The French Way (49 page)

During the 1990s the Fifth Republic acting under this exception protected the audiovisual sector, limiting American television programming and aiding the cinema. The industry continued to produce about 140 films per year and to retain a third or more share of domestic ticket sales, as opposed to a half share for Hollywood, and to enjoy a certain global status as the producer of high-quality cinema.
¹⁷¹
Relative to that of other European countries, French cinema was more successful in retaining its domestic market. By 1999 the figures for share of ticket sales were 38 percent for France compared to 24 percent for Italy and much less for the United Kingdom, Germany, and Spain.
¹⁷²
The celebrated Italian film industry, for example, became, to a considerable extent, an offshore facility for Hollywood productions. French policy, despite its national preference, also lent substantial support to transnational films, to the European cinema, and to the exhibition of movies from all over the world.
¹⁷³
And France performed better in retaining its share of television audiences than did other Western European countries. In 1995 American films occupied only 35-39 percent of programming on the principal broadcast stations in France, like TFi, and this was far less than in Germany, Spain, the United Kingdom, or Italy.
¹⁷⁴
Similarly, quotas on radio broadcasts cut Anglo-American popular
music in half by 1996 so that the French heard slightly more of their own music than did other Europeans.
¹⁷⁵

Should one conclude then that French policy worked? Yes, the 1990s are an example of successful cultural protection. Among the principal reasons for the performance of the audiovisual sector, according to many authorities, was the system of quotas and subsidies (actually, transfers, since the state budget was not the source of funding) that the cultural exception sheltered.
¹⁷⁶
Financial support, which was massive but also complex and opaque, made a difference. Requiring subventions for the cinema from private television stations probably saved the industry from disaster. Protectionism, contrary to liberal market orthodoxy, also worked in many countries other than France to preserve domestic film industries, including those of Korea and Australia.
¹⁷⁷
It must be noted that survival was not due entirely to state policy, because the industry proved to be inventive. As much as a third of its output in the 1990s was of international coproductions, and it tried its hand at producing entertaining films for both domestic and foreign audiences: action films like
La Femme Nikita
, comedies like
Les Visiteurs
, science fiction movies like
Le Cinquieme Element
(The Fifth Element), costume dramas like
Valmont
, and grand spectacles like
Indochine.
Much of this imitated Hollywood.
¹⁷⁸
The government, beginning with Jack Lang in the late 1980s, authorized subsidies for big-budget, English-language movies that competed for global audiences. Lavish coproductions like
The Lover
(based on the novel by Marguerite Duras) and
1492: Conquest of Paradise
starring Gerard Depardieu emulated Hollywood and minimized elements traditionally associated with French cinema, including the language. One director, Luc Besson, trumped the Americans, making costly blockbusters in English that displayed pyrotechnic special effects and graphic violence and featured American actors like Bruce Willis. Besson's
Fifth Element
proved a smash success as the top-grossing film at the French box office in 1997, outdrawing Disney's
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
and earning an unprecedented 65 million
dollars in export income—much of it from American audiences. Besson, to be sure, was denigrated by French critics for being “too American.” Hollywood was so impressed with some French productions that it bought and remade them; for example,
La Femme Nikita
reappeared as
Point of No Return.
But this strategy raised the question, Could one win this contest by Americanizing French cinema?

Not everyone was impressed with the system. One economist claimed the French exaggerated their success. He pointed out if one were rigorous about what constitutes the nationality of a film, then French output diminished to a level similar to that of the Germans and Italians by the early 1990s.
¹⁷⁹
Skeptics contended that the intricate web of support harmed the industry by nurturing a kind of dependence and unwillingness to face the demands of the market. One such study concludes that state subsides created an elitist, inbred network that rewarded auteur films at the expense of more commercial films that would have a global appeal.
¹⁸⁰
Subsidies were wasted on films that had no audience; in fact, large numbers of what the industry produced were utter failures at the box office. Or as one critic complained, young French directors were satisfied if they reached an audience of three hundred and received a review in
Le Monde.
¹⁸¹
From an opposing perspective, aiding mainstream, historical, or literary films like
Cyrano de Bergerac
or
Germinal
was an aesthetic and creative mistake.
¹⁸²
Then there were the perverse effects of the system, like restricted entry for new filmmakers and benefits awarded Hollywood clones. Did it make sense to subsidize the production of quasi-American films? Contrary to intentions, handouts often went to films that were essentially made by foreign (sometimes American) companies that exploited the official criteria for what defined a film as French. Thus the British-French coproduction
Valmont
from Czech director Milos Forman was made in English using nine American or British actors and actresses. But because the film included one French actress, some scenes shot in France, and was based on a French text, it qualified as French.

