A hundred years from then, a sphere meanders through the air from a civilized Africa to a wrecked Paris. A goofy sphere. A music hall black face stereotype emerges, encounters a savage Parisian who has a mysterious relationship with an ape and would have flunked the Code test (how could Renoir have so shamelessly exploited his wife?). She dances the Charleston for him and he recognizes it as his ancestral dance. He learns it from her.
So, what have we here? A satire on contemporary French sophisticates, more primitive than those from whose cultures they have fashioned their entertainments. A joke, made using the remainder of the Nana film stock. Pure fun if you can get past the stereotype. Oh, and the Angels are a rogues' gallery of French film history. My advice is to see it even if you think it will disgust you. Hessling is unbelievably hot. And the gang is really mocking its own rather brutally.
So, what have we here? A satire on contemporary French sophisticates, more primitive than those from whose cultures they have fashioned their entertainments. A joke, made using the remainder of the Nana film stock. Pure fun if you can get past the stereotype. Oh, and the Angels are a rogues' gallery of French film history. My advice is to see it even if you think it will disgust you. Hessling is unbelievably hot. And the gang is really mocking its own rather brutally.