No sooner does the orchestra appear in the pit than the curtain parts and a colorful cast appears at an ornate railroad station singing the praises of the Chemin de Fer. The train's either brought them to or keeps them in Paris, their "place" designated by sumptuous dress, music-hall attire, or work clothes. The latter may be those of vendors, waiters, maids, cleaners, artists - some on their way to the Grand Hotel. A sign painter there pays the doorman for his hat and sign so he can get to a woman who's attracted him. So what if he has to go all the way into the audience?
It's a natural lead-in to the appearance of the Baron (swanky Michel Trempont) in long furry white overcoat with furred and diamond-dripping woman on his arm. Gypsies dance, a signboard moves on human feet, over to one side Toulouse Lautrec paints. And the operetta-turned-musical-comedy goes on like this inside the hotel, back on the streets, in various houses, courtyards, and cafes of Paris. For debauchery, there are women pulling a man's pants off and the artist's attempts to ravish and a little S&M in a courtyard, but the emphasis is on the Baron's escapades.
A singing cowboy from Brazil (Franc Tehezan, handsome even in magenta and lime) runs interference. With a maitre d's help, though, the Baron ends up with the mysterious Woman in White, who turns out to be - ah, but that would be telling. (What can be revealed is that the artist ends up with the Woman in Red.) Such suspense is typical of the plot which, in Savary's lively version, is more than ever an excuse for the exuberant performance of music and dance. It's lively, like Offenbach's famous can-can, as Paris at its liveliest.
