Optime, Mr. Stratz

When I first started studying French, I tended to favor the 20th century authors - Duras, Beckett, and Camus - to the progressive geniuses of the siècle des lumières or the heady, political Romantic authors for one very simple reason: they were a much quicker read. Not necessarily easier to grasp or interpret, but certainly demanding far less reaching for the Larousse. That terse style and minimalist syntax was deceptively digestible.

The more I advanced in my studies, and the less I relied on my limited capacity to mentally translate French prose to its English half-kin, the more I found myself drawn to the subversive comedies of Molière. Digging into the jeux de mots and the not-so-subtle symbolism has become pleasurable, akin to the simple glee of filling out a challenging crossword puzzle. I'm looking at you Ronna and Dan.

(The saxophonist across the street, who I've seen (okay, gawked at wide-eyed, then giggling and waving maniacally at Jean-Baptiste to come join, at one point taking a bathroom and then maybe a snack break... I know. My only excuse is that we don't have a TV... and if the last post's rowdy sex rant is indicative, I might be cursed.) making love, in front of his window, for at least 45 minutes, is at his instrument again. The saxophone! (Not sure I'd be staring at my screen otherwise.) It's a lovely effect, the notes lilting into our bedroom through the bay windows)

We recently spent an evening at La Comédie Française, home to Molière's original troupe of comédiens, perched on velvet seats, facing a stage that has been running the same plays (and some other more modern works) for hundreds of years. Currently the historical monument is running Molière's most famous attack against the medical profession, Le Malade imaginaire, wherein he skewers les médecins with the same sharp, critical wit as Shakespeare does lawyers. Under Claude Stratz's direction, the story unfurls at a high pressure clip, and he brings the setting and the actors forward a century or two, which mercifully does not alter the impact of the denunciation; Molière's condemnation of the stagnant professionals of his day, and their quasi-religious methods are hysterically, fiercely scorned.

Funny to think that a little over 300 years later, Bill Maher praises France's public health model on television, and France healthcare system is rated among the top in the world! Michael Moore, take note.