Craving love and attention, (specifically, so we are told, from her husband), Marguerite Dumont, with all the pride and folly that only great wealth can bring, believes herself to be a singer of worth. High society encourages her, but snigger and call her a 'freak' behind her back.
It's too difficult to get excited, or even remotely interested, in the concerns of the overprivileged, and the hypocritical beau monde. We are asked to feel sympathy for Marguerite, and even a little bit for her husband. But they have chosen their life. Georges has even married Marguerite for her riches and connections. Anybody with an atom of decency would know full well the kind of people who move among these dinner parties and private recitals. Georges eventually, and correctly, calls them 'turds', but it is only because they have attacked his wife, not because he has suddenly found out what they (and he himself for that matter) are really like.
One thing only kept me watching: Catherine Frot. Rarely have I seen such a range of emotions conveyed through the eyes alone: the emptiness of a life without love and affection; the need for some kind of fulfillment; trust; the anticipation,and trepidation at the same time, of her dreams at last becoming reality. It's a standing ovation performance, worthy of a more important film.