2002 / may / 29
Who is Bernard Tapie?
Going through a manic, sleepless patch has advantages - such as being
pleasantly surprised by a
late-night movie on BBC2:
Who is
Bernard Tapie by Marina Zenovich. A story of compulsion, obsessive
interest - close to being in love, but not quite. Being enthralled.
Tapie is a character. But it's not just a movie about him, or her;
for me, it shed light on my (stress: mine)
european prejudices. She's an american, and
answers to both the negative and the positive stereotypes: over the
three years the movie takes, and countless visits to France, she
hardly improves her very poor french. If you want to communicate, it's
the least you can do, right? Also, from the film I get the impression
that she knew hardly anything about France at all.
Which brings me to the other side: coming from that position, she
then goes on to make a film that at least touches on the ghost of
the Mitterand era, and on the ghost of Tapie.
And her naive enthousiasm (and openness, bordering on exhibitionism)
embodies the very naive spirit that us europeans find so appealing
('us' europeans, I'm generalizing terribly here I
know. Pinch of salt, everyone).
From the
accompanying interview:
Seguela said, "He thinks you're in love with him."
I looked at Jacques and said, "I am not in love with him, I am in love with his spirit!"
Having seen the movie just now, I think there is no difference.
On a related note, that's also the difference between loving and being in-love.
A topic close to the bone, with what happened the past ten days.
Fifty-five minutes well spent, that's for sure. I'll go to bed now, to lie awake for a while. And hopefully, sleep soon - I am so goddamn tired, my head aches.
