THE CASE OF THE GRINNING CAT

Got a message tonight on my mailbox. It says :

"Dear Flash-mobber,

The second ParisMob will take place tonight. Synchronize your watch on http://www.horloge-parlante.com/fr or your phone at 3699. Be at 6.52 p.m. with your umbrella at 50 rue Rambuteau, station Rambuteau.

Someone will deliver you the instructions. Start strolling quietly around the place, don't form groups, until 7.00 p.m. After 7.00 every ten seconds open and close your umbrella, still strolling. Once you're near the flower pot, start turning around, clockwise, and sing in a monotone way the following text : Let's walk around the pot until rain begets the golden flower…" How poetic.

And all that under the eyes of a Cat.

A CAT ?

This was Paris, november 2001. The sound of the September bagpipes was still in the air. Everybody felt we had entered a new age, we marvelled at the way New Yorkers had faced the tragedy, and the biggest parisian newspaper had put on its frontpage "WE ARE ALL AMERICANS". You would hear everywhere the same motto : let's join against the killers. The whole world was a band of brothers. Dunno who's to blame for the fact that it didn't last. Certainly not the Cats.

A cat on a roof. Then another. Then another. I picked them at random, I didn't even think that someday they would steal, catlike, into a movie. At that moment they were just signs, but comforting ones. And how we did need comforting signs on these days. So somebody, at night, was risking his neck just to have a smile floating over the city.

I wondered who the painter could be. A crossbreed of Charles Schulz and Spiderman. He was performing in the most unexpected places, you'd swear he would need a third arm –or was it a paw ?- just to keep his balance between brushes and buckets. On occasion he assigned a task to his cats. Some were in charge of welcoming the travellers in the rail stations. To someone who landed in that gloomy city where smiling had become a kind of secret cipher between affiliates, the grin of the Cat was the gate to a different Paris, as it used to be in merrier times. And it was no wonder that, following its path, you would encounter the traces of that past. In fact, the first Cat I had spotted wasn't on a roof, but in one of the rare locations that had not changed for sixty years. The locks on the canal, a legendary site of prewar cinema. Hotel du Nord, Louis Jouvet, Marcel Carné, holy names for a film maniac.

st -I need to change atmosphere
and you're my atmosphere
-I've been called names before
but never Atmosphere !
(cult dialog from Hotel du Nord)

Then I discovered I wasn't alone in my hunt. Some newspapers heralded the Cat. "An army of yellow cats is invading the city." Which was a clear overstatement. That army was made of a few sentinels, but strategically disposed. Some of them did climb down from their roofs to appear at human eye's level, and even one went to the ground. The author craftily used the texture of a tree, on the banks of river Seine, to make the critter look like an owl in its nest, thus illustrating my favorite slogan "The Owl is to the Cat what the Angel is to the Man". But as soon as they were within reach, they became vulnerable, and the Enemy was watching.

A Grinning Cat appeared on the wall of the church at St Germain des Prés. Within a month he was erased. Does that iconoclastic rage ring a bell ? Sure, the Taliban blowing out the Buddhas in Afghanistan. I'm not joking. Given their respective environments, both obscurantisms show the two faces of the same coin.

Upon the soundtrack of the Metro, I wander across the city…

…and I'm looking for the Cats.

The musicians get a standing ovation. Of course, those people were standing anyway, but don't forget that probably not one of them ever entered a concert hall. That's why I love the Metro. I have some good friends there. Meet Bolero, the cat at Strasbourg Saint Denis, and his human companion, Elizabeth. No cat in Paris is better groomed than Bolero, even in the upper class districts. In the Metro you cross the derelict and the tourist, equally lost, you too get lost at times, unless you join the society of those who are simply lost in their thoughts, sometimes with good reasons… And naturally it is just when after so many apparitions of gremlins, zombies and griffins you're ready to give up your hunt, that the Cat deigns to materialize. The next surprise is to watch a pigeon transforming itself into a man…

Once outside, the real world strikes back.

While I was hunting cats downstairs, honorable men on the first floor were cooking the presidential election. This one promises to be especially mind-boggling. The Left which had a good chance to challenge the incumbent president Mr Chirac is in pieces. As the saying goes : one trotskyite, a militant, two trotskyites, a party, three trotskyites, a split. We have all three, plus the communists, plus the Greens, plus a few mavericks, while the Socialist party desperately tries to make out of this cacophony a coalition. So begins the New Year.

