genre stars and global cinematic icons such as Jean Gabin, Lino Ventura, and Alain Delon, confirming yet another giant in the Armenian-French constellation.
A Memorable Encounter
The montage sequence towards the end tracks Aznavour’s global tour, which serves as a final affirmation of a success that heals the painful wounds of private life and serves as an ode to French chanson and the French biopic genre. Alongside films about Édith Piaf, Serge Gainsbourg, Dalida, as well as Coco Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent, or Simone Veil, “Mr. Aznavour” crafts a comprehensive and profound tribute to the entirety of French culture understood as the heart of “civilisation européenne,” unique in its intercultural differences as well as in its connections. Is it any wonder that “Mr. Aznavour” was showcased at the grand opening of the 2024 Cannes Film Festival?
In the sequence, I did not find footage from Belgrade, where Aznavour performed twice, in 1969 and 1977, and later returned in a film incarnation, closing the circle from Aznavour in the House of Labor Unions to “Mr. Aznavour” at MTS. I had the unbelievable fortune of meeting him after the second concert, and to this day, I believe that I, as a nearly mute twelve-year-old, managed to speak in perfect French. I may misremember his dark eyes, but I surely recall his gaze, which carries a primal sorrow. That look is lacking in Tahar Rahim, who instead gives Aznavour a sharpness of longing for freedom, reminiscent of the inmate he portrayed in Audiard’s “A Prophet” (2009).
The flaws stemming from the film’s hypertrophic runtime of 133 minutes fade away in the film’s crescendo, as Aznavour returns to his native Armenia, a land devastated by an earthquake. Gazing at biblical Ararat, its snow-covered peaks, he remains a mythical Armenian and a celebrated Frenchman, a citizen of the world, a herald of intertwined emotions, a “chansonnier” who caresses time, untouched by the harsh passage of time.
