As in the life of many a man, the new TV biography of Rene Levesque is most interesting when a woman shares the stage.
The three-part mini-series that bears Levesque's name starts tonight on CBC, and the first image we see of the adult Rene is him having an early-evening roll in the sack with an actress, which was not the profession of his wife at the time -- she being the respectable daughter of the editor of l'Action Catholique, a newspaper which, we're guessing, did not take a benign view of such shenanigans.
Rene and his lover are then interrupted by a cry from the next room, where their illegitimate daughter is in her crib.
The Tommy Douglas Story this isn't.
Starring Emmanuel Bilodeau in the title role, Rene Levesque covers the man's life from 1958 to 1970, and when it works best (and tonight's instalment is the best of the three) it has the feel of a teleroman, a soapy melodrama chronicling the highs and lows of a passionate, erratic man, the brand of show that has been a staple of Quebec television since La famille Plouffe arrived on the airwaves in 1953.
The Plouffes were still squabbling when Levesque became a Quebec television star. But after Levesque alienated his paymasters with his partisanship during the 1959 producers' strike at Radio-Canada (the French CBC), the province's Liberal party snagged him as a star candidate for its campaign against the Union Nationale. Levesque won and was awarded a Cabinet seat.
But that's just a backdrop for the domestic drama of Levesque's life. Pascale Bussieres as his wife, Louise L'Heureux, conveys the heartbreak and the emergence of sharp-eyed, tight-lipped bitterness in a wife who still hopes her marriage can work, even as her husband neglects her in order to chase power and skirts. Louise makes Rene's dinner and feeds his children, and he looks right through her.
Finally, having reached her limit, she hires a private eye, who reveals the illegitimate child. Louise tells Rene to end the dalliance or else, and he complies, prompting a strong scene in which his mistress begs him to stay, then screams at him to get lost.
Toward the end of tonight's episode, Levesque heads off to Quebec City as a rookie legislator. As he embarks on the drive, his kittenish secretary leans forward from the back seat to fuss with his collar. His wife watches from the window, knowing full well where this is going.
It's a good moment, and more involving than anything in episodes two (provincial economists manfully calculating the cost of nationalizing the hydro grid) and three (stormy confrontations at Liberal party meetings).
The women are a mere backdrop in episode two (and for sheer drama, who can compete with hydro?). Louise grows more bitter, while the worshipful secretary (Evelyne Rompre) is perkily delighted to be bonked regularly by her boss at the Hotel Clarendon. When he tells her he could never live with her because she thinks like a man, she chuckles warmly at this bon mot of rejection. Oh, that Rene!
Things heat up again in episode three. Rene's marriage is in shreds as he busies himself with building the Parti Quebecois. And then, one day at a rally, he sees doe-eyed Corinne Cote (played by a fairly ravishing Lucie Laurier) across the room. His attraction to her appears to have three elements:
|
1. She's hot.
2. Did we mention she's hot?
3. H-o-t, hot.
Though still married, Rene moves into full horndog mode and writes Corinne puppy-dog love letters. Finally she acquiesces, leading to what I suspect is the first "nipple shot" in Canadian political biography.
Here is a sample of their love talk, while considering a commentary article Levesque has written for the Journal de Montreal newspaper:
Her: "I think it's stronger when you talk about the PQ and clearly disassociate it from the FLQ."
Him: "I love you."
Corinne urges Rene to leave Louise.
My daughter needs, me, Rene replies.
The kid will be fine, Corinne argues, she's already 14!
Nice.
Louise, meanwhile, has turned vengefully federalist, making it easier for Rene to eventually decamp and move in with Corinne, who promptly cries hot tears of home-wrecker happiness. They would marry in 1978, and she would be his wife and widow.
There's currently a teleroman, on the TVA network, called Annie et ses hommes; think of this series as Rene et ses femmes.
Overall, Bilodeau does a good Levesque impersonation, so that in the end it doesn't matter that their resemblance is sketchy. He talks with his hands, shrugs, wears a droopy smile -- it works. Bilodeau benefits from first-hand knowledge of the man, having interviewed him in July of 1987 while an intern at Montreal newspaper La Presse, four months before Levesque died.
Alas, there was one bad glitch in the credits of the advance copy I watched, and which hopefully has been fixed by airtime: Pierre Berton is rendered as Pierre Burton.
And there's one bright touch of screenwriting. At the start of each episode, we see Levesque as a boy diving off a cliff and nearly drowning. It's a good metaphor for the man, a high diver who cannot resist taking the plunge, and damn the consequences. Which is perhaps less admirable when you're dragging your spouse down with you.
The mini-series was produced by Cine Tele Action in conjunction with the CBC and Radio-Canada.
- Rene Levesque airs at 8 p.m. on CBC in two-hour instalments tonight and the next two Thursdays. It starts on Radio-Canada on Sept. 14.
rmckenzie@nationalpost.com





Andy Nulman 







Are you a separatist, Mr. Lévesque?t



