Avenue Montaigne

In one glittering epicenter of urban haute couture, a self-made art collector (Claude Brasseur) decides to sell off his entire lot. A concert pianist (Albert Dupontel) chafes at his tuxedo and the starchy world it signifies. A reluctant soap star (Valérie Lemercier) yearns to portray Simone de Beauvoir. And a perky bistro waitress (Cécile De France) perks everybody up. Then arrives Sydney Pollack, playing a movie director, just in time to say, “Fuck Sartre!” This should come with a warning: “Experienced Parisians. Do not attempt.” Danièle Thompson’s Avenue Montaigne is a pretty little springtime pleasantry, a film of just enough ambition and taste and unabashed romance to make comparisons with bubbly Champagne and flaky pastries inevitable. It certainly has a Gallic nose for the particular set of Francophile Americans most likely to make up its audience, and accordingly is presented at the Crest Theatre by the Sacramento French Film Festival.