One drop of rain, in the midst of a field, that runs through the trees, and climbs over the hills, across stones, rivers, flowers, sprouting from the cracks, of a young one's dream, while lying on her back, beneath a canopy of leaves, that catches the rainbow, left by the sun, plunging through holes, scattered across clouds, to tumult upon the heads, of those on the ground, who look up in the stead, of fear found below, deep in their hearts, and no amount of prayer, shall allow it to depart, but though it lingers, hope springs anew, from an aura that blooms, and helps them find truth, though they do not know how, or whenst it will come, but the promise of joy, keeps all that's undone, away from desires, which tear at the flesh, and gorge at the trough, of all that is blessed, so that someday tomorrow, our children shall weep, at all the dismay, we did not keep, because someone somewhere, said it would be, our privileged honor, to always be free, of suffering and pain, the small price of being, a human upon this earth, aware but never seeing.
Following an arrest for murder, Pigoil, the manager of a struggling cabaret tells his story. After his wife leaves him, taking their only son, Pigoil is a destitute wreck but he dreams about reopening the Chansonia, the music hall that he loves. Somehow he convinces the owner, a fascist stereotype, to let them and they manage to get things going for awhile. They only problem is they don't have a very good act. In comes Douce, a beautiful young woman with a voice to match and a history of her own that connects her to this little suburb outside of Paris. Soon she is packing the house, much to the chagrin of the landlord, who never wanted them to succeed and he'll do anything to stop them. It's an elegant tale that embodies a different era of film. The supreme touches that weave throughout the production elevate your heart and allow you to emerge yourself in this strange and magical place and time.