Jeanne Moreau was an immense artist. Of those to whom no tribute can truly do justice, so rich was his work, and so deep was his imprint. Of those who leave a trace in each of the existences they cross, and who do not allow us to forget them.
It will remain in every memory. Ours: that of her contemporaries, whose existence she has enlightened by her talent, her presence, her voice. It will remain in the memory of the theatre, which was its first ground of expression, and from which it has never strayed – it will remain in the memory of the Avignon Festival, which it knew from the first edition in 1947, and which will see it for the last time in 2011.
She will remain in the memory of cinema, where she embodied the “French-style” demand and avant-garde. Worn by Louis Malle, who gave him his first great success with Scaffold lift, it will be one of the icons of the New Wave, including the unforgettable Jules and Jim, by François Truffaut. She will work with the world’s greatest directors – from Orson Welles to Michelangelo Antonioni, Luis Buñuel, Theo Angelopoulos, Joseph Losey, Wim Wenders and Amos Gitaï. The list goes on and on of all the filmmakers with whom she has collaborated, up to the very last generations, whom she has constantly supported and inspired.
It will also mark the memory of television, by the great complicity that bound it to the director Josée Dayan, in particular, and that of the song – since the Whirlwind of lifewith the great Serge Rezvani, until Condemned to death, poem by Jean Genet put in song by Etienne Daho.
Jeanne Moreau made us grow, by the intelligence of her game, by the constant audacity and modernity of her speech. It moved us, it surprised us, passionate, fascinated: it made us live, in short.
My thoughts are with his family and loved ones.
