Gigi is a message picture disguised as a romantic, period musical. Trying to explain the brilliance of its audacious perspective is often like trying to describe The Onion to people who see it at face value, who have never actually looked at it but take every assumed word as a gravely serious fact. People either get it, or they don’t. I understand the issue at hand and the knee-jerk reaction. This film was a hard sell even in the 1950s when producer Arthur Freed spent two full years trying to convince the Hays Office (preeminent censors of the film industry) that he wasn’t attempting to glorify the life of a young courtesan. Quite the contrary—and neither was Colette, the story’s original author. Her genius lies in the ability to take a character limited by the social confines of her era and, through humor and romance, have her dare to say, “No, this won’t do. I want more.” Colette and her characters Chéri and later Gigi are early feminists. As with The Onion, however, if you take this story at face value, you might be appalled and choke on the premise, especially if you bail out before its satisfying conclusion. Me? I marvel at the underlying satire and sublime cleverness of presenting a serious issue, still of great importance to this day, in such a way that it reaches a far wider audience than any direct hit would yield on the subject.

Leslie Caron as Gigi.

Gigi is a coming-of-age tale, and “age” is the one issue where I understand why people might wince. The age of consent and the perception of adulthood have varied throughout history and in different cultures around the world. Is it 18? Or 16? Or 21? In centuries past, it was 12, which makes me squirm a lot. Many of our own relatives wed and started families surprisingly early, back when 50 was ancient and most people passed away before they turned 70. While Gigi’s age is unknown in this movie, it can be assumed she is a teenager, at least at the point in the story when she attempts to put her training into practice and become Gaston’s mistress. But I’m getting ahead of myself in the plot.

The film opens with Honoré Lachaille, a stylish, elderly bachelor, played by the incomparable Maurice Chevalier. He strolls through the scenic Bois de Boulogne in Paris (filmed on location), observing other members of society in their carriages or ambling by on foot. Honoré and later Gigi’s Aunt Alicia (who is really her great-aunt) represent the old guard and established ways of romance and social interaction among the well-to-do. Unfortunately, before we learn much more about him, he starts crooning the first song, “Thank Heaven for Little Girls.” This is an early jettison point for some who quit before the story kicks in. They see no more than a dirty old man ogling prepubescent girls at play in a park, but they don’t listen to the lyrics or recognize he is an outside observer and narrator who isn’t participating at that moment in time and isn’t entertaining the notion of cavorting with any of them. In fact, time is relative here. He points to Gigi (Leslie Caron) and tells us from his omnipotent POV sometime in the future that this coming-of-age story is about her. He already knows the tale we are about to witness. Some people won’t wait for him to sing his other great solo later on, “I’m Glad I’m Not Young Anymore,” where he confesses to us that he’s not interested in romances now and would much rather do other things. But back to the story …

Maurice Chevalier as Honoré, singing “Thank Heaven for Little Girls.”

Gigi is a free-spirited girl, raised primarily by her “Grandmama” Madame Alvarez (the delightful Hermione Gingold). For now, Gigi’s mother is appearing in the chorus of an opera, but we never see her in the film. From time to time, we hear her practicing high notes in another room, wholly dedicated to her craft. Life on the stage afforded her independence, yet it was looked on by many in social circles as one step above prostitution. There were few choices available to women in 1900. They couldn’t vote. They had only been able to open their own bank accounts for less than 20 years. They could work as a shop girl or in a factory to earn money, and if they dared to hope for more, they could dream of marrying well or, as with Aunt Alicia, they could become a “serial mistress” if they were properly trained and pretty, floating from one aristocratic romance to another, bed-hopping with royalty while acquiring jewels, homes, and servants, until they reached an age where their “services were no longer required.” At that point, they would live off of the treasures and memories amassed in their youth. Such was the life of a courtesan. But Gigi and her mother and grandmother are independent. They want no part of that life. It’s implied later in the story that Grandmama did have affairs but traded that life for monogamy and fidelity. She even had a prior romance with Honoré but turned him out at the first sign of infidelity. They have a wonderful duet later in the film, reminiscing about those passionate days in “I Remember It Well” when in fact Honoré can’t recall any of the details.

