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Jean Cocteau coined the term “sacred monster” to describe Sarah Bernhardt, undoubtedly the greatest actress of all time. This exceptional woman imprinted her era with her artistic talent, her passionate commitment and her indomitable determination. Only time will tell whether Alain Delon will join her in the empyrean, which Victor Hugo described as “the immense and profound empyrean that I need, as the earth offers nothing of what I require.“
One cannot help but feel a certain kind of sadness and immense sympathy for Alain Delon. Like the author of The Legend of the Centuries, who tried in vain to find the heartbreaking absence of Léopoldine in the “mouth of shadow,” the earth never offered Delon what he really wanted – the love of a father – and he now lives reclusively in his home in the Loiret, in a media spotlight that he would have preferred to avoid, so brilliantly did he once shine in the spotlight.
Delon as The Great Gatsby
The press, which has grown tired of the riots that have shaken France, is reveling day by day in the future legal troubles of this battered octogenarian, faced with the woman who is presented as his “lady-in-waiting”. Delon, once a figure of grandeur, is now portrayed as a “vulnerable” being, plunged into a state of extreme dependence, a victim of moral harassment and above all of abuse of weakness, like Francis Scott Fitzgerald who suffered from the characters who gravitated around him, having perceived in his vulnerability a unique opportunity to take advantage of his immeasurable talent and his status as an adulated writer. Unscrupulous publishers exploited his financial distress by imposing disadvantageous contracts, while trusted figures stood guard over his interests, succumbing to the temptation of insidious greed. The role of Gatsby the Magnificent should – obviously – have been bestowed upon Delon… Both embody an enigmatic charm and refined elegance, captivating all who cross their paths, and especially all who see them. Delon and Gatsby, two charismatic figures, weaving a veil of intrigue and fascination around themselves, their lives shrouded in mystery, nurturing ambitions and an unshakeable determination to climb the social ladder, driven by an insatiable thirst for success, while concealing their vulnerabilities and sorrows behind a facade of triumph. Delon and Gatsby emanate from a persistent aura of loneliness and melancholy, coexisting with their dazzling personas.
Delon as Jean des Esseintes
But Delon’s ultimate role does not lie in The Great Gatsby, a film where Robert Redford’s grandiose performance is exceptional but in a masterpiece that has never been adapted for the screen or stage: À rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans. Published in 1884, this novel is the iconic work of fin-de-siècle decadence. Jean Floressas des Esseintes, the last scion of a fading aristocracy, having once enjoyed the delights of an immense fortune, exhausted the source of sensual affections, worldly trivialities and the exuberance of his environment, opts for a retreat far from the tumultuous city of Paris, in a pavilion fashioned into a beneficent sanctuary. There, he would be able to peacefully devote himself to erudition and the exquisite subtlety of the senses:
“Like a hermit, he was ripe for isolation, worn out by life, no longer expecting anything from it; like a monk too, he was overwhelmed by an immense weariness, a need for recollection, a desire to have nothing more in common with the profane who were, for him, the utilitarians and the fools.”
Delon is the last and noblest incarnation of Des Esseintes in this ark where he resides, trying to protect himself from the incessant deluge of human stupidity. If the nervousness of Huysmans’ character is kept in check by the total isolation provided by a couple of elderly servants used to a regular routine of caring for the sick, the law will tell what role this “lady-in-waiting” played in the actor’s life.
Des Esseintes finds solace in a quasi-monastic retreat as he awaits the arrival of death – despite being only 36 years old. Death, the terror of old age that they dreaded as the worst of misfortunes, fascinates both Des Esseintes and Delon. Neither of them fears it. Instead, they wish for it, they provoke it and long for it, as they hoped that it will be the remedy for their ills and their sadness.
The dykes are now open
Despite the excellent nature of his surroundings, Des Esseintes’ neurosis resurfaces, gradually distorting his senses and delights, plunging him into hallucinations that have no obvious basis. He sees himself dying in an increasingly bleak solitude, in an increasingly sad decrepitude. After hopes of recovery, the fruit of spiritual and ingeniously delicate medication, ended in the worst relapses, he was forced to call a doctor who ended up forcing him to return to Paris to then utter these last words:
“Like a tidal wave, the waves of human mediocrity are rising to the heavens and are going to engulf the refuge whose dykes I am grudgingly opening.”
Because of this sinister case of abuse of weakness, the dykes are now wide open. The press – which he despises – is going to attack Delon, portraying him as a senile and forever vulnerable creature. Is this the image we should keep of him? Let’s not forget that it is the final moments of a deceased that usually tend to shape our existence. Is this the final memory that the three children will keep of their father?
It would be captivating to see Delon play his last, finest and greatest role: that of Des Esseintes, provided he escapes the denouement intended by Joris-Karl Huysmans in what is – in my humble opinion – his greatest masterpiece: À rebours.