Despite such objections, it seems clear that the elaborate system of state subsidies for cinema and foreign film quotas for television helped the French industry retain its position vis-a-vis American cinema better than other European cinemas did. It consistently produced more films per year than any other European country and retained a relatively large share of its domestic audience. Comparatively, the French preferred their local productions over American films more than the Germans and the Italians did.
¹⁸³
France also curbed American television programming more than did other European countries. In short, the audiovisual sector was one area where French policy succeeded in at least limiting the American invasion. In this case governments on both the left and the right had to resort to brinksmanship with the U.S. government in order to win the argument. But, unlike the controversy over language, the cultural exception commanded some European support and wide and active domestic political backing.

In 1999, American, or Anglo-American, films like
Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, The Matrix
, and
Notting Hill
occupied seven of the top ten money-making slots while the French had only three—but the number one movie was
Asterix et Obelix versus Caesar
, an expensive Hollywood-like production that seemed like a parody of the transatlantic rivalry in which the indomitable, wily Gauls outwit the mighty Roman/American invaders. Asterix,
Le Monde
proclaimed, was “the image of resistance to American cinematographic imperialism.”
¹⁸⁴
Less haughtily one might simply say that in the realm of the audiovisual Asterix held his own against Caesar in the 1990s.

French policy makers overtly resisted the American example, attacked it as an antimodel, and defended the mixed economy, the social contract, and national culture. What they selectively borrowed from abroad they altered and disguised as a French innovation or alternative. Using America as a foil during the fin de siecle the Fifth Republic adapted. It may have disdained
capitalisme dur
yet it deregulated, privatized, and
opened the economy and made heroes out of entrepreneurs. It may have assailed “flexibility” in employment, but many new jobs were temporary or part-time. It may have ridiculed America's welfare practices, but it transformed its system by increments until it, in the eyes of one authority, had adapted to the “new global economic paradigm”—referring, for example, to lowering costs in order to make social assistance compatible with international competition.
¹⁸⁵
It may have championed the cultural exception, but it also subsidized the production of films that were Hollywood clones. If the political class tacked toward the Anglo-American model, it did so without admitting it, and the means employed were as much French as they were American. That was the case with the new high-tech incubator at Sophia Antipolis. Whether it was stock options a la française, epargne retraite (pensions), “involving the private sector” (privatization), or cinematic coproductions, the answer was to create hybrids. Bashing America did not obstruct reform, and served as a useful camouflage for making the necessary accommodation to market liberalism and globalization.

Adaptation also percolated from below. In many instances adjustments came from the private sector rather than the state: it was business managers working in a globalized environment who innovated most by borrowing from abroad. The cinema industry also remade itself in part by following Hollywood's example. And the public, while yielding to a darkened image of America, pragmatically accepted a measure of liberalization, globalization, and Americanization-including learning American English.

Extremism about the American model, however, was not a winning strategy. Overt and wholesale imitation of the Americans could spell trouble. It cost Alain Madelin his ministry and Jean-Marie Messier his job. Even association with American ways could be a handicap, as it was for the Right, because of its alignment with market liberalism, in the 1997 elections. And it could stir popular protest. In the name of resistance to American-led globalization there were manifestos and
demonstrations over agricultural subsidies,
la malbouffe
, the “cultural exception,” the Plan Juppe, and the MAI. Yet overt and wholesale rejection of America could be equally perilous. Jacques Toubon's language purge seemed excessive and out of touch with the globalized world. One had to engage in transatlantic transfers without acknowledgment and add a Gallic twist.

As the twentieth century drew to a close, Americanization was transforming how the French ate, entertained themselves, conducted business, and even communicated. Yet the fin de siecle also witnessed the strongest expression of anti-Americanism since the 1960s. It was visible in opinion polls, newspapers, books, television, and politicians' pronouncements. It is this paradox, this tension between a society seemingly immersed in America and one that posed America as “the other,” that merits attention.

A decade after the war in the Persian Gulf, Uncle Sam had fallen off his pedestal. Parisians hunting for books on America could find titles like
Le Cauchemar amiricain
(The American Nightmare) or
Non merci, Oncle Sam!
—the latter written by a member of parliament—describing American society in the most lurid terms.
¹
A large majority of the French elite thought the United States and France were at odds over a wide range of issues. A former head of the Foreign Ministry's policy planning staff attacked American elected officials for their ignorance of international affairs and labeled the U.S. government's untutored guidance to others as “imperialism.”
²
At an international conference in Warsaw more than a hundred nations issued a manifesto, sponsored by the United States, advancing worldwide democracy. Only France refused to sign the manifesto, provoking the
New York Times
to run an article titled, “At Democracy's Picnic, Paris Supplies (the) Ants.”
³
Then
there was Jose Bove, the radical turned sheep farmer, who won international attention for vandalizing the site of a new McDonald's outlet in 1999 and later traveled to Seattle for a meeting of the World Trade Organization to attack American-led globalization.

