Book Review: Close Up and Personal: The Private Diaries of Catherine Deneuve

Oftentimes, I’ll reserve books I review for this blog either as a giveaway or a gift to someone, so I take good care while I read it, refraining from highlighting and using only the gentlest pressure when I turn pages.

Not this time.

I’ve had Close Up and Personal: The Private Diaries of Catherine Deneuve (translated by Polly McLean) on my bookshelf for well over six months. I bought it way back in February or March when I realized that it might be better to own the book rather than trying to snag a copy via Interlibrary Loan. And I’ve no regrets.

Readers looking for the ultimate book about how to tap into your Inner French Girl, straight from the luscious lips of the most iconic and beautiful Frenchwoman alive, will be sorely disappointed. No diet tips pepper the pages, no makeup advice or suggested skincare regimens grace this book. Deneuve does let slip occasionally that she can be rather “English” in her choice of food to bring on film sets: yogurt, tea and honey. And she does actually even use the word “diet” once (but only once!).

But this isn’t a tome on how to live live a la francaise, and for that one should be grateful. There are enough books, articles and blogs out there (including this one!) that seek to dissect the superficial parts that make up the whole of the stereotypical Frenchwoman. Instead, we get a fascinating peek into the mind of a working actor, one dedicated to her craft and keen to plumb her talent and that of the crew privileged to work with her in order to achieve the best performance and ultimately, the best film.

The book is just what it describes in the title: a collection of Deneuve’s diary entries from various film shoots, arranged in reverse chronological order, beginning with 1999′s Dancer in the Dark and concluding with 1968′s The April Fools. A 2004 interview with French screenwriter Pascal Bonitzer rounds out the book, along with a filmography of Deneuve’s work.

What surprised and pleased me most about the book was how well it was written. Not to knock Deneuve, but who would have guessed that aside from her ethereal beauty and formidable acting talent, she also possesses a sharp, poetic writing ability? Her prose is stark, beautiful, metaphoric, but not florid. She evidently had no ambition to publish the work and was only persuaded to do so after someone suggested that she write an autobiography. Having no intention to ever do the latter, she offered these journals instead.

If she wielded an editor’s critical pen and exorcised any self-incriminating passages, there’s little evidence of it here. Deneuve writes with a very observant and sympathetic eye but spares no one — least of all herself — justified criticism. Earlier in the book she calls herself shallow and concerned only with appearances and the superficial; she exhorts herself to be more serious, to read more serious books and listen to more serious music. Yet her knowledge of the actor’s craft is wide and deep, even from the beginning, and it’s quite clear that she takes her work — if not herself — very seriously. She worked with some of the greatest filmmakers of her time, including Luis Bunuel (sadly, there is no entry here regarding Belle de Jour, but there is a good one of her experience making Tristana), and she made the most of every single experience, asking questions, seeking out the essence of each story and character, learning about the most minute technical aspects of filmmaking.

My favorite chapter involves Indochine, and it’s clear from the long, languid passages that it was a movie she loved to make and write about. During its production she fell deeply in love with Vietnam and was obviously moved by its people, the landscape, even the wet, steamy climate. If you’ve seen the film you’ll remember how elaborate the sets and costumes were, and Deneuve loved every bit of it, even the occasional hardship of filming in a developing country still feeling its way after a devastating war.

It’s not all work, of course. Deneuve is a consummate professional, but this is her personal journal. (She refers to it as a logbook rather than a diary, reflecting its primary focus on her work rather than her personal life.) She refers very little to her relationships, save for a few mentions of her daughter Chiara Mastroianni (father was Marcello Mastroianni) and her late sister Francoise Dorleac, who died in a car accident in 1967 and whose tragic death obviously still affects Deneuve. Still, she doesn’t hesitate to share her true feelings about certain circumstances and even people, including the challenges making Dancer in the Dark with the unpredictable and moody Bjork and her opinion of Americans during her lengthy stay in America while filming The April Fools with Jack Lemmon. She calls Lemmon “charming,” but is disappointed with her experiences with Americans.

Coarse, drunk Americans, coarseness really bothers me. They don’t know that I can hear them from behind this curtain.

I’m worried that [Jacques Demy's] experience of America has disappointed him, it certainly isn’t to my liking, clashes with my sensibilities, it’s so dehumanised. Though they do have an interesting way of making fun of themselves, whereas the French are so starchy.

(Note: In her defense, she was going through a terrible time in her life at the time she made the film, having just lost her sister and also facing the prospect of being away from home and family for three months. The short, almost blunt entries that cover this period clearly reflect the melancholy mood she was in, in contrast to the long, detailed passages describing the Indochine shoot.)

I truly loved this book and consider it possibly my favorite of all the books I’ve reviewed for MIFG thus far. It reveals the complex layers beneath the Ice Maiden mask for which Deneuve has long been famous, the brains behind the beauty, the thoughts behind the emotions. Anyone interested in filmmaking — particularly those who just can’t get enough of French moviemaking — will find something of interest here, but especially if you’re a Deneuve fan who thinks you know everything this is to know about this enigmatic, provocative woman. This book was written for you.

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