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Favorite actrice of cinéma d'auteur in the 1960’s and 1970’s, Anne Wiazemsky found her own voice through literature.
Her most recent novel, Jeune fille (Young Girl) tells the story of the shooting of Bresson’s film Au hasard Balthazar, the summer of her eighteenth birthday and of all of her « first times ».
Your
participation in the film Au hasard Balthazar was
very
important for you. Why do you think you waited forty years to tell
the story of such a momentous experience?
Anne Wiazemsky - Yes,
why ? It is true... Without being able to explain it to myself, I
felt that it was the right moment. Something happened in 1999, with
the death of Robert Bresson. I was close to his family, his wife, and
also Humbert Balsan (actor in Lancelot du Lac, who
later
became a producer). That calmed something in me and I wanted to speak
about him. Everything that he had brought to me resurfaced. Frist, I
thought about writing a story, but I didn’t want to be
indiscreet,
or hurtful. I had already written two other books, and subsequently I
made a documentary entitled Les Anges du
péché
(1943). I met Jany Holt, one of the interpreters of the film, and
listening to her evoke Bresson in such a romanesque way, I had the
idea of reinventing everything, to give myself the liberty to write a
novel inspired by this experience. Because an exact testimonial would
have been too inhibiting.
In
this novel, you speak of the diary that, on the advice of your
grand-father François Mauriac, you kept during the shooting
of
the film. Does this journal still exist ?
Yes,
but I
decided not to refer to it, to trust my memory, to only keep what
remained. That would allow me to be free, to change the
chronology…
Nonetheless, after the first version of Jeune fille,
I re-read
the journal. And it is not nearly as good as my novel. It is much
more anecdotal.
The
novel restores the freshness of a journal written in the present
tense, without the import of experience and hindsight…
It
is to
find this freshness that I use the first-person
“I”. But I
doubted this decision until the very end. At the moment of printing,
I still wanted to turn everything back into the third
person… I
think that with Bresson, I lived a rather unique experience. During
an entire summer, to get to my room, I had to go through his, we
shared the same bathroom, I was isolated from everyone, and the crew
called me “the little prisoner”. I don’t
think that he had
ever such an exclusive relationship with a young girl that he filmed.
For my part, no film shoot would ever mark me so profoundly. Probably,
because it was the first time. It is so important…
someone who gives you the feeling of living for the first time.
How
does one become a writer after having been an actrice?
It
is
something that I had very much repressed and that came back after I
turned thirty, quite simply because as an actress, I’d
traversed periods of unemployment that were longer and longer, and
harder and
harder. I wrote in my little corner, I had my friends read the texts,
Jacques Davila, Jacques Fieschi. It was he who told me: "You
will not spend your whole life doing this, it is grotesque. If you
don’t send them to an editor, I will send them
myself.”
Did
you not have the feeling of having been “kidnapped”
multiple
times ? By the cinema, by leftism all these
“electroshock”
encounters that sort of de-programmed you from your existence as a
young bourgeois girl?
Yes and no. In any case, I
was determined
to leave my family, my environment, that weren’t right for
me. I
had lost my father. My grand-parents sustained, my brother, my mother
and I. I knew that I didn’t want to live that anymore.
Somehow, I
would have sought to enter the working world and to cut all of that
off.
One
would have never guessed that the character of Jeune fille
would become two years later the young Maoist of La Chinoise
and that five years later she would become the muse of Dziga
Vertov’s
group in the films calling for armed action... How did this
metamorphosis into the incarnation of leftism take place…?
It
took place completely despite myself. I never liked the
Dziga
Vertov group. It was terribly complex
because at
that moment Jean-Luc (Godard) and I were separating. Plus, it was
impossible to be 20 in 1968 and not espouse the movement. In
Nanterre, in 1967, I became friends with Daniel Cohn-Bendit. We would
cry together: "Solidarité des rouquins !"
(Solidarity to the redheads!”) (laughter). He
was very funny. But I left university for cinema without taking my
exams, which cut me off from the student movement. I was working on
La Chinoise, and suddenly the audience thought this
person was
me. Juliet (Berto) and I did not understand the half of what we were
saying. Jean-Pierre (Léaud) had a harder time, would apply
himself with much seriousness to the reading of Marx.
How
did your grand-father, François Mauriac, interpret all of it?
In 1968, Jean-Luc got very upset with him. My grand-father
wrote me a
beautiful letter telling me that he respected my commitment, that he
couldn’t but understand that a young person would take this
path.
He was of a great tolerance. But he
participated in a demonstration at the Arc de Triomphe with Malraux
to demand the return of the General de Gaulle. Jean-Luc wrote him a a
horrible letter in which he accused him of being an old idiot. I was
very irritated that my grand-father would do such a thing, but I was
disgusted by the violence of Jean-Luc’s action. In
Jeune fille, you describe the first encounter with Jean-Luc
Godard, and you conclude: "But that’s another
story”. Do you
think that you also will tell this story?
It is
much more
complicated for it is my real private life. And obviously
his
as well. To tell it, I’d have to find an angle. I
don’t write
it off. But not right away: It would
seem to me as
if I’d be using a recipe.
Interview
conducted by Jean-Marc Lalanne and Fabrice Gabriel, Les
Inrockuptibles
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