They have great cuisine, cinema and couture, but when it comes to pop music the French are cack. And a biopic of beloved French pop icon Claude François has scarcely the appeal here of, say, Edith Piaf. Jérémie Renier absurdly plays Cloclo from 17 (uh, so not) to his death at 39, when he thought it was a good idea to fiddle with a light fixture while standing in his bath.
Cloclo’s claim to international fame is that he wrote 'My Way', except he didn’t really; he wrote the original French lyrics 'Comme d’Habitude', which aren’t a patch on Paul Anka’s do-over for Frank Sinatra. It’s like a pedestrian TV movie, '60s-70s costumes the best things in Cloclo’s rise, his demons, his womanising. The French call him "The French Elvis", but they would, wouldn’t they?