Canadian singer Celine Dion greets the press after receiving the Legion d'Honneur from French President Nicolas Sarkozy, in Paris on Thursday.
When Groucho Marx famously remarked that he'd never want to join a club that would accept him as a member, he probably wasn't thinking of the elite group of recipients of France's Legion of Honor. But a comedian as sharp and profound as Marx would, no doubt, not welcome induction into club whose ranks have begun to swell with people nominated purely for their celebrity rather than any loftier merits. That list grew further, Thursday, when President Nicolas Sarkozy conferred the title on Canadian singer Céline Dion, welcoming her into the company of Alexis de Tocqueville, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, Gustave Flaubert, Alexander Graham Bell and Albert Dreyfus — and also Jerry Lewis. Not surprisingly, some observers suggest that the contrast in achievements of its various honorees has cheapened the medal to the point of self-parody.
"After this, all that's needed is the induction of Jean-Claude Van Damme to justify a name change to the Legion of Bad Taste," says comic author and France Inter radio commentator Didier Porte of Dion's selection. "The Legion is now the way powerful politicians honor people for having attained celebrity and fame. It's basically now the manner in which VIPs get together to smell one another's behind."
Created in 1802 by Napoleon, the Legion's original mission of recognizing "outstanding services rendered to France or a feat befitting humanity" was intended to replace inherited aristocratic titles with an award earned for distinguished conduct. But many in France share Porte's view that a gush of entertainers has crowded out the monumental artists, philanthropists, humanitarians, and makers of history for which the award was originally intended.
Recent star inductees have included Barbra Streisand, Clint Eastwood, and Sean Connery, joining such existing "legionnaires" as Robert De Niro, Pedro Almodóvar, Quincy Jones and Michelle Yeoh. Each may be a fine exponent of his or her craft, but none exactly rises to the Napoleonic standard of heroism. Even Wednesday's upgrade of Steven Spielberg from knight to officer grade in the Legion for "the body of his works, and his engagement for great causes like the memory of the Shoah and the conflict in Darfur" wasn't entirely in line with the institution's original objective to "further all our republican laws and strengthen the revolution."
"What those laws should do is ban Céline Dion from singing, and award the the Legion of Honor to people who listened to her and survived," suggests Porte — who was hardly alone in decrying Dion's selection as the most egregious example to date of the institution confusing fame with substance. "Has she saved the planet? Found a cure for AIDS? Legalized adoption for gay parents?" asked the weekly magazine Marianne. "Not at all, she represents success." Pinning the decoration on schlock goddess Dion, warned daily France Soir, risked "transforming it into a chocolate medal".
Some even took the award as an opportunity to take an unfair potshot at Sarkozy: The hip culture magazine Telerama cited the fact that he presented the award in person as yet another instance of the notorious admiration of the wealthy and famous that has some calling Sarkozy "the bling-bling President." To be fair, Sarkozy had nothing to do with Dion's selection, which was made in 2005. Nor is there anything new in the Legion inducting honorees whose selection induces a blanching response among people of taste. While professional cynics such Porte lavishly mock a national joke (and Sarkozy pal) such as wrinkled rocker Johnny Hallyday enjoying Legion membership, they energetically defend Jerry Lewis deserving the same honor. Similarly, while some argue that actor Grard Depardieu has done more than enough to merit his selection, it's difficult to find anyone in France who even knows who kitsch artist Jeff Koons is — much less why he's sharing a tribute with Helen Keller, Hans Blix and Jacques Cousteau. And you don't have to be a rabid (Groucho) Marxist to turn down membership in a club that includes murderous Central African Republic "Emperor" Jean-Bédel Bokassa.
Of course, no one could have predicted that Bokassa would end up a cannibalistic dictator when he was nominated to the Legion at the end of World War II. But French traditionalists do warn that unless the Legion returns to honoring people for their sacrifices, it will eventually be viewed by history as one that celebrated the rich and famous for just being the rich and famous. "Today, there are more CEOs and fewer civil servants, more sports stars and more show-business personalities [nominated for the Legion]," lamented an editorial in the conservative daily Le Figaro. "This intrusion of glitter shocks certain purists who see it as the sign of the corruption of the Legion of Honor's original vocation." But at least it will have recognized the "Power of Love."