Just by way of an etymological sojourn, the noun humour was only officially accepted into the French language in 1932 – yet the term humoristique was approved by the French Academy in 1878. Prior to the French revolution of 1789, the French had esprit (wit), farce (prank), and bouffonnerie (drollery). They had humeur as a state of mind, or mood, but not humour.

Now… how to talk about French humour – and no, it’s not an oxymoron – without gratuitously indulging in the favourite British national pastime of scoffing at the French? Maybe Les 11 commandements wasn’t the best introduction to the topic…

I should have known what I was in for – I should have stopped after the first ominous signs were issued… but foolish obstinacy was always one of my “strong” points.

The warm-up was a “you’ve got to watch this” bonus scene. This didn’t make it to the film’s final cut. A fancy picnic, the guests all dressed in white and sipping on a laxative aperitif. The aim of the game: to be the last to the inconveniently-distant toilet – and not to debase oneself too much more through the numerous cameras and mics set up to document the stunt.

11 Commandments. French Jackass. My Saturday night.

The premise of the film was the same as my premise of watching it. The god of humour (in this case, controversial French comedian, Dieudonné) summons the boys to discover what’s happened to French humour. From this starting point, they are recruited to “resurrect” the glory of French comedy, and then the immaturity begins. (Of course the comedy staples of old – Jacques Tati and Rabbi Jacob – just won’t cut it anymore… lucky there are always some American pranksters to imitate…)


The lads face up to French footballer Djibril Cissé… ouch!

Led by Michaël Youn, who now tops the music charts as the gangster rap parody character of Fatal Bazooka, the lads inflict pain upon themselves and others through physical and situational comedy. They flood a holiday house for a pool party, dose up on Viagra before a day at the beach, and attempt to skate in an all-night roller derby on sleeping pills. Dizzy waiters, impromptu rock film clips, chilli-eating and bluegrass… it’s very MTV and a must for any teenage boy. Les 11 commandements is gross, but when you’re not being utterly shocked at the proceedings, you’re hurting from the bawdiest of deep belly laughs.


Are you being served? Hopefully not by these waiters…

But as for it restoring a little glory to French comedy? Well… Like U2, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…