Chirac was the first to draw. To confront him, socialist Jospin would be the best choice. But there is an obvious lack of support from his own allies. They reproach him not to lean ostensibly enough on the left side, and at times he doesn't help to clarify the debate –when for instance in a TV interview he declares that if he himself is a socialist, his program is not. Hence a certain confusion, which doesn't escape the piercing eye of Mr Le Pen, the Extreme Rightist contender. He says "Jospin is threatened by the six candidates of the radical Left. My intention is to beat him in the first round". Nobody then pays attention to that prophecy.

It may sound a bit strange to hear some Leftists throwing fiercer barbs to the candidate of the Left than to his opponent, when they don't accuse him blatantly of being a slave to Capital. The trotskyites are within their own logic, but others who pretend to be only critical supporters begin to play with fire. The catch is, they all are absolutely sure that there is no risk playing the tough guys. "Imagining that Jospin wouldn't be present at the second round is pure nonsense".

Now let's go back to a more familiar world, the world of cats, which has its own share of troubles. Take for instance that Saturday afternoon, when the cat Caroline got stuck on the top of a tree and couldn't descend. Even the firemen gave up. That was enough of a drama to keep the whole neighborhood aghast. But the parisian soil begets heroes when they're needed, and this one saved the day.

On April 21, catastrophy.

The cat Bolero pinched his paw in the escalator. Elizabeth brought first aid.

And as misfortunes never come singly…

Yes, the unthinkable happened. For the first time in a modern democracy, the Extreme Right comes second in a presidential election

To kinky situation, kinky answer : the whole political spectrum from Left to Right supports Chirac in the second round.

The polls deliver their prediction. Chirac should make around 80% of the vote. "It's a gag" says one of Le Pen's cronies. "There will be a national uprising !". Mr Le Pen himself announces "a big surprise" for the next round –and he goes specific : getting less than 30 %, says he, would be "a bitter failure".

The answer of the street is immediate. As Le Pen's favorite ground is the danger of immigration, the youngsters loudly claim their immigrant origin.

st We – all – are
Immigrant's children
First - Second – Third generation

Obviously an old activist. How many Maydays does he stock inside his memory ?

Here I've got a scoop : Le Pen-bashing –in esperanto.

I didn't miss a word.

Let's face it : these girls with their warpaints are lovely, but the fascist legions are not besieging our gates. And if Le Pen is a dictator, it's mainly against his own people. Yet what we see here coming onstage is an entire generation that was spoken of as being apolitical.

Chirac is elected. 82% ! Mao Zedong rolls in his grave. A real statesman would have seized that unique opportunity to build up a kind of New Deal, but this is not about a real statesman, it's about Mr Chirac. On the spur of the exhilaration he promised his voters they could count on him, then he went back home, and the rest is NOT history.

But the second round surprise was not what Le Pen had predicted.

I was there, watching PPDA, the most celebrated anchorman of French television. And whom did I spot in a corner of the screen ?

st FREEDOM

So the Cat himself had chosen to reappear at that moment.

Was he suddenly titillated by political ambition ? My own cat Guillaume immediately designed an acronym : Humanistic-anarchistic confederation of workers…

…or was it enough for him to continue to publicize his grin ?

And by the way : where did that grin come from ?

The Cheshire Cat of course.

Also Miyazaki, the manga, Japanese ads…

Found in my files : an archive from year 2000, when the author still was testing his style.

But when you search deeper into Art History, you can make surprising discoveries. An expert speaks.

How true.

Thus you could follow the path of the Cat through the ages,
from cave painting until constructivism.

Some metamorphoses of the Cat.

The Cat advertises himself in the Metro.

The Cat uses Amelie for his own benefit.

The Cat rates high at the Stock Exchange.

The Post Office issues stamps representing the Cat.

The Cat makes the frontpage on the tabloids.

The Cat squats on the Web.

When the Cat entered the White House official site, I knew that something serious was at stake. For in the meantime, a War was boiling up.

On march 17, president Bush gives Saddam 48 hours to leave Iraq. He also compares him to Hitler.

Good. Let's just imagine Churchill giving 48 hours to Hitler to get out of Germany.

st Enough –enough of this society
that only brings war
and misery

In Vietnam
the napalm
wasn't Saddam
wasn't Islam
It was Uncle Sam

And the gassing of the Kurds, who was it ?

The Kurds.
Always caught between two enemies.

March 19. President Bush announces the war.

UN inspectors don't find trace of the famous weapons. Yet here a well-known French personality asserts that they did, and quotes a newspaper. "The only wish of the people in Baghdad is to be protected by Americans and Britons. Bush senior liberated Koweit, Bush junior liberates Iraq. Someday the oldest street in Baghdad shall be named after him." Who said all Frenchmen were traitors ?

