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Moi aussi je suis Catherine Deneuve
Pierre Notte
Moi aussi je suis Catherine Deneuve
Photo Lot - Juliette Coulon, Zazie Delem, Charlotte Laemmel, Romain Apelbaum
 
Actes du théâtre n° 21.

The play tells of the mishaps of a small family circle in which all the members go through a violent identity crisis. The youngest girl cuts herself with a razor, thinks she’s her mother and becomes a pop singer in her basement. The son takes refuge in silence. The mother loses her voice, suffocates and goes mad, while the eldest daughter chooses to (and does) become Catherine Deneuve. She fights against, then smoothes over the calamities of the little family, with their dreams of grandeur, their madness, their words, their songs and their hopes, like fireworks over everyday debris.

“Jean-Claude Cotillard’s staging is polished and flirts with the unusual. It subtly highlights the blithely wicked text […] by Pierre Notte, a young playwright who may soon be the talk of the town. That impression is confirmed by the songs composed for the production in jagged chanted poetry, the best among current trends.”
Joshka Schidlow, Télérama-Sortir, 12 October 2005

First staged at the Théâtre de la Pépinière, 19 August – 31 December 2005. Director: Jean-Claude Cotillard. Music and songs: Pierre Notte. Cast: Zazie Delem, Charlotte Laemmel, Juliette Coulon, Romain Apelbaum.

Characters: 3 women - 1 men - 1 soundtrack (or a pianist).
Éditions de l’Avant-Scène, collection les Quatre-Vents.

Marie (singing) “I was beautiful, like a silken lake, Beautiful like a veil of icy water, I was beautiful, like foamy lace sewn with salty threads, Salt from the spring tide water, Like the salted water that flows under a bridal veil.” The Mother (armed) What about my lemon cake? They eat the lemon cake. Geneviève Delicious. The Mother You don’t have Catherine Deneuve at your house every day. Marie Maybe you should put that away. The Mother Why, is it less erotic than those kitchen knives? It doesn’t cut as well, slices straight into the skin, hacks in the wrong direction? Marie chokes, spitting out bits of cake. Geneviève I love your cake. The Mother You spit it out, you eat it, you spit it out again, you eat it again, and if you throw it up, you drink it. Geneviève I love your family too. The Mother Catherine Deneuve is silent, she’s silent and it would be the same if it were the real one. I’m in command and to begin with I’ll blow away the first one who doesn’t finish his cake. I’ll blow him away and I’ll make him eat the flour, sugar and eggs separately. The son gets up, the mother aims at him, Geneviève chokes and Marie is suffocating. The Mother Sit at the table, sit up straight, good and straight, and eat that cake, eat the cake. Marie I’ll never be able to sing again. The Mother You said your good-byes as a singer who never sang, not even a rat in this fucking basement would listen to you, so what the fuck do we care if you can sing or not, with or without a voice. Geneviève (choking) My ring is stuck, it’s still stuck. The Mother Didn’t Catherine Deneuve ever learn how to spit? They never taught her to do that at her acting school? We’ll put a pretty flower, a chrysanthemum, on her grave. The Son That’s redundant. Chrysanthemum means “golden flower.” Geneviève No it doesn’t. Marie Yes it does, he’s right. The mother chokes, tries to talk, suffocates. The Mother (choking) I don’t give a damn, I said a flower, a pretty flower, it’s not redundant, I said a flower, a pretty flower, a chrysanthemum. She leaves, taking refuge in the basement. Marie, Geneviève and the son rush over. She locks herself in, climbs onto the platform, holds the gun to her head, closes her eyes, sighs, breathes and sings.