Carte blanche to Kim Thúy | Jean-Marc Vallée, the friend

With their unique pen and their own sensitivity, four artists present to us, in turn, their vision of the world around us. This week, we are giving carte blanche to Kim Thúy.

It was a last minute invitation to celebrate the New Year with friends. There were no balloons or confetti, just adults chatting in the warmth of the kitchen. I ran into Jean-Marc between two door frames, literally. As a shy and impressed film buff, I entertained him with crazy and improbable stories. I went from the math contest where you had to prove that 1 = 1 to the trick to sew on a button without a button through the indestructible shape of the Y.

Despite this explosive exchange, Jean-Marc contacted me a few days later to have a novel signed for the girlfriend of one of his two sons. He sat at the end of my table with enveloping words about his sons and a tender description of the young girl to help me personalize my dedication. He came back another time to give me a book. As if it were a natural consequence, he invited me and my family to dinner at his place, asking me if Valmond had any preferences.

Me: Valmond moves a lot…

Jean-Marc: My house is his.

I can’t remember the menu because the happy conversation has taken up all the space in my memory. Émile and Alex and their girlfriends welcomed us with enthusiasm. Our many bursts of laughter made me believe that I was the same age as them, or almost.

One day I was in Nova Scotia where I slept in an inn that looked like a haunted house with hundreds of dolls placed everywhere, including a giantess staring intently at me. Like a fawn, I hid my head under the pillows when my phone rang: “It’s Jean-Marc. ” I broke down ! I described to him the blue bath, the blue lace curtains, the blue soap, the blue bedspread, the blue eyes of the dolls… Surprisingly, my craziness of the moment did not deviate him from his plan of organize another meal together.

It was my turn to have him over, but he insisted on cooking. In his even voice, he simply said, “You take care of the utensils.” I take care of the rest. And everything will be blue! »

On D-Day, Jean-Marc arrived with his arms full. To my surprise, Alex, Emile and their friends had preferred an evening with their father and his old friends rather than theirs. As promised, I had taken out the tablecloth and the plates. As planned, Jean-Marc prepared hors d’oeuvres before putting on his coat to grill the quail on the charcoal BBQ under the snowflakes. We found the same joy around the table by taking up endless stories, without tail or head, without promises or expectations but so indescribably endearing.

It was like that every time. It was generous every time. It was benevolent each time.

In the midst of this quiet sweet friendship came the Master. Without Jean-Marc the filmmaker and his film Dallas Buyers Club, I would not have known how to write my last novel, em.

I reveal to you snippets of exchanges with a man I had the chance to love:

After your film, I want to start all over again, to rewrite my books differently.

I would like to have a raw pen like your language in the cinema, to know how to tell the violence of the scenes of collective rape of Vietnamese women by pirates in front of their frozen, overwhelmed fathers/brothers/cousins/friends, who have become undead.

If I could, I would describe the darkness of those years of omnipresent fear in the eyes of neighbors, in the breath of loved ones, in the silence of a people held hostage behind the iron curtain.

The power of your film struck me to such an extent that the light that had dazzled my vision of the world up until now was diverted to illuminate the dark part of my memory, the real one.

Jean-Marc, after reading em :

“I promise you in the words that follow a certain order in the emotions and an inevitable disorder in the feelings. »

Are you kidding me? You’re strong. I steal this introduction from you to present the first draft of my screenplay to my producers. I will quote you, of course.

Always so pleasant to read you and to discover your universe, your world, your look, your voice so unique, your love of words, people, life.

“When life does not find a singer to sing her heart, she produces a philosophy to speak her mind. »Khalil Gibran

Thank you life. Thanks my dear friend.

Me : Oh ! too great that my words can serve you.

You don’t need to quote me. You can adopt them if you want.

If you’re free on Monday or Tuesday, I’ll drop by and say hello.

Jean Marc : Yes, I have all kinds of good tea, don’t bring anything.