Robert Parrish did far more work as editor than as director - in fact, IN THE FRENCH STYLE became one of his rare forays into that film-making department. Despite that, he did a commendable job of orchestrating a large number of characters, all of whom emerge as necessary for the piecing together of this tale of human love driven by innocence, learning past innocence, and ultimately convenience.
To that end Parrish is greatly helped by superior performances from his entire cast, down to the minor parts. Jean Seberg as Christina James shines as as the cherry on this delicious cake, not because of the much-repeated and to me needless fact that she is an American residing in Paris but because she is a woman, the universal femme par excellence.
She begins by developing an adolescent relationship with Guy (Philippe Fouquet), who tries to act older than his age, and even warns her that Frenchmen slap back, ultimately correctly predicting that she will in time have many men in her life and ultimately settle with one for economic and social convenience.
As she moves away from the underage Fouquet after the film's first 45 minutes, and gets acquainted with a bunch of handsome and variously interesting men, she has a memorable re-encounter with her father, whom she has not met in four years, and comes to see her in Paris. Addinson Powell, an actor I know nothing about, delivers a short, simple and naturalistic performance as the inevitably interested Dad, who rapidly surmises the pedantic and flash in the pan 1960s scene, and warns his daughter that she may be wasting her time extending her stay in Paris.
In a memorable sequence, Dad sees Christina join a group of models in assorted clothing on a stage for a group photo, and is in fact congratulated on his remarkably scultpural facial features, all of which convince him of un-reality.
Besides tapping so subtly and yet incisively into the 1960s scene, IN THE FRENCH STYLE posts several touches of genius, including never showing the Eiffel Tower although the whole shoot occurs in Paris; and, especially, Stanley Baker making his entrance 50 minutes into the film.
Baker may not be the most handsome of male leads, but as a strapping fellow with penetrating eyes he spots Seberg and they immediately attract to each other. The problem, if they would call it that in the beginning, is that each has other partner exploits on the go. Eventually, Seberg tires of bidding farewell at airports knowing that he will be sharing his bed with other women abroad.
Finally, she picks a man she obviously does not love as much as Baker but one who is a US-based medical doctor and, at the very least, banks a reliable income and enjoys solid social standing. And, of course, she will be returning to her roots outside of heathenish and hedonistic Paris where her physical beauty and social mobility may soon start losing sheen.
The instrumental score by Joseph Kosma deserves the highest plaudits, as does immaculate cinematography by Michel Kelber. Irwin Shaw's book and screenplay are absolute top drawer, too.
Deeply observed must-see film, to me more modern than most of this computer-brained trash we see today that passes for love stories. Or any other stories, for that matter. 10/10.
