D: Patrice Leconte. S: Patrick Dewolf, Patrice Leconte. P: Philippe Carcassone. Cast: Jean Rochefort, Gerard Jugnot, Sylvie Granotier, Julie Jézéquel, Jean-Claude Dreyfus. French dist (DVD): FilmOffice.

The story of how Terry Gilliam’s The Man Who Killed Don Quixote never made it to the big screen has become a modern legend, a tragedy somehow in keeping with its melancholic source. But few are aware that Gilliam’s choice for the perfect Quixote, French star Jean Rochefort – famously invalided off the set with barely a few feet of film in the can – had already played Cervantes’s Knight of the Absurd in Patrice Leconte’s Tandem (1987), in the thinly-veiled guise of has-been radio gameshow host Michel Mortez. The role is such a perfect fit for his hangdog persona, it might have been written expressly for Rochefort; yet at the time Leconte conceived the film, he and the star had loathed each other for over a decade.

Tandem opens with Mortez on the road with his faithful Sancho Panza, a.k.a. sound engineer Rivetot (Gérard Jugnot), touring the provinces with his once-popular game-show “Le Langue au Chat”. But already the portents of doom are gathering: cyclists stare balefully down from motorway bridges; picnicking families dine beside busy autoroutes, heedless of danger; and (in a moment of outright surrealism) Rivetot swerves suddenly to avoid the spectre of a huge red dog. Our Quixote airily dismisses these omens, unaware that his star is firmly on the wane; and when Rivetot learns his station bosses have opted to pull the plug on the show, he resolves to keep the truth from his boss and protect his fragile ego. But as their road trip continues, with Rivetot desperately engineering fake broadcasts along the way, even Mortez starts to suspect that his glory days are over.

For fans of Jean Rochefort, Tandem is an unequivocal joy. He’s the picture of dishevelled grandeur: sporting brilliantined hair the colour of boot polish, an overcoat stiffer than a suit of armour, his appearance is somewhere between a strip-club impresario and a Soviet apparatchik of the Brezhnev era. His outward façade of rakish self-confidence is paper-thin; addicted to gambling, given to sudden fainting spells, his panic attack in a tawdry hotel room (triggered by the sight of a rayon bedspread) lays bare the hysteria lurking just below the surface. Mortez at once craves and despises his few remaining fans, terrified that their lives of quiet desperation only mirror his own. His journey reaches its nadir during a fancy dinner thrown by boorish fan Jean-Claude Dreyfus (the homicidal butcher of Delicatessen), who subjects him to a surprise pop quiz before a roomful of guests; as they count off the seconds, with knives ringing shrilly against their glasses, Mortez submits like a man hearing his coffin lid nailed shut. (Later we see him atop a rubbish-tip, lost in a blizzard of shrieking gulls; a poignant touch.)

Rochefort’s acceptance of the role ended a ten-year feud with Leconte, which began on the director’s first film, the exploding-toilet flic-spoof Les Vécés Etaient Fermés de l’Interieur (“The W.C.s Were Locked From The Inside”, 1976). The experience was not a happy one for either party, with the anxious star attempting to wrestle control from the cartoonist-turned-director; both vowed never to work together again, but while contemplating casting for Tandem (then titled Chers Amis, Bonjour), Leconte realised Rochefort was perfect for the lead, a character loosely based on real French radio game-show broadcaster Lucien Jeunesse (host of “Jeu des Mille Francs”). Their reconciliation paved the way for a further four collaborations, concluding with L’Homme du Train (2002, perhaps their best).

Tandem marked a fresh start for Leconte on several counts. Besides repairing his relationship with Rochefort, it saw the beginning of a fruitful partnership with producer Philippe Carcassone that would last another fifteen years. More importantly, Tandem was the first of a new kind of Leconte film, after a string of so-so comic projects and a brief sojourn with the action genre (Les Spécialistes, 1985): his now-trademark style of romantic tragicomedy took its confident first steps here, and he’s never looked back. Tandem is marvellous, moving and funny in a way that comes so easily to French cinema, and to Leconte in particular. It’s also one of the best road movies you’re likely to see…providing you can snare a copy.

Which brings us to the matter of Tandem on home video. The French FilmOffice DVD release, which forms the basis of this review, has long been out of print and now commands hefty sums on the second-hand market. That Collector’s Edition boasted a fine 1.85:1 anamorphic image, remastered 5.1 French audio and a director’s commentary, though predictably lacked English subtitles. An English-friendly edition was subsequently released in Australia, as part of the second volume of Hopscotch Films’ Essential Patrice Leconte collection (with La Fille sur la Pont and Le Mari de la Coiffeuse); it, too, is pretty hard on the pocket-book, though for the time being it seems to be the only game in town. Quite why this little gem remains so hard to see in Anglophone territories is a mystery, though one with which foreign film buffs are wearily familiar. For those with the funds and a persevering nature, Tandem will prove a rewarding find.