The other key player in this tale is Gaston Lachaille (Louis Jourdan). He is Honoré’s dashing young nephew and one of the most eligible bachelors in Paris. Gaston has everything a man could want, but he couldn’t care less about that. Material possessions like automobiles, railroads, stocks, and jewels just don’t interest him. Women hurl themselves at his feet, but he is unmoved. In a satirical duet with his uncle, called “It’s a Bore,” Gaston claims he’s even unimpressed with the seasons. His one delight is visiting Gigi and her grandmother, whom he calls “Mamita” with great affection. Their modest apartment is the only place on earth where he can drop his guard and be himself without pretense. Gigi speaks her mind with Gaston, which he sees as amusing and refreshing. They play cards together on a regular basis while Gigi cheats. Their relationship is like an older brother and younger sister, and there is nothing sexual or romantic between them. Gigi loves to tease Gaston about his affairs, particularly his latest love interest Liane d’Exelmans (Eva Gabor).

When Gaston calls off that romance, he agrees to bring Mamita and Gigi with him to Trouville for a vacation by the sea. Upon their return, Aunt Alicia (the fabulously droll Isabel Jeans) summons Mamita (her sister) to discuss a serious issue. It’s time for them to see Gigi and Gaston’s relationship in a new light. Gigi is not a child anymore, and her reputation as a burgeoning young woman is at stake. She must be rigorously trained in the art of courting a man. What follows is a humorous montage showing us just how ridiculous this “education” is, from how to pour tea to crossing a room to evaluating jewels or even wine, which Gigi loves a little too much. When Gaston learns what Mamita and her sister have planned, he is appalled. He storms out of the apartment and wanders about Paris, feeling deceived and betrayed. While singing the Oscar-winning title song, he ultimately comes to a cathartic realization that he loves Gigi. She is not the little girl he once knew and never will be again. He has fallen in love with his best friend.

Louis Jourdan as Gaston, singing the title song “Gigi.”

The twists and turns start coming after that. Gaston agrees to court Gigi according to established rules of social etiquette and set her up with her own house, servants, and automobile. He promises to take care of her “as no woman has ever been taken care of before.” When all is revealed to Gigi, she rejects the idea outright. She asks Gaston what would happen to her when he grew tired of her in a few months? He would only move on to the next pretty face, and she would have no choice but to go into another man’s bed. Every time I see this movie, I’m stunned that this frank dialogue made it past the censors. In time, Gigi reconsiders. She asks to see Gaston again and confesses she would rather be miserable with him than without him. She agrees to the terms of his arrangement.

Louis Jourdan and Leslie Caron at Maxim’s in Paris.

We then see Gigi’s training put to practical use when Gaston takes her out to dine at the world-famous Maxim’s (filmed on location). Gigi does everything to perfection with no missteps, but Gaston hates every minute of it. This is not his Gigi. This is a trained seal performing her “act” like all the other women he has courted. He is repulsed by what she has become and storms out of the restaurant with Gigi in tow. He deposits her back at the apartment, but Gigi doesn’t understand what she did wrong. In a fit of anger, Gaston admits that he loves her. Now it’s Gigi’s turn to be appalled. Through her rage and tears, she condemns Gaston. Is this how he treats the woman he loves—proposing that she become his “paid mistress?” She accuses him of having no heart and not knowing how to love. Gaston is crushed and leaves her but soon returns. While Gigi is still drying her eyes, Gaston respectfully asks Mamita for Gigi’s hand in marriage.

In the end, both Gigi and Gaston reject society’s expectations of who they should be and how they should love. They break with convention and tradition and do it their way. I must admit, each time I see Gaston propose, I get tears in my eyes. It’s a powerful and important conclusion—and in its own, clever way, this story of social rebellion and other similar works by Colette served to propel the forthcoming advancements in the women’s movement. Gigi is significant within its own genre as well. It is considered by many to be the last great musical to come from MGM, the studio with “more stars than there are in heaven” and countless song-and-dance classics. While Gigi may have signaled the twilight of this Golden Age, it initiated a remarkable new decade. Between 1958 and 1968, five of the 11 Best Picture–winners were musicals. I find it fascinating that one of the most tumultuous eras in our nation’s history, the 1960s, yielded a tune-filled renaissance of sweeping and passionate escapism.

If you can’t tell yet by reading these impressions, Gigi is one of my very favorite Oscar-winners. It took risks with its subject matter and walked a tightrope with the censors and audiences. For those of you who “don’t get it” (or fell off the rope), I can only say, “Chacun à son goût.” For others like me, Gigi is a rare jewel, most definitely worthy of its record-breaking nine Academy Awards.

Gigi