The French Have a Word for It: Hollywood

These are not the best of times for American moviegoers. This summer’s offerings have ranged from fanboy blockbusters to embarrassing flops to real-life horror shows, like witnessing a deranged man firing in a crowded theatre. All of which makes me want to relive my recent visit to France and Ireland, where the old verities of Hollywood glamour apparently live on.

I just spent a week in Toulouse, a beautiful medieval city that has in recent years become France’s high-tech mecca. This is where Airbus is headquartered, and Toulouse is justly proud of its Cité de l’Espace, a sort of family theme park that focuses on the European role in space exploration. But as I prowled the old city, with its winding streets and Romanesque towers, what struck me was the local enthusiasm for Hollywood’s icons. In many shop windows, I spotted a whimsical poster of Alfred Hitchcock, a finger held to his lips. This was an advertisement for La Cinémathèque de Toulouse’s June film series, which was completely devoted to the Master of Suspense. The Cinémathèque was also taking advantage of balmy summer evenings by sponsoring an outdoor series, Cinéma en Plein Air. It featured such American flicks as The Magnificent Seven and Les Hommes préfrèrent les blondes, which most of us know better as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

As I continued my wandering, I came across more Hollywoodiana. Like a trendy fashion boutique named “Groucho” that incorporates into its logo that familiar image: the eyebrows, the glasses, the mustache, the cigar. And a pop culture emporium that called itself “Bullitt,” and uses on its signage an unmistakable sketch of Pam Grier, in one of her Woman Warrior poses. Not to mention “Au Fouillis Américain,” a shop crammed full of cowboy boots, baseball caps, and other All-American gear. The drawing of Monument Valley splashed across its façade looks to have come straight from a John Ford epic.

My few hours in Paris yielded more of the same. Over lunch I spotted a young man wearing a Steve McQueen T-shirt, complete with motorcycle insignia. A très chic restaurant, Pierre au Palais Royal, had a photo of Marilyn Monroe emblazoned across its menu cover. A gallery near the Louvre was exhibiting wall art based on popular images of such stars as Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, and James Dean. This is a country wholly besotted with Hollywood. No wonder the French produced The Artist.

At first glance, it seemed that Ireland is slightly less Hollywood-obsessed. One of the endearing facts of Irish life is its reverence for Irish authors. Dublin, which boasts the Dublin Writers Museum, has erected a jaunty statue to James Joyce, and named its new sleek bridge after Samuel Beckett. (Hard to tell what the author of Waiting for Godot would have thought of that.) In Galway, you can pose for a photo on a bench alongside a bronze Oscar Wilde.

Still, the Irish are not immune to Hollywood glitz. Coincidence, I’m sure, that in County Wicklow there’s a town named Hollywood. But it’s hardly a coincidence that on the green hillside of this tiny burg, big white letters spell out its name. Yes, a miniature Hollywood sign. And on a street corner in raucous Killarney, a codger with a one-man band amuses passers-by with his selection of celebrity all-stars. Erin (and Hollywood) go bragh!

Location, Location, Location (or Dan and Justin Do Hollywood)

I’ve got a gripe with Time Magazine. Several months ago, in an issue highlighting the world’s most influential people, Time drew up a list of the world’s most influential places. Past and present Time honorees were invited to contribute, by picking “spots that have made a difference.” Given the range of participants, the selections were predictably idiosyncratic: financial guru Suze Orman opted for Sutter’s Mill, where the American Gold Rush began; pop princess Taylor Swift went with Central Park; and astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson chose the moon. But in the interest of balance (I guess), Time editors came up with a host of other spots of major symbolic importance, like Wall Street, Calvary Hill, and several greats: Great Pyramid at Giza, Great Wall of China, Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. Another Time pick was Silicon Valley, certainly a locale where today’s dreams are made. But that San Jose high-tech mecca was the closest Time came to recognizing a place where dreams have been made for a century. I’m talking, of course, about Hollywood.

Hollywood’s glitter may have tarnished over the years, but it still exerts a tight hold over our imagination. Though we know that the Hollywood Sign at first promoted a real estate development, it continues to loom over a mental as well as physical landscape: a place where stars are embedded in the pavement, where celebrity footprints in the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese are treated as holy relics, and where pretty little girls from Kansas (or Kankakee or Kenya) flock in hopes of finding fame and fortune. The story of Dorothy leaving home to find the Emerald City is so deeply connected to mythic Hollywood that the Metro stop (yes, there is one!) at the legendary corner of Hollywood and Vine is decorated to reflect a Wizard of Oz motif, complete with yellow brick road.

People who live far from Hollywood still feel its allure. One of my Mother’s Day gifts this year is a book called Framed: 100 Round Trips to Hollywood. In the 1950s, Italian supermarkets gave away to their customers small collectible portraits of Hollywood lovelies. Italian authors Iaia Filiberti and Debora Hirsch, having found a stash of such cards, have assembled a slim volume in which they lovingly reflect on the careers of everyone from Louise Brooks to Arlene Dahl to Sandra Dee.

Then there are my English friends, Dan and Justin. Dan has fantasized about Hollywood all his life. Growing up in Kent, he dreamt of steering a red Alfa Romeo down the California coast, just like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. This past month, on his first trip to the U.S., he finally made his California dreamin’ a reality. No red sports car, alas, but he and Justin did motor south from San Francisco, arranging their brief L.A. stay to include Universal Studios, Grauman’s Chinese Theater, and the L.A. Observatory, site of key scenes from Rebel Without a Cause as well as a great place to appreciate the Hollywood Sign.

And what visit to California would be complete without a star sighting? Driving through Malibu, Dan and Justin stopped at a scenic spot to photograph the coastline. A trio of older men were there with cameras too, and Dan volunteered to get all three in a commemorative shot. His offer was gratefully accepted, and then the men introduced themselves. One turned out to be singer-songwriter Neil Sedaka, a genuine Hollywood Walk of Fame inductee. Dan and Justin couldn’t have been more thrilled if they’d met Prince Charles. After all, this was a prince of Hollywood, and it doesn’t get much starrier than that.