The Address Book
Claire T.
FRIDAY
7.00-8.15 p.m.
“It was in 1976. I was an assistant editor on a film in which he had a small part… He’s very
funny and very attractive. But when he likes a woman, he puts his desire totally up front. Then
suddenly he withdraws from the seduction game. He has a very structured life in which there is
no room for anyone else. When you tell him that he lives alone by choice, he gets mad and thinks
you’re cruel. He would like you to love him ‘anyway,’ ‘in spite of it all.’ One day he suggested
that I go on a trip with him, but he added, ‘If you come, you’ll have to share a bed with me.’ I
did not go with him…”
She sent him a postcard showing a wave crashing on a rock. She received one with a picture of a
white marble statue: a little man holding his penis. As always, the card was just signed with a P.
Sometimes Claire T. has a hard time understanding him–the stinginess behind his generosity.
“He invites you to dinner at his place, serves you a sumptuous meal, good wine, then suddenly
at the end takes a dish off the table as if he were thinking, ‘I’m going to be conned.’”
And then she tells me about one of his ideas, an adaptation of The Invisible Man: One day the
invisible man, exhausted by having played all the double games, hides in a staircase to cry about
his solitude. People pass by without seeing him, But one woman stop and comforts him: she is blind.
What follows is a love story between the invisible and the blind woman. They flee in a small boat.
You see the oars moving by themselves and the woman in the front, her face turned towards the
horizon. This is the last shot.
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