{"id":524551,"date":"2024-08-19T09:18:04","date_gmt":"2024-08-19T07:18:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/leregardlibre.com\/?p=524551"},"modified":"2024-08-19T13:12:37","modified_gmt":"2024-08-19T11:12:37","slug":"delon-etait-delon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/leregardlibre.com\/en\/cinema\/delon-etait-delon\/","title":{"rendered":"Delon was Delon"},"content":{"rendered":"

French philosopher Valentin Husson pays tribute to the illustrious actor, who died on Sunday at the age of 88: \u00abHe fascinated me because he terrified me, and vice versa.\u00bb<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Delon was one of those men who fascinated me. He fascinated me because he terrified me, and vice versa. Until recently, I was watching one of his appearances on Pivot. Delon was perhaps the man of the twentieth century.th<\/sup> century. Its very archetype. I say this beyond good and evil. I'm not moralizing. I'm trying to understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His favorite word, he told Pivot, was \u00abhonor\u00bb. He always dreamed of being a gangster. He was Borsalino. He had ties with the underworld. In 2002, he was one of the first to call Le Pen to congratulate him on reaching the second round. Men like that. Besides, he was only a man. A sex symbol. For men and women alike. He was one of those guys that even men, in their race for the top prize, can't hate. There was Alain Delon, and the \u00abAlain de loin\u00bb. We couldn't compete. I was with a woman for four years who thought that Delon, in La Piscine, was Beauty itself, the canon of all other beauties. Usually, the guy says \u00abyeah, well, there's better...\u00bb; there, I could only say \u00abwell, yeah...\u00bb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was a man, yes, not a father. The kind of guy who made me pass on my desire for fatherhood. \u00abIf a father can be that, then no thank you...\u00bb Delon was a madman who thought he was Alain Delon. First of his kind. The other Delon's, except perhaps his daughter, didn't exist. Or they existed only for him. To his illegitimate son, recently deceased, he said: \u00abHave you seen your face? You'll never be a Delon\u00bb. You had to look like him, you had to be him, to belong to him. At Fogiel's one evening, interviewed with his son Anthony, he spent the interview putting his arm on his shoulder, as if resting on someone. Father Delon must have been a burden. That's the price children pay for being the offspring of a sacred monster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Delon and women<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

And then there was Delon and women. Did he ever love them? Romy and Mireille, the two women in his life. The latter never recovered. Like all narcissists, they only existed for him, to fill a gap in him, to make him love himself more. He didn't love, he loved to be loved; he loved himself because he was loved. His favorite drug? \u00abL'amour\u00bb, he once replied to Pivot. Love of others, love of self, love of self.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Delon made me cry once, precisely when I saw him cry. On Drucker's show, V\u00e9ronique Dicaire, an imitator, sang a song about Delon. A hymn to love<\/em> by Piaf. Delon, listening to it, collapses on the famous red sofa. He stands up, applauds her, and says: \u00abThe day Piaf sang that, it was the day Cerdan died; and at the end of the song, nobody applauded and everyone stood up in silence.\u00bb He wasn't crying over Piaf, he was crying over Piaf crying over Cerdan, and over this hall paying one last tribute to Cerdan or Piaf's love for him. Delon never wept for anyone but himself. Some would judge that morally, but for me, that's what made it touching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n