La Culture en Direct
Live transmission 10th September 2000

My impressions translated by Viv

 

This fine September evening leaves me with the picture of a happy Roy, calm and generous. He was looking well, completely at ease. His eyes clear and pure. Wearing what seemed to be black jeans, a very deep blue sweater, a black leather jacket that reached to his knees, and his straw hat which he’s not been parted from for three months ….his hair has grown long and has been bleached by the sun. The two-day beard, the smile in his eye.

De droite à gauche, Luc Picard, Isabelle Richer, Guylaine Tremblay et Roy

Standing with his three actor friends to read "some reflections and writings of those Quebecois who create art with the pen".

Each of the four stood behind a lectern to read. Roy was on the far left (on the right of the screen), Guylaine Tremblay on his right, then Isabelle Richer and Luc Picard, (Luc was performing with Roy the first time I saw him in the theatre - he played the brother in Un oiseau vivant dans la gueule). The two men flanking the two women, with a more confident bearing than their female counterparts.

 

 

 

Luc PicardI love to see Luc with Roy. Luc is all that Roy is not, and the reverse. The contrast brings out the best in each of them. All Luc’s energy and eloquence is concentrated into his piercing dark eyes, giving Roy a poise and magnitude about his being, a quiet strength in his expression. To see them together is always a delight.

 

 

 

 

Roy was in particularly good voice, his speech very composed, very steady. His eyes were clear and bright, captivating, blue-grey in the spotlights. This is how he looks on stage … with beautiful blue eyes that you don’t see very often.

He read five extracts.

The spotlight slowly lit up his face and he began with the first reading. Unfortunately he could not give the author, because in the heat of the moment Isabelle came in too quickly, depriving us of the name of the creator of these words :


La langage de l’art comme celui des dieux, s’apprend. Ceux qui ne savent parler ni aux dieux, ni aux hommes, sont violents.

Understand that the language of art is like that of the gods. Those who cannot speak either to the gods or to man are savages.

The second text was by Felix Leclerc :

Je n’ai pas vu toutes les merveilles du monde mais j’ai vu la plus belle et c’est mon pays. Où que je sois sur terre, je l’emporte dans ma guitare.

I have not seen all the wonders of the world, but I have seen the most beautiful, and that’s my country. Wherever I am on the earth, I carry it with me in my guitar.

Roy let his eyes stray while speaking these words, stressing more with his voice than his eyes the words country and carry as if it were an admission of corroboration.

The third was by Jean-Yves Soucy :

On est toujours des clowns. On est grimé, on joue un personnage même si il n’y a personne autour pour nous voir, au cas où il y aurait quelqu’un parce que c’est le jour.

We are always playing the clown. Wearing make-up, playing a part even if there’s no-one around to see us, just in case the dawn brings an audience.

It is these last words that I hooked on to ... in case the dawn … As if he was explaining by these words and the emphasis in his voice that we are all actors in life.

The fourth extract was by a man I don’t know. Emmanuel Cocke. It was about the cinema :

Le cinéma c’est l’art de bien faire les choses défendues au commun des mortels.

Cinema is the art of being able to do things that are forbidden to ordinary mortals.

The fifth was worth all the others put together. Roy’s gift. The extract by Réjean Ducharme. Famous Quebecois writer, enigmatic character and wonderful love poet. Roy’s favourite writer. No doubt that is why he didn’t read this extract, but spoke it perfectly naturally as if they were his own words :

Un livre est un monde. Un monde fait. Un monde avec un commencement et une fin. Chaque page d’un livre est une ville, chaque ligne une rue, chaque mot une demeure. Mes yeux parcourent chaque rue, ouvrent chaque porte, pénétrent dans chaque demeure.

A book is a world. A complete world. A world with a beginning and an end. Each page of a book is a town, each line a street, each word a home. My eyes run down every street, open every door, enter every home.

This time the whole text was forthright, resonant, genuine. And the words my eyes run down went wonderfully well with his own eyes, the pale grey-blue irises with their dark circumference, like a reflection and a confirmation of the quotation.

Roy was true to himself. Handsome, his voice enveloping, calm, though sometimes a little intense. His theatrical voice … his tone for grand occasions.

After the performance the four actors stepped back to take their bows. I could not help but notice the ‘Michael Move’ where Roy slowly draws back his right foot, merging into the shadow after his spell in the light.

Once again the magic was in the invisible.This man has an ability that I’m slowly beginning to identify and understand.

While he was reading, his eyes held congress with his soul. It seemed that his expression was borne by the words, supported on the voice. Like an arrow carried through the air, thrust by the force of the bow. He is the bow. He has this force which draws, creates a tension in the voice, and propels the message towards the listener. Actors are by definition messengers and skilful marksmen. This evening Roy, steadied by the presence of his three companions-at-arms, was an excellent archer.

 

His ability also comes from being able to find a new image. New every time. A new heart and soul too. It’s unique and special. I have studied it and remain astonished … I thought that perhaps time would erode his ability. But it hasn’t at all …. on the contrary the essence of his appearance expands and acquires even more new shades. He is like the sky, always different, changing according to the weather and the seasons. Always unique. Always as if it were the first day on earth. As if it were the first time he had ever set eyes on life.

 

 

 

 

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