A sense of contentment washed over me as I sat in the cinema the other day soaking up Jalil Lespert's film Yves Saint Laurent. Good-looking people in great clothes, wafting through glamorous smoke-infused rooms to a soundtrack by the jazz trumpeter Ibrahim Maalouf - what could be better? It came as no surprise to learn that Maalouf was inspired by the playing of Miles Davis on one of my all-time favourite French movies, Ascenseur pour l'échafaud.
For English people, this is what French cinema is all about: coolness and style. When I moved here, I was shocked by the content of the average French movie. All those heavy-handed comedies and glacially slow melodramas. Back home, we only got the filtered version, tailored to our preconceptions. The first French film I fell in love with was Diva. A thriller about a young man's love affair with an older woman - who happens to be an opera singer? Only in France. Other highlights of my youth were Subway - punk outlaws on the metro? Like! - and Delicatessen, one of the weirdest films ever made. Then I worked my way back to Truffaut & Co. Of course, it would be foolish of me to say that Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis and Les Intouchables are bad films. But they're not what Anglo-Saxons have in mind when they say the words "French movie". Which is why, very soon, New Yorkers and Londoners will be talking all about Yves.
