法兰西之吻苏菲玛索：Dangerous Liasons

今晚的春节联欢晚会，苏菲玛索要和刘欢合唱《玫瑰人生》。苏菲玛索的成名作是14岁担任主演的《初吻》La Boum，该片瞬间红遍法国乃至全球，苏菲玛索也赢得了“法兰西之吻”的爱称。 下面是《卫报》关于苏菲玛索的一篇报道，祝各位新年愉快！ She is the woman Leonardo DiCaprio would like to bed. She has a penchant for being cast in amour fou scenarios. And she doesn't think stereotypes are wrong. As her latest movie finds her caught in a destructive love triangle, Libby Brooks wonders if Sophie Marceau is more than just a male fantasy Her face remains, long after the charming flesh has bid farewell, returning still and exact to the mind's eye. Sophie Marceau is certainly beautiful. Beneath the misbehaving fringe, her features have the regular perfection that makes babies smile. Her lips are plump and mobile, her olive gaze soft. The thick, glossed hair tempts the fingers. Her skin is vital. But beauty is seldom openly self-aware. Marceau insists that she has no concept of her physical effect. "No, never, because to be honest, I" - she rummages in her bag for a lighter - "I've never really been beautiful. I'm photogenic, which is very important, and now I'm getting older I'm aware I have to take care. I shouldn't smoke." She waves her still unlit cigarette. "I'm transformable, and you can do all sorts of different styles with me." She snakes and flutters her hands around her face. "I can be sexy or I can be not sexy at all. I don't want to be stuck in one thing, because I'm not myself one thing." Nor is 33-year-old Marceau without complexity beyond the surface. A truck driver's daughter from a dreary Parisian suburb, she made her acting debut at 13, in the coming-of-age film La Boum. It branded her on to the national consciousness. One of the few French actresses of her generation to attain international recognition, she has worked the arthouse circuit alongside Antonioni, Wenders, Deneuve and Depardieu as well as shimmering through Mel Gibson's Braveheart and the Bond blockbuster The World Is Not Enough. She is renowned both for her bemusing pensées (she believes that only a woman can play Hamlet properly) and her bluntness. (When Leonardo DiCaprio intimated that he would like to work with her "because she is as hot as it gets", she laughed and told reporters: "He's a child - is he 13? Or 11? Perhaps I could play his nanny.") Her latest movie concerns the complexity of fidelity: to whom are we faithful, and how are we faithful to them? In La Fidélité, her character Clélia wrestles two conflicting connections - the hopeful, nourishing love she shares with her gentle husband and the visceral compulsion that draws her to a troubled, passionate colleague. Her indecision is, unfortunately, as tortuous as the pacing of the film, and ultimately both relationships are destroyed. "You can't pretend you are anything other than human," muses Marceau, "which means being full of contradictions. Life is always unexpected. Clélia has chosen faithfulness, but she is very tormented, and she's very tempted, because she's a woman , because life is full of attractions and easiness. According to the director, she is unfaithful. But I think she is faithful, because physically she is faithful, which is a huge step." Do men and women see physical and emotional fidelity differently? "I wonder if it is deep in the feminine or masculine nature to be that way, or if it is because societies and rules and religions have imposed their way of ordering the world. In the last 50 years women have moved forward so much. If I look at my grandmother - my God! - she had 13 children, she had nothing to say at home, she wasn't happy, but there was no question of adultery or divorce because that wasn't how it was. "Nowadays, we're thinking that women can change partners every week, but is it the reality? Have we really come out from those 800 years behind the stove? We are caught between the temptation of becoming somebody completely free, or trying to keep some of those rules that have been so difficult to live with for such a long time. It's not easy. We are at a crossroads now, and we have to walk with awareness." "The director" who doubts the unfaithful heart is in fact Marceau's partner, and father of her five-year-old son Vincent, namely Polish film-maker Andrzej Zulawski. La Fidélité is their fourth collaboration. They fell in love when she was 18 and he was 42, when he first directed her as a teenage prostitute in L'Amour Braque, a modern interpretation of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot. Although she refers to him as her husband, the pair have never married. She enjoys the familiarity of working with him, she says. "A director has to be a manipulator. It's like an orchestra. If you all play together without someone to give the rhythm, is it quick, is it slow, is it green, is it blue? You get lost. Somebody has to be strong. It's his movie. It's not my movie, it's my part. He loves that." She giggles gleefully. She refers to him by professional title, not personal relationship, and hints at a Pygmalion element to their partnership. "He's a great mentor. He loves to be important in somebody's life, and I think I must too, because we've chosen to live together. A strong personality teaches you to be a strong personality. It doesn't teach you to be a marshmallow, otherwise he's going to get bored very