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| The
Fields of Anjou |
|
 On
my way by foot chez Depardieu in the Anjou region of north- central
France, I couldn't help but feel invigorated by the crisp, biting
dawn of this bucolic region at this time of year. Arriving at his
house just as the morning sun flushed the ancient rough-cast walls
with an intense golden light, I pounded
on the door
for what must have been twenty minutes.
Finally, there appeared before me the undisputed master of the modern
French cinema in the guise of a bear who had just ended its hibernation
but had not yet expelled his mucous plug. "Merde, savez-vous
l'heure qu'il est, monsieur?" [Shit! Do you know what time
it is, mister?] he said to me with a certain twinkle in his eye
that told me he was only joking. "Vous
dormiez, pendant que d'autres souffraient?" [Were you sleeping
while the others suffered?] was the splendid bit of badinage
I offered in reply as I pushed open the door and entered the parlour. |
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In the far corner of the room was an obvious
favourite chair with the reading lamp still burning from the night
before. Around the foot of the chair were several mostly empty
wine bottles bearing the Chateau
Tigné
label (Gerard's own) with about an inch of wine left in one of
them. I took a swig to satisfy my curiosity and said to Gerard
"C'est du vin d'église?" [Is this church wine?]
At that point it was clear that Gerard wasn't feeling well because
he didn't laugh at all. As I plopped into the chair, Gerard gazed
at me with a certain incredulity, probably because of my wide
renown as an interviewer and the fact that I was actually in his
house. Not otherwise a believer in telepathy, I was sure I could
hear him thinking : "Is this really happening
to me?" His expression was priceless. Gerard slowly sat down
in the chair opposite never taking his intense gallic eyes off
of me for even a fraction of a second.
|
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| The
Winemaster |
|
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| That
Cyrano! |
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Feeling somewhat self-conscious, I said to him, "Depuis
combien d'années demeurez-vous ici?" [How many years
have you lived here?] He rolled his eyes skyward (confusedly)
and said "Would you prefer to use English?" I
said that indeed I would. He proceeded to answer my question:
"I do not zhink zhat I am living here, really" he said
almost hesitantly, "Because I do not zhink zhat I am
living in a place where zhere is no sleep and no privacy."
"Hah-hah!" I said, "Very Good. Touché!
Très bon! Très, très, très, très
bon!" He rolled his eyes again. Emboldened by our obvious
rapport, I fired my next question: "So, now, Gerard, What
about that Cyrano?" His eyes widened to the point where I
could see the whites atop the irises and he bolted for the telephone
and dialed a couple of digits and stopped, evidently having forgotten
the rest of the number. "Bonjour, Sergeant ..." said
Gerard. I looked hastily about the room but didn't see the dog
he was obviously speaking to.
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Before Gerard could
continue, his charming wife Elisabeth entered the room looking as
if she had just come from the blender. Gerard hung up the phone.
I looked at Elisabeth and then at Gerard. I gave him a sly wink.
Then another. "Qui est là?" [Who is it?]
inquired Mrs. Depardieu. "Je ne sais pas" [I don't know]
replied Gerard trying to tease me, "Un connard qui se
prend pour un journaliste." [Some bastard who takes himself
for a journalist.] Needless to say, I was no more good, literally
rolling on the floor in stitches. "Mais, nous ne l'attendions
pas" [But we weren't expecting him.] said Elisabeth. "Alors,
Elisabeth, faut pas enculer les mouches!" [Now, Elisabeth,
you mustn't fuck flies.] answered Gerard. "Mais je vais bientôt
lui casser la gueule!" [But I'm about to beat the shit out
of him!]
|
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I'm
about to beat
the shit out of him! |
|
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Tears poured down my face as I guffawed across
the floor. "Elisabeth, comment dit-on 'casser la gueule à
quelqu'un' en anglais?" [Elisabeth, how do you say 'beat
the shit out of somebody' in english?] continued Gerard. "Ce
n'est pas à moi qu'il faut le demander!" [Don't ask
me!] replied Elisabeth, "Il faut encore téléphoner
à Hieronymus ." [You'll
have to call Hieronymus again.] Then, to show me that he was truly
France's comic genius, Gerard took hold of my lapel, pulled me to
his face, and said "Get out!" He tossed me into
the rue, screamed "Va te faire foutre!" [Use your imagination.]
at me, and slammed the door. I lay in the road howling for at least
fifteen minutes. "What a card!" I said to myself, wondering
why he was taking so long to come back for me. Another joke! What
a guy! After finally quieting down, I looked to my watch to see
it was 6:45 am. Having done a full day's work, I hastened to the
nearest tavern. |
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