Parisian

J?r?me Beaunez, the hapless, helpless sweet Parisian played by Eric Debets in writer-director Jason Bushman's Hollywood, je t'aime, has it bad. A thirtysomething professional, he's fed up with life in Paris and obsessed with the beautiful man-boy Gilles, who has dumped him. An immensely likable if cinematically underwhelming crowdpleaser, Hollywood follows J?r?me as he sets off on an adventure to America, hoping it'll help him wash Gilles...

Somewhere in the midst of peeling somebody else's 50-pound sack of potatoes, most cooks begin dreaming of the day when all the hard work will be for their own restaurant. Ask Jean Sarne. Over the course of 21 years of kitchen employment, cooking in restaurants as diverse as La Campagne, Euro Cafe and Tony Luke's Casa di Pasta, an overwhelming sense of underappreciation settled in. Call it the curse of the anonymous chef. "I didn't get the recognition I deserved and it bothered me," Sarne said.

The kids could easily have been mistaken for American tourists. These skateboarders near the Eiffel Tower were attired in caps with the logos of the Washington Redskins, the Dallas Cowboys, the Pittsburgh Pirates and even the Penn State Nittany Lions. The look was completed by sweatshirts with U.S. sports-team logos or Hollywood film themes; jeans, and Adidas, Nike or Reebok sneakers. But these were not Americans. They were Parisian teenagers who represent the most visible sign of the growing love affair between French youth and American style.

Every so often - perhaps weekly - someone futzes with the cheesesteak, removing the Philadelphia-ness from it. Enter Olivier Desaintmartin, chef-owner of Caribou Cafe in Center City, who has gone all Frenchy with his Parisian cheesesteak, which he bills as a more elegant and refined option. He starts with a Dijon-slathered French baguette, naturally, upon which he layers prime rib, haricots verts, frites, and - you say you want yours wit', pal? - gooey Brie. Get out of town.

Something as dramatic and playful as the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts - a Francophile's dream - can't end with a whisper. It needs a blowout of epic proportions, one that embraces its Parisian theme and its Philadelphia base. This closing weekend's events on big stages include the cabaret based on the life of painter Marc Chagall's wife, Bella: The Color of Love , at the Suzanne Roberts Theatre, as well as Rites, Rhythm . . . Riot! and its mix of vaudeville, opera, and dance at the Perelman Theater.

Judging from his latest movies and leading ladies, French filmmaker Luc Besson clearly has a thing for tall, leggy, borderline anorexic women who may or may not have a pipeline to God. What this says about Besson is much more interesting than anything Besson says in his latest movie, "Angel-A," a gassy gabfest about a lowlife loser who learns the value of self-love. Dolly Parton pretty much covered the same ground when she wrote "The Greatest Love of All. " If Besson had only listened, we would have been spared this tedious self-help manifesto that is anything but a "Wonderful Life.

Hooker Corp. Ltd., an Australian property and retail company, said today it had agreed to acquire a controlling interest in the B. Altman & Co. department-store chain in New York. Hooker said it would buy 58 percent of the 122-year-old Altman chain for an undisclosed price while negotiating for the rest. Altman owns six department stores in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Its flagship New York shop, occupying an entire block between posh Madison and Fifth avenues on 34th and 35th streets, is a well known landmark.

Jason Bourne has a problem. He doesn't remember who he is; he doesn't even remember that he has been shot at and tossed into the sea. He doesn't find out his name is Bourne until two hours into "The Bourne Identity," a two-part mini-series airing Sunday and Monday nights at 9 on Channel 6. But, by that time, he has learned that his face has been altered by plastic surgery, that his dental work is expensive and unusual and that he has some remarkable...

It's election day, and in a vast Parisian apartment building, talking heads on the television drone on about who will be the next president. The residents make choices of their own. In Pierre Grange's striking May Day, the lives of the couples and families in the various apartments are bent out of shape, and time and perception are manipulated with great ingenuity. In effect, Grange takes the tried and not necessarily true formula device of ranging over the problems of a disparate group gathered in one space, and gives it an original twist.

ECONOMY MOVE NASA could have saved themselves a whole lot of trouble snaring that satellite by giving Pat Buchanan a space suit and telling him there were uncommitted delegates up there. WE LOVE PARIS In Paris, 50 plainclothes officers will enforce a new law that will fine dog owners if the dog leaves something on the sidewalk. Forget the dogs; they should ticket any Parisian who treats a tourist like what the dog just did. THOSE IN GLASS HOUSES Vice President Quayle lashed out at the sitcom Murphy Brown, saying Hollywood just doesn't get it. Fair is fair, Mr. Vice President.

