BOOK REVIEW / The discreet charm of the boulevardier: Thank heaven for little girls by Edward Behr, Hutchinson pounds 18.99

MAURICE CHEVALIER'S appeal was hard to define in his lifetime and is even more so today. It was his presence that was beguiling, rather than his voice; indeed, he always said, 'I have no voice, I sing from the heart.' He played, and to some extent was, the stereotype Frenchman - the boulevardier, the skirt-chaser, the insouciant charmer. 'His stock in trade,' said Adela Rogers Saint John, 'is charm. We may call him the Charm vendor.'

It seems a fragile quality on which to build a career, but he did, not once but several times. He emerged from the slums of Paris to become a music-hall comedian (and Mistinguett's lover) by his twenties but this career was cut off by the First World War, which he spent mainly as a German prisoner. By the time he returned to the Parisian music-halls, his comic style was considered old- fashioned and he had to re-establish himself as a singer-dancer. Moving to Hollywood in the 1920s, he became 'the idol of two continents' in a series of light musicals with Jeanette MacDonald, but this career, too, came to a sudden stop when he moved back to France in 1935.

For 10 years he barely performed at all, but nevertheless was denounced as a collaborator after the war. When he finally managed to clear his name and return to Hollywood, he foolishly signed a Communist anti-nuclear petition which led to his being banned from the US for another three years. Yet again he bounced back - to make Love in the Afternoon and Gigi, and to embark on an international touring career which kept him busy until he was 80. Thus whatever appeal he had - and I must confess I am completely blind to it - was sufficiently potent to seduce generations of fans.

But his charm was strictly for performance. Leslie Caron claimed 'He turns his personality on and off like an ignition key' and everyone remarked that he rarely smiled in real life. He was morose, dour, self-obsessed, and notoriously stingy - he could never find his wallet when it came to paying and, when staying in hotels, would take his platinum pen and mark the level of the wine and water at the end of every meal. Although, even in old age, he claimed to 'shake with lust' at the sight of a pretty girl, at least two of his mistresses reported that he was a lousy lover, and he once told an interviewer: 'A singer must ask himself: with whom do I want to be a hit - my wife or my public? I have always chosen the public.' He had few friends but many courtiers; many mistresses but no children; the only person he really adored was his mother and he stipulated in his will that he should be buried with her and that no other member of his family could share their grave.

This syndrome - mother-worship allied to extraordinary meanness - is a pattern so common in the biographies of showbiz stars I wish some psychologist would explain it. Chevalier's life story has all the ingredients - a poor background with a ne'er-do-well, alcoholic father and a battleaxe mother working night and day to raise her family and presumably inculcating in them a respect for money and a fear of being taken for a ride. The star, being successful, attracts gold-diggers - and is attracted to them because he can't respect anyone not obsessed with money. This leads to a certain bitterness in relationships and a belief that mother is the only person 'who ever loved me for myself'.

Since Chevalier wrote nine volumes of autobiography, it is hard to see that another biography is required. Edward Behr is certainly well qualified for the task - bilingual, a former Newsweek correspondent, he is, if anything, too intelligent for his subject. In fact the book is at its best when the loathsome Chevalier is offstage and Mr Behr is explaining, say, the early history of the French music-hall or the difference between a Petainiste (which Chevalier was) and a collaborator (which he wasn't). But a biography that leaves you impervious to the appeal of its subject must count as a failure.

(Photograph omitted)