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Un jeune se tue
Christophe Honoré
Un jeune se tue
Jean-Louis Fernandez
Actes du théâtre n° 62.[ imprimer ]
It’s pitch black on a country road that goes past the woods - in midsummer. Three girls are standing around a burning car, hunched over Gaëlle’s mutilated body.
Bits from the past and present resurface. Later there will be a time for rituals, before the ghosts return. Un jeune se tue is a troubling story about love, death and ghosts. A play about phantoms.

‘‘The first image I had was of a country road on a summer night.
The first action was an upside-down car just after an accident, amid the silence and smoke.

The image is brought to life through the physicality of these young people grappling with life out in the provinces, fighting against boredom, ghosts and predestined lives. Their bodies are at war, in a private war of their own. Their faces tremble, yet are full of joy as they fade into the night.


I tried to build a story with episodes and paths for the young actors to take. I believed in the narrative I asked them to incarnate. I toned down the guile and mannerisms in my writing. I believed I could write a play where reality was something to be treated sacrilegiously.’’

Christophe Honoré

‘‘The text brings these children to life, lost after the accident, the death and grieving of their friend, and the gut-wrenching society they live in. There are a thousand ways for youth to express its confusion and anger - from sacrifice to abjection – and the play features several. At times it feels close to Duras, such as when Gaëlle’s sister says: ‘She died right in front of their eyes. Why did she do it? Why didn’t she choose my eyes?’’
Philippe Lançon, Libération, July 16, 2012

Opened in the ISTS theater at the Cloître Saint-Louis, Avignon, July 10-16, 2012. October 30-31 at the Théâtre de la Vignette in Montpellier
Director: Robert Cantarella. Cast: Katell Daunis, Clémentine Desgranges, Kathleen Dol, Arthur Fourcade, François Gorrissen, Maud Lefebvre, Lucile Paysant, René Turquois, Béatrice Venet.

Characters : 6 women - 3 men -
Actes Sud-Papiers

YOHANNA He was there… (She’s dead drunk.) Standing there in the middle of the road. His face was floating there - in front of his body. Like a saint in a painting. He was staring at me, staring at different points on my body. The point moved from my forehead or mouth to my hands on the steering wheel. I was focused on his floating face. He was standing still. Listen, I really saw him. (She throws up.) He was glowing – like a good friend. The kind who’ll wear his wedding ring and black shoes the right way. But not there. He was white. His skin. His naked shoulders. Farther down I don’t know. Did I look farther down? His hands I didn’t see. His nose yes. A real nose. His mouth, I don’t know. I feel like he didn’t have a mouth. He looked small out there on the road, but he’s taller than me. He was moving in slow motion. Like in the water, when your muscles make the effort needed to keep your body underwater. And above that was this woman’s gaze, a consoling gaze. We know him, I’m sure we know him. He knows me too. He knew who I was. He was looking at me like he recognized me. He wanted to tell me something. Help me. Help me find him.