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CULTURE

Backstage artisans keep Moulin Rouge kicking

Even with the famous sails of its windmill gone, the Moulin Rouge never lets up: twice a night, 365 nights a year, in a whirlwind of feathers, rhinestones and sequins.

Backstage artisans keep Moulin Rouge kicking
Dancers perform French Cancan on stage during a show at the Moulin Rouge musical cabaret in Paris on April 9, 2024. (Photo by Miguel MEDINA / AFP)

The sails of the 135-year-old cabaret in the Montmartre district of Paris collapsed last month — the cause remains unknown.

But with some 1,700 spectators still coming every evening, the show must go on. And while the 60-strong troupe of “Doriss Girls” — named after legendary choreographer Doris Haung — get all the attention, creating and maintaining their costumes is another huge and highly skilled job.

The show has daunting annual requirements: nearly 1,000 tailor-made outfits each requiring up to 250 hours of assembly, 800 pairs of shoes, and not forgetting the three kilometres of ostrich-feather boas.

READ MORE: 5 things to know about Paris’ iconic Moulin Rouge

The clacking of sewing machines backstage is a near-constant soundtrack before and after — and sometimes during — shows.

“We are on every evening. The costumes wear out… But the show must always be the same, at the highest quality,” the cabaret’s general director, Jean-Victor Clerico, 38, told AFP.

In the same family for four generations, the Moulin Rouge started buying up small artisan workshops in the 2000s — partly experts in featherwork and embroidery — that were struggling to survive in modern-day Paris.

“These artisans are a living heritage that risked disappearing, and they are essential for the show,” said Clerico.

“It was the duty of the Moulin to perpetuate their existence and allow the transmission of their knowledge to younger generations,” he added.

Mine Verges, 88, a costume designer since the 1960s, was one of the first to come under the Moulin’s umbrella.

Her workshop supplies and maintains the troupe, as well as many other clients.

“The most complicated costumes are those of the cabaret. Everything must be much more solid than normal clothing, and when there are feathers, it must above all be pleasant for the dancers,” she told AFP.

“Le Moulin was the first cabaret with whom I worked and it will be the last,” she said, adding that she was pleased her savoir-faire will be passed down.

Featherwork

Supplier to haute couture houses such as Hermes and Louis Vuitton, Maison Fevrier was set up in 1929 and is the last featherwork workshop in the heart of Paris.

Its “plumasserie” (fine feather work) has been officially recognised as a “living heritage” by the French government.

It became part of the Moulin family in 2009 and handles some three tonnes of ostrich, pheasant and rooster feathers for the cabaret each year.

Embroidery is handled by Atelier Valentin using the ancestral technique of Luneville crochet and chain stitch.

“The marvellous has always fascinated me. There is no limit to what you can embroider: sequins, pearls, rhinestones, repurposed metal pieces… The only imperative for a stage costume is to be strong,” said its director, Caroline Valentin, whose other clients including the Paris Opera, Disney, Givenchy and the Academie Francaise.

Shoes are another integral part of the show, especially for the energetic high-kicking antics of the Can-Can that conclude every evening.

Clairvoy, a cobblers founded in 1945, has been part of the Moulin’s operation since 2007.

Nicolas Maistriaux, 45, and his team make the troupe’s shoes, taking up to 60 hours to assemble each pair, not counting their maintenance and renewal when the dancers’ heels wear them out.

Kylie Minogue also called on Maison Clairvoy for her recent tour.

“Our jobs are rewarding beyond anything,” said Valentin. “We have the absolutely immense chance to create beauty… That’s what artistic craftsmanship is all about.”

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CULTURE

Can Costner lead the revenge of France’s much-mocked Kevins?

In 1990s France, amidst the Pierres and the Jean-Claudes, a Hollywood hero with all-American good looks inspired a new name craze.

Can Costner lead the revenge of France's much-mocked Kevins?

The era of the Kevin — or Kev-een as the French pronounce it — had arrived, ushered in by the passions unleashed by a moustachioed Kevin Costner in his epic directorial debut, “Dances with Wolves”.

Suddenly, little Kevins were to be found the length and breadth of France.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing for these young ambassadors of Americana.

As Kevin Costner, now aged 69, prepares for his much-anticipated comeback at the Cannes Film Festival, AFP looks at how his French namesakes went from hero to zero and back again:

Je m’appelle Kevin

Celtic in origin, hailing from the Irish name “Caoimhin” after a hermit monk who lived in a stone cell in a glacial valley, the Kevin craze was sparked by not one but two huge Hollywood films.

In 1990 two million French people flocked to see the antics of a young boy called Kevin battling to defend his family home from burglars in “Home Alone”.

A year later, “Dances with Wolves”, which scooped seven Oscars, topped the French box office, pulling in a whopping seven million viewers.

The impact on birth certificates was immediate — that year Kevin was the most popular boy’s name in France, chosen for just over 14,000 newborns, according to data compiled by AFP.

The wave continued with over 10,000 baby Kevins a year until 1995 when it dipped to some 8,000 and progressively dwindled thereafter.

Mocked and shamed 

By the time the Kevins hit adolescence in the early 2000s, Costner’s star power had faded and the name had become shrouded in stigma, associated with lower classes picking exotic-sounding names drawn from pop culture.

Sociologist Baptiste Coulmont studied the social determinism of French names by comparing the names with the childrens’ exam grades.

Between 2012-2020 four percent of Kevins received the top “very good” grade for the baccalaureate exam taken at the end of high school, compared with 18 percent for the classic bourgeois name Augustin.

For director Kevin Fafournoux, who grew up in what he calls an “ordinary” family in central France and is making a documentary called “Save the Kevins”, the name “spells redneck, illiterate, geek, annoying” for many in his country.

“All this has impacted my life and that of other Kevins, whether in terms of our self-confidence, professional credibility or in relationships,” he says in its trailer.

In Germany, which also saw a wave of Kevins in the early 1990s, the negative stereotypes conferred on parents who give children exotic-sounding names from other cultures has a name: Kevinismus.

“Kevin is not a name but a diagnosis,” said one teacher scathingly in a 2009 article by Die Zeit newspaper about little Kevins, Chantals and Angelinas being labelled problem children.

Shedding the stigma

As the years pass, Kevins have become doctors, academics, politicians and much more — and attitudes have shifted.

“There are tens of thousands of Kevins in France, they are everywhere in society and can no longer be associated with one background,” Coulmont told The Guardian newspaper in an interview in 2022.

That year, two Kevins were elected to parliament for the far-right National Rally (RN).

“Will the Kevins finally have their revenge?” asked Le Point magazine.

The RN’s president is himself a fresh-faced 28-year-old, who grew up in a high-rise housing estate on the outskirts of Paris. He also carries a name with clear American overtones: Jordan Bardella.

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