Carambolages

Carambolagesⁱ is as tedious piece of socialistoid propaganda as any ever produced.

By its darken lights, the Man (in a rather Julien Sorel take of the psycho-socialist triad) is beloved by his secretary, whom he marginalises for the sake of some other girl, who does not work for a living. Why ? Who, in his right mind, would submit the competent to the inept ? As a momentart fantasy, perhaps, as a training exercise, maybe, but as a way of life ? Never.

Listen to me well : never. If you own two women, as you likely will and generally speaking must, the inept will submit to the apt and you will force her to. Plainly and openly and without guard or remainder. She may be allowed no disavowal, no "irony", no recess. The inept submits to the apt, for this reason, plainly and entirely.

Instead, "Paul Martin" permits the young and inexperienced petit bourgeoise the run of the town, measures himself to her standards, and generally we are forced into this batshit insane anti-reality where the least qualified party runs the show. Who in his right mind would give the keys to the house and the reins to a young girl kept for her reproductive function ? Don't ever do this, it's unseemly.

The other half of the anti-hero's castration is of course economical. The devious Funes, in one of his best Machiavellian boss roles, keeps the Man down. This does however result in his demise, as is proper, but the act is most scandalously disavowed. An accident, rightful comeuppance, anything and everything but not the proper, and the plain, and the natural and therefore the lawful "I am young and you are old ; if you dare get in my way I will cut you apart." No, anything but that.

The solution to all this bullshit ? A mysterious string of "accidents", direct traduction via Deux-ex-machina of the actual situation of ascendant industrialization. For as long as the world were fast expanding, creating more room at the top than there were Paul Martins produced, all these major conflicts could be wished away.

They're back now.

They're back now, and the earlier and better version of Mr. Bookmanⁱⁱ can scarcely save anyone.

1. 1963, by Marcel Bluwal, with Louis de Funes, Jean-Claude Brialy, Michel Serrault, Sophie Daumier. [↩]
2. Have you noticed anything and everything of any merit in English fiction is a simplified charicature of an older and better drawn French model ? [↩]