Fire and Flapdoodle

Maybe you’ve been watching too much cable news like I have lately. If so, you’ve probably heard political pundits alerting voters to “Ask for a provisional ballot! It’s your right!” in the event something wonky should happen at polling places on election day. Provisional ballots make sense. Provisional pianos? Not so much.

Often while I’m watching too much cable news I’m simultaneously reading a book or scrolling my phone or iPad, idly checking for email or new Instagram posts of the dogs and designer shoes which comprise about 90% of my feed. (The remaining 10% is food and coffee.)

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My casual scroll came to a full stop a few days ago when I noticed an ad for a “French Provisional Piano.” *Of course it’s the wrong word, but someone at Piano Market Plus in Elkhart, Indiana, actually paid for the ad. What’s worse is that the word “provisional” appears twice (maybe a BOGOTYPO special). To be fair, the mistake doesn’t appear on their website but it’s too late now. I did spot a few errant apostrophes in some pianomarketplus.com posts about shiny “piano’s” available for purchase or rental. The owners and staff are just trying to make a living like the rest of us but it’s hard to forgive the use of an apostrophe to make a plural. I guess it goes without saying that I don’t/can’t patronize businesses in violation of my unofficial “If you can’t spell it, you can’t sell it,” rule. (See also: a long-forgotten restaurant menu featuring “burr blanc.”)

Once I recovered from the initial jolt, I found myself entertained by the notion of what a “provisional piano” could be, recalling some of the minimally functional instruments I’ve encountered soooo many times—pianos with lots of sticking/broken keys, hopelessly depressed damper pedals, missing keys, you name it. None of my former school administrator bosses ever took me up on my Dead Piano Demolition Derby fundraising suggestion but it could work (sketchy details below). I still think it’s a good idea, but whatever.

Yes, I googled the words “French Provisional.” Apparently the error is common enough to make the oh-so-credible Urban Dictionary website. The top definition: “Usually a misspelling of the words 'French Provincial', could also refer to a line of cardboard temporary furniture in the French Provincial style.” Sample sentence: “I won’t be living here long, so I’ll just furnish the place with some French provisional furniture.”

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History peeps might appreciate the generous amount of information Google offered about the very real French Provisional Government in place from 1944-1946 in the aftermath of WWII. Just leaving that note for anyone who’s curious. Also because the phrase “French Provisional” turned up some actual search results. #GoogleWin

I opted to skip the deep dive into the history of French governance and moved on to find out what “French Provincial” really means. It’s a term I’ve always associated with girly bedroom furniture (ruffled canopy optional), never giving a thought to its link to the southern provinces of France. Transparency alert: I also gave zero thought to Ricardo Montalban’s indelible “rich Corinthian leather” pitch from the mid-1970s Chrysler Cordoba television commercials. We were played. There’s no such thing as Corinthian leather.

It’s not hard to figure out the origin of French provincial style. The commonly accepted story is that 18th-19th century Parisians of a certain socioeconomic class wanted to distance themselves from the urban setting, leaving the city for vast estates in the provinces. To be labeled “provincial” was not (is not) a compliment. Die-hard Parisians who stayed put considered the provinces to be well out of the mainstream of culture and the inhabitants to be narrow-minded rubes who painted their rustic furniture white and gilded it with little flowers and curlicues.

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The 1991 film “Impromptu” perfectly depicts the French provincial lifestyle. (Full disclosure: I hate the word “lifestyle.”) It’s one of my favorite movies and there’s a 99% chance you haven’t seen it despite its celebrity cast: Hugh Grant as Frédéric Chopin, Judy Davis as the notorious George Sand, Mandy Patinkin, Bernadette Peters, Emma Thompson and more. It’s a crazy amount of star power in a film that didn’t get a lot of attention. Okay, it’s not a brilliant film but it’s certainly not a snooze.

Emma Thompson plays the socially ambitious and hilariously gaffe-prone Duchess D’Antan who invites a group of artists (Chopin, Liszt, Delacroix, etc.) to her estate for a visit. Her husband the Duke runs away from it all to go hunting while the guests are there. On the way from Paris to the countryside in their horse-drawn carriage the guests speculate about the hostess they’ve never met, imagining her as “one of those titled tarts stuck in the provinces with an uncouth husband,” Correct. “Famished for culture and determined to import it at any cost.” Bingo.

Impromptu, 1991. The Duke and Duchess D’Antan

The Duke’s attitude about his house guests is, predictably, the opposite. He unwittingly encounters George Sand while hunting in the woods, telling her:

“I’d invite you to my home for a drink, but I’ve got a house full of fops. Guests of my wife’s. I won’t let her move to Paris so she’s trying to bring Paris here. Still, it’s her money. And I love her for it.”

And there you have it. It’s a very funny film. You can watch it online. For free. And you should, if only to see Emma Thompson. Two or more thumbs up.

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Here’s the aforementioned Dead Piano Demolition Derby Proposal. It’s simple:

1. Round up a bunch of dead (i.e., no longer provisional) upright pianos.

2. Put them outdoors on a field somewhere. Procure lots of safety goggles.

3. Round up a bunch of hammers, rocks, power saws, axes, drills, etc. No guns.

4. Round up a bunch of people who have lingering PTSD from childhood piano lessons.

5. Collect donations on a sliding scale based on the destructive power of weapon of choice.

6. Profit. Also call the junk guys to clear the debris. Recycle what you can.