March 20. The bombing of Baghdad.

A people's representative addresses the Americans. Not very smart.

Not smart, but mainly not true. These youngsters don't canonize anyone, they'd rather demonize everybody. With a peculiar dislike for president Bush perhaps, but in this they won't remain lonely for long. They think global, and their slogan is : to each his own.

st Bush has Iraq
Chirac : Ivory Coast
Putin : Chechnya
and Sharon : Palestine…
They want a world-wide war
Let's have a world-wide wrath.

The pattern of these demos is as multifaceted as a Rubik's cube. A group deliberately aligns Israel in the war camp, and a few yards away you meet the supporters of the "Jews for peace" movement. You hear that young Jews have been attacked by rabid antizionists, yet you see here and there the badge to fight antisemitism. Why should the streets of Paris be less chaotic than the rest of the world ?

"Do you film us ?" says the cop
"Of course no !" say I
Almost no lying…

But my main reason to be here has nothing to do with the intricacies of world politics. Since his coup on election day, everybody wonders when the Cat will strike again.

So I wander from demo to demo
with a single question :

Where are the Cats ?

Where are the Cats ?

Where are the Cats ?

One more time… and I don't finish my question.

st MAKE CATS NOT WAR

And yet –no Weapons of Mass Destruction. The correspondent of Skynews beautifully phrases the question.

Unesco had warned against the risks of plundering in the Baghdad museums.

On april 11, the archeological museum was plundered.

If someday I had the opportunity to plunder the Louvre,

I know damn well what I would pick.

A visit to the Street Museum.

At the end of my stroll, I happen to be back where we started, where the people used to open and close their umbrellas –that debatable golden pot in front of which I did show you the first Cat. What is the Cat up to by now ?. After his triumph in the demos, he seems just bound to relax, or fly.

But his reputation keeps growing.

He is signalled everywhere.

Except that sometimes the French language plays tricks. For "cat" we say "chat" : c.h.a.t. –which means that when you look for cats on the Web, you have to get rid of all the chatting sites.

But one thing is for sure : with all that glory, the parisian street has ceased to interest him.

st SEE YOU SOON

On the parisian street by now, you can hear the backlash of the unkept promises. The new Prime Minister Mr Raffarin may learn that he's finished –in stronger terms. We had left Mr Raffarin in the euphoria of the 2002 victory. Let's remember what he said that night…

st Does the Republic
always keep its promises ?
Where is Liberty nowadays ?
Where is Fraternity in the neighborhoods ?
People want to share that Republic
and new ways of governing are needed
to be closer to the people
and more efficient…
Politics may become powerless
So tonight we're happy
for this republican upsurge
but we have been challenged
so we have to draw some lessons
and change our politics…

Fine. But one year later, nothing has changed.

Rhythm is what keeps the demos running. This one was born during the Vietnam years. Johnson then was the target. Then we heard it in May '68. And today again, adapted to a new mood. Don't forget what the Spanish Republicans used to say after they were crushed by Franco : "We had the best songs".

The crowd here chants a call for a General Strike –something totally unrealistic in this time and place. But that kind of political jujucraft has a tremendous appeal, it goes back in
history and evokes the great ancestors, the heroic strikers as we used to watch them in Eisenstein's movies. One more step, and we're in '36, the Popular Front… There we shift from unrealist to surrealist. Who could believe that the loudest demonstrators, those who boldly sing the Internationale, are the members of an Union, FO, created in 1948, at the outset of the Cold War, with American money, to challenge the communist-controlled CGT? The times, they're a-changing.

st Raffarin you haven't won
We're not tired
We're resolute

June 1st. A "Die-in" for the victims of AIDS

st We're angry at the leaders
who may spend 200 billions
to wage war in Iraq
and can't find ten billions
to fight AIDS

In these times, we the people gathered to watch eleven billionaires kicking a ball.

What about the French team ?

Stalinesque-sized posters, as we had never seen the like of in Paris
-and not one goal recorded.

A tiny concert, to remember the people who die in the street…

Some demonstrators are more equal than others. When they themselves belong to show business, like the casual workers who complain about their status, they have a better chance to attract attention than, say, garbage men. They too crave for historical models. Somebody's got the brilliant idea to unearth a song composed during the German occupation, and by changing names, adapt it to poor Mr Raffarin. There is a lot to deliver about the Prime Minister's deficiencies, but comparing him to Marshall Pétain is, shall we say, far-fetched… It's a great asset in life, not to know what you're talking about.