quickly." Zulawski was reportedly apoplectic when Marceau accepted the role of kittenish villainess Electra King in The World Is Not Enough, considering the role of a Bond woman "beneath her". She now denies any disagreement, before adding the telling caveat: "He never reads my scripts. That's too personal. He has a very strong temper and opinions, so if I want to have an opinion from him, I have to know already what I want." There is a blankness to Marceau the actress. Though a fluid player, she has none of the gut-given energy of the likes of her contemporary Romane Bohringer. Her on-screen containment is effortless rather than engaging, the reserve thickening for her English-speaking roles. When acting in her native tongue, she has a tendency to be cast in faux amour fou scenarios, playing women who enjoy anonymous, mildly painful sex then yield mistily to manifold psychic agonies or implode with puffy-lipped passion. She is often offered roles that comprise a male vision of female experience, she admits. "Some of the most beautiful movies about women have been directed and written by men - Bergman, even Zulawski," she begins. (She has only been directed by a woman once in her career. Véra Belmont cast her as the infamous Louis XIV courtesan Marquise du Parque in the 1997 film Marquise. Their relationship was not noted for its ease.) "But sometimes you have to play somebody more stereotyped," she continues. "I don't think stereotypes are wrong. From something shallow you can really do something," she argues gamely. "If you are able to formulate the way you felt when you first read the script, it's great, because It becomes you, and you are unique." Her appearance as the girl in Michelangelo Antonioni's Beyond the Clouds in 1995 is arguably one such performance from shallow beginnings. She plays a practically dumb beauty, who bleakly confesses to the murder of her father before seducing the ever insouciant John Malkovich (who "thinks he's really intellectual" according to the tact-free mademoiselle). "That was only for Antonioni," she says. "You're going to think I'm very snob, but I have such admiration for his work. When I met him, he couldn't talk, he was sitting in a wheelchair, and it was very bizarre not to be able to communicate. (Antonioni suffered a stroke in 1985 which left him aphasic and severely limited in his speech. Wim Wenders collaborated with him to make the film.) "But I could tell at first sight that he was a director," she states, with the same breathy emphasis that she earlier placed on "woman". "He had a particular grace and light. I didn't like the movie, to be honest, so why? Because I was hypnotised by him, because he's so strong as a director, even though he couldn't talk, like Kaa in The Jungle Book. He could have asked me to do anything ... terrible!" she concludes with relish. Whether Marceau's other-continental appeal can appease diplomacy-hungry Hollywood remains in the balance. She is clearly uncomfortable with the studio roundelay: "The worst thing is when you have a meeting with a director and he's looking at you like you're the fifth girl he's seen that day. You feel he doesn't understand, you feel terrible afterwards, like you want to go and have a shower." She shudders, delighted by the fact that Universal were "obliged" to take her for the Bond film on the insistence of director Michael Apted, despite their reservations about her bankability. In her native France, meanwhile, Marceau's status remains stellar. The country offers limitless forgiveness to the woman who, according to a Paris-Match poll, most French men would like to take to bed, despite the fact that she has dismissed its film industry as "too slow, too pretentious", Paris as "insular" and the populace as "more conservative every day". She is a national institution, accompanying the president on an official visit to South Korea, while remaining a billboard regular in varying states of undress. Nudity, she tells me, is hardly the point. "Sex belongs to life, very much so," she says evenly. "The cinema is to talk about everything, and people have problems talking about sex. It is more difficult for me to talk about sex in my private life than in the movies, but I think it's healthy to talk openly about it because otherwise it can cause pain. "But technically speaking, love scenes are like any other scenes. They are emotional, and the body is an instrument. So what does the scene mean? Does it mean hate, love, pleasure, rape, what? You are acting something, and I'm not ashamed. Loads of the movies I've done have naked scenes, and there's not one that I think, euh!, I couldn't show it to my son. There is nothing private there. It's acting." For all her pretty pouts and long-limbed gesturing, there is an essential stillness to Marceau. Through her loose moves she offers watchability, womanliness, sexuality as continuous but contained, displayed rather than given. Her grace does not feel friendly, her presence impacts on the eye alone. Perhaps because the ugly sister of serenity is absence. There is a quality of a canvas about her. What does beauty do? It creates a distance between the observer and the observed. And in that space we paint her with our fantasies. 关注 “英语报道”获取更多文章，搜索ID"idledrifter"或扫一扫关注：