But there is another story, one that makes this surge of anti-Americanism seem contradictory. In 1999 France sent more military aircraft to bomb Serbia than any European nation, and it placed them under American command. Trade between the countries had doubled since 1985, and French direct investment in the United States also doubled in the 1990s, making France the fourth largest investor—ahead of countries like Japan and Canada.
⁴
Meanwhile Americanization swept across the French landscape. In the summer of 2000, Hollywood movies attracted almost two of three paid admissions in French theaters and there were almost 800 McDonald's restaurants in France.
⁵
In a nation that celebrates its language as the prime marker of national identity, almost two-thirds had come to agree with the proposition “Everyone should be able to speak English.”
⁶

These two contrasting sets of behavior suggest a paradox. Despite the fact that the United States and France became more closely linked than ever before; despite the apparent cordiality between Washington, D.C., and Paris; and despite the fact that France was more Americanized than ever before, anti-Americanism during the 1990s reached its highest intensity in over thirty years. Not since Charles de Gaulle's presidency was such animosity expressed—in political speeches, in the media, in polls, and even in public demonstrations.

What happened, in brief, was once the Cold War ended, the transatlantic superpower, from a French perspective, became more overbearing. The French in turn became more critical of domestic trends in the United States and less comfortable with the inroads ofAmerican culture. As a result they intensified their efforts at both asserting their independence and defining themselves differently from their American cousins.

There is no need to engage in a tedious definitional debate about what constitutes “anti-Americanism.” This issue has already been addressed
(see “A Note on Anti-Americanism” at the beginning of this volume). As the term has been used throughout this study it refers to both the dystopian version, labeled
anti-amiricanisme primaire
, that reflexive hate of all things associated with America that was confined to a small minority, as well as to surges in more popular criticism of important aspects of American foreign and domestic policies that could extend to American institutions, Americans as a people, and the American “way of life.” In this chapter the subject is the second version, the more volatile manifestation of criticism associated with perceptions of American policies. There were statements and responses to pollsters, and sometimes actions, by the French people, often powerful and knowing, that explicitly criticized American policies, institutions, and values. I term these attitudes and behavior “anti-American”—acknowledging that it means only criticism of something important about America. Unfortunately for transatlantic relations this grumpy mood became increasingly common in the 1990s.

Yet if this was so, if anti-Americanism attracted popular support, then there is a paradox: Why did an “Americanized society” like France endorse or at least acquiesce under such criticism? Wasn't it hypocritical for the French, for example, to consume a million meals per day under the Golden Arches yet condone attacks on McDonald's? It is best to postpone addressing this paradox until later in this chapter; first we need to examine the evidence for growing anti-Americanism.

How can the historian know what the French thought about Americans and the United States? Transatlantic troubles stirred interest in ascertaining the state of public opinion. The result was an extraordinary number of comprehensive surveys conducted by various French and American polling agencies. These surveys, some done systematically over this period, were conducted for newspapers, foundations, and other institutions like the U.S. Department of State. Over twenty thousand Frenchmen and women recorded their opinion in such polls. This evidence, supplemented by other conventional historical sources like the press, books, the statements of public officials, and
TV news give a researcher a good idea of how persons in the street viewed the United States. If the chronological focus for these surveys is the 1990s, they stretch from the middle years of Ronald Reagan's presidency to the end of Bill Clinton's second term.

Treating these data from a comparative perspective establishes the distinctiveness of French perceptions. Whenever the sources permit, I shall contrast the French voice with that of other Europeans. The most common frame of reference utilized in these surveys was Western Europe. In this analysis “West Europeans” usually meant the French, the British, the Germans, and the Italians. When others, like the Spanish or the Dutch, were polled, it will be noted. If in certain aspects the French took the lead in expressing unease about America, in other respects they were no different, and even trailed behind, other West Europeans in their critical attitudes.

A fastidious researcher might contend that polls are not a reliable source for public opinion. The wording or order of questions can shape responses, and it is difficult to distinguish between casual answers and deeply held attitudes. Moreover, respondents often select from a prepared menu of choices and rarely have the opportunity to offer alternatives or explain their selections. Nevertheless, these surveys do provide a large number of responses to skillfully phrased questions posed by pollsters in specific contexts. To those who are skeptical of polls in principle, one can argue that they are as accurate an index of opinion as other sources like newspapers, best-sellers, Internet chat rooms, interviews, or debates among media intellectuals. Thousands of people who were systematically interrogated by numerous professional polling agencies offer solid evidence of attitudes.