Every so often - perhaps weekly - someone futzes with the cheesesteak, removing the Philadelphia-ness from it. Enter Olivier Desaintmartin, chef-owner of Caribou Cafe in Center City, who has gone all Frenchy with his Parisian cheesesteak, which he bills as a more elegant and refined option. He starts with a Dijon-slathered French baguette, naturally, upon which he layers prime rib, haricots verts, frites, and - you say you want yours wit', pal? - gooey Brie. Get out of town.

This multibillion-dollar industry lives and thrives in the shadows, where bags and baggy coats are the tools and practitioners are more likely to get arrested than get rich. We're talking about shoplifting, also known as the five-finger discount, and now the subject of a new book, The Steal, a Cultural History of Shoplifting , by DePaul University's Rachel Shteir. "Shoplifting has been a sin, a crime, a confession of sexual repression, a howl of grief, a political yelp, a sign of depression, a badge of identity, and a back door to the American Dream," she writes.

AFTER 25 DAYS of daintily sipping Beaujolais and channeling its inner Marc Chagall, Philadelphia is about to hang up its PIFA beret. Though not before throwing a bon voyage party to remember. Starting at 1 p.m. today, the city will begin to shut down a stretch of Broad Street, from Chestnut to Lombard, setting the six-block stage for the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts to put on its version of a turn-of-the-20th-century Parisian street fair starting tomorrow at 11 a.m. It's an event whose scope and charm Philadelphia has yet to experience, promised PIFA executive director Ed Cambron.

It's a common lament among American jazz musicians that they find far more adulation and acceptance overseas than at home. Bassist Gerald Veasley encountered an extreme version of that while playing Paris' New Morning club in the early 1990s with the late keyboard great Joe Zawinul. "This guy stumbled in like Kramer from Seinfeld ," Veasley recalls, laughing. "He announced that he was from the Church of Zawinul in Russia, and they thought because of Joe's music that he was a god. "It's fascinating to me how much this music means to people around the world.

Something as dramatic and playful as the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts - a Francophile's dream - can't end with a whisper. It needs a blowout of epic proportions, one that embraces its Parisian theme and its Philadelphia base. This closing weekend's events on big stages include the cabaret based on the life of painter Marc Chagall's wife, Bella: The Color of Love , at the Suzanne Roberts Theatre, as well as Rites, Rhythm . . . Riot! and its mix of vaudeville, opera, and dance at the Perelman Theater.

At 1 p.m. Friday, cars, pedestrians, and bicyclists with any common sense will have to take a detour through the heart of Center City to make way for a 200-ton crane that will lumber onto Broad Street between Locust and Pine. Once the crane is in position, a chandelier-type contraption, recently shipped here from France, will be suspended from it. Then, at sundown, a troupe of 18 aerialists from Lyons will be lifted 100 feet into the air and, hanging from the chandelier, will practice their routine, playing twinkly music and spinning in circles.

Though works such as The Rite of Spring are a natural part of the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts' Parisian-themed landscape, the infrequently heard Debussy piece Sonata for Flute, Viola and Harp is taking on a Zelig-like role, turning up in the background and exerting a subtle influence on its surroundings. The piece is the starting point of Network for New Music's Friday concert and was an inevitability for Dolce Suono Ensemble's Wednesday performance at First Unitarian Church.

Did Germany or France show the way to the future of music in that tumultuous 20th century? Arnold Schoenberg's logical progressions may have won the minds of two generations of composers, but Debussy, Ravel, Poulenc, and others won their hearts. There is no clear winner - yet. But the fact that the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts has focused on Paris may show how the scales are tipping in the public's mind. James Freeman's Orchestra 2001, playing the second program in the Festival on Friday at the Trinity Center in Center City, traced a century of Parisian music from Stravinsky to Dutilleux.

The final day of play Saturday at the World Bridge Series, in Philadelphia since Oct. 1, marks a milestone for a Parisian who has presided over the World Bridge Federation for 16 years. José Damiani will officially step down as president of the international organization, which runs the world series every four years and other competitions as well as regulating the game. He will pass the baton - or in this case, the bidding - to Gianarrigo Rona of Italy. A man with a large grin and a determined gait, Damiani has been a major presence at the Marriott in Center City during the last two weeks, popping up everywhere during the games but administering, not playing.