Monsieur Aznavour (2024)
If you’re going into Monsieur Aznavour expecting a flashy jukebox musical or a dramatic blow-by-blow of scandal and stardom, you’ll need to reset your expectations. This isn’t that kind of film. Directed by Mehdi Idir and Grand Corps Malade, this biopic is more of a gentle stroll than a sprint through the life of one of France’s most beloved crooners, Charles Aznavour. It’s respectful, intimate, and measured—sometimes to a fault.
The film takes us from Aznavour’s early days in Paris as the son of Armenian immigrants to his ascent as a global music icon. It’s split into five chapters, each marking a turning point in his life. While this structure helps keep the story organised, it occasionally makes the film feel like a greatest hits compilation rather than a fluid narrative.
Tahar Rahim, who plays Aznavour, brings a quiet intensity to the role. He’s clearly done his homework—the voice, the gestures, even the way Aznavour holds a mic. It’s all there. He doesn’t try to imitate Aznavour, but he channels something of the man’s spirit, especially in the more vulnerable moments. Marie-Julie Baup also deserves a mention for her performance as Édith Piaf, which brings warmth and tension to some of the film’s most compelling scenes.
Visually, the film is well-crafted. There’s care in the way it recreates mid-century Paris—from the smoky cafés to the soft-glow lighting of backstage dressing rooms. The cinematography is tasteful and restrained, never drawing attention away from the story. Colour is used smartly too, shifting subtly with the emotional tone of each chapter.
If you’re looking for symbolism, it’s there, but it doesn’t wave a flag. Recurring visual themes—mirrors, trains, old photographs—hint at Aznavour’s lifelong tug-of-war between past and present, identity and fame. That said, not every scene lands. Some feel like they linger a bit too long, and the film’s pacing can drag, particularly in the final stretch. It’s a movie that values reflection over momentum.
The soundtrack is predictably strong. Aznavour’s music threads through the film like memory itself—wistful, longing, sometimes defiant. One unexpected touch is the inclusion of Dr. Dre’s What’s the Difference?, which samples Aznavour’s Parce que tu crois. It’s a clever nod to the way his legacy echoes into places you wouldn’t expect, bridging the gap between old-world chanson and modern hip-hop.
Dialogue throughout is thoughtful without being overwritten. There are no clunky info dumps, and the conversations feel natural—even lyrical in places. You get a real sense of Aznavour’s inner world, his doubts, his drive, and the costs that came with chasing his dream.
Compared to other musician biopics like Rocketman or La Vie en Rose, Monsieur Aznavour plays it much quieter. It avoids the wild emotional swings or hallucinatory sequences those films leant into. That works in its favour if you’re in the mood for something honest and grounded—but it also means it might not leave as strong a visual or emotional impression.
At the end of the day, Monsieur Aznavour is a loving, if somewhat cautious, tribute. It doesn’t dig into the messiest parts of Aznavour’s life, nor does it offer many surprises. But what it does do, it does with care. For longtime fans, it’s a chance to walk beside the man for a couple of hours. For newcomers, it’s an understated introduction to a singular voice that helped define a generation of French music.
Would you enjoy it? If you appreciate slow-burn character studies and stories about artistry, legacy, and quiet determination, then yes—this one’s worth your time. Just don’t go in expecting fireworks. Go in expecting a song.