Komandantur, really…

Anyway, causes are a matter of fashion. In summer the cause of the showbiz temporary workers had been fashionable, in autumn the islamic scarf would have its say.

st O beloved France
Where is thy Freedom ?

You trustworthy people
respect our differences !

Don't forget : for the journalists
the spokesperson is Wahiba !

Thank you gals.

But when the Tibetans made a pray-in to protest the visit of the Chinese Premier, nobody winked.

Oops ! Seems that someone goofed in the sound department. Let's get the right track. And when I say right…

st No to Unions dictatorship

Next chapter : Raffarin's revenge.

st Hold on, Raffarin !

A curious moment. I catch a piece of dialog : "This government is a mess". Some supporters. This looks even more tricky than in the other camp. Let's try to locate ideology.

Ah, there it is.

st Striker, you're a pain in the ass !

Once more, the reference to the past accompanies a certain fuzziness in the symbols. These conservative youngsters picked their logo in a famous wartime poem "Liberty I write thy name" –whose author was Paul Eluard, a communist, who would be surprised to side with the strike breakers. Their leader aims at being the rightist counterpart of peasant leader José Bové.

Bové periodically goes to jail, and periodically there is a demo to ask for his release. I browse through these faces, until I recognize a friend. Léon Schwartzenberg, celebrated physician and activist, who ranks regularly among France's most-beloved personalities. While sick and not too young, he is there to support his friend. And it is also the last time I see him.

st Professor Schwarzenberg was 79
He passed away this morning
He will be buried this Friday
at the Cimetière Montparnasse

Through his whole life, Léon sided with the underdogs. A famous battle was in favor of immigrants, specially those who fall victims of inextricable red tape, the "paperless".

st We have lost a friend
The warm-hearted professor
So long Léon
we loved you

Which triggers another Flashback…

In 1999 there had been a concert in favor of the "paperless". I happened to be there, and filmed a young singer who was also a sort of counter-culture icon, Bertrand Cantat.

Five years later, when he reappears in this movie, he has become the main character of a tragedy. He was madly in love with actress Marie Trintignant. Then one day he was madly angry at her, he struck her, and she died.

There were hideous attacks ("we told you these Radicals are murderers"), there were lame defences, yet he was indefensible, and yet he would have to carry this burden during his whole life, and words were powerless. For a moment we forgot about other dramas. The war was going on, the misery of the world was going on. Perhaps there was a kind of bitter symbolism in the fact that those two years full of sound and fury had climaxed in the story of two star-crossed lovers.

And then, as usual, the tragedy turned to merchandise. A famous singer kills a famous actress, what a bounty for the scavengers. It has happened in Vilnius, Lithuania, a place nobody knows, which adds to the mystery. "The crime of Vilnius", that sounds better than Brighton. Over this quagmire, all I can do is to keep a small silent place for Marie and Bertrand, and through editing, for a flimsy moment, bring their faces together.

And you wonder why the Cats abandon us ?

For months I haven't seen the cat Bolero on his steps.

What if they left us for good ?

"We were the Freedom Cats. If you didn't catch the message, just move on !"

And then –comes a sign.

The same unknown hand has painted circles of Cats on the sidewalk, to watch over our sleep.

Thank you, Cats.

We will badly need you…

…wherever we go.

"Legend has it that duke Gediminas, the founder of Vilnius, had a dream in which a wolf howled on a hill. A priest deciphered the dream: the duke must build a city whose name would be heard throughout the world, like the howling of the wolf.”

(Courrier International, june 19, 2003)

THE CASE OF THE GRINNING CAT

video
CHRIS MARKER

voice
GÉRARD RINALDI

in homage to
GEORGE SANDERS
(1906/1972)

Soundthread
MICHEL KRASNA

Cats theme
ANTON ARENSKY
(1861/1906)

Musical quotes
GIOVANNI FUSCO
JEAN-CLAUDE ELOY

Mix
FLORENT LAVALLÉE

Production
LES FILMS DU JEUDI
Laurence Braunberger

in association with
ARTE FRANCE
THIERRY GARREL
LUCIANO RIGOLINI

with the involuntary concourse of
FREDERIC TADDEI
AKOSH S.

additional footage
courtesy "Amis du Chat"

still photography
J.F.DARS

No cat has been
impolitely treated
in this movie

This film is dedicated
to Mr. Chat
and those who, like him,
are creating
a new culture