Polling responses were, to be sure, heavily shaped by the respondent's sources of information. There is no mystery concerning how the French learned about America at the end of the century. The answer is: television. The French relied heavily on the little screen for their information about America. Newspapers, films, radio, music, books, visits, friends, schooling, and the Internet contributed something, but
rather little.
⁷
Television influenced perception more than any other type of media.

The Image of Americans and the United States

When asked about their transatlantic friends the French usually distinguished between “Americans” and the “United States” or “America.” The category “Americans” was the most specific, and conveyed a personal or human dimension to the collectivity; it usually evoked a kinder response than the other two terms. “United States” and “America” seemed interchangeable to respondents. But “United States” often carried a strong connotation of international policy and was associated with Washington. The French said they liked Americans. Large majorities consistently expressed a favorable attitude toward us. In fact the French (71 percent) were as friendly as the Germans and the Italians.
⁸
But this sunny disposition was marked by distance. In some surveys almost half of those consulted voiced indifference toward Americans. In 1999 nearly two-thirds of those polled said they did “not feel close to the American people.”
⁹
This was a friendship of distant cousins. (If it is any satisfaction for Americans, the British came off worse in one poll.
¹⁰
) And there was a small minority, about 10 percent, who were predictably hostile.

Opinions about the “United States” or “America” were more detached from the connotation of people and linked to notions of policy, power, society, and culture. They tended to evoke more volatile responses.

In general, during these years, when faced with the simple choice between favorable or unfavorable attitudes about the United States/ America, the populace tended to display a rather genial disposition. About two-thirds of French people surveyed held a favorable opinion of the United States. Such attitudes closely resembled those held by the Germans.
¹¹
But this crude choice concealed shifts, distinctions, and
reservations. The overall trend in the 1990s was for a hardening of attitudes. Sympathy for the United States declined sharply between 1988 and 1996 (from 54 percent to 35 percent), and both antipathy and indifference toward the United States increased (from 6 percent to 12 percent and from 38 percent to 47 percent, respectively).
¹²
On the eve of the Al Gore-George W. Bush presidential election, another poll found more dark clouds than sunshine. Selecting from a list of five options about how they felt about the United States, almost half selected either “critical” or “anxious,” while only a quarter chose either “admiring” or “kindly” and another quarter opted for the adjective “indifferent.”
¹³
Indifference about the United States, as well as about Americans, was consistently voiced by many of the French, who dissented from those who were either fascinated or repulsed. According to a poll taken in May 2000, 41 percent said they were “sympathetic” toward the United States and 10 percent said “antipathetic.” The rest who answered (48 percent) said neither one nor the other.
¹⁴
The “favorable” reputation that polls regularly recorded proved fickle when international affairs interfered as the scuffles over Operation Desert Storm and the events in Kosovo showed. The image of “the United States” was less complimentary than that of “Americans” and, being intimately connected to international affairs, fluctuated wildly.

If a majority of the French displayed a favorable opinion of the United States/America during these years, their views were detached, checkered, and unstable—and they were becoming darker.

What is striking about public opinion in the period 1984 to 2002 was the persistent fear of American domination. Anxiety about Yankee domination of French domestic affairs oscillated at a high level—around 60-65 percent. It dipped to less than 50 percent in the middle years of the Clinton administration, but returned to 62 percent at the end of his tenure.
¹⁵
Fifty to sixty percent also expressed concern about the U.S. government's domination of international affairs.
¹⁶
In general the French found the United States overbearing. Ninety percent of the French in 1995—far more than the Germans (60 percent)—said
the United States was “domineering.”
¹⁷
In 1999 close to 60 percent of the French said the United States was too influential in Europe with respect to culture, economics, the military, and politics.
¹⁸
A year later over two-thirds, when asked if they wished for “more or less American influence,” opted for less of America in the categories of: international affairs, culture, economic life, globalization, and the development of the European Union (EU).
¹⁹
Doubts about the U.S. government's altruism were common. Four out of five of the French polled in 2001—more than the British, Italians or Germans—believed that the United States did not generally consider the views of other countries and acted only in its own interest.
²⁰
Asked to explain their dislike for American influence respondents in one poll mentioned “seizing control of other countries,” “acting as world policemen,” “imposing their lifestyle,” “American imperialism,” and/or “economic hegemony.”
²¹