Xavier Dolan on Gaspard Ulliel

“Nathalie Lévy: You directed Gaspard Ulliel in It's Only the End of the World, and you wrote an intense message after the news of his death... Xavier Dolan: It was really his light... the allure he had... He was someone who... I still can't talk about him... And I still can't accept... I dream of him at night... very often. Sometimes those dreams look cruel... or... hyper realistic. Some look so real... and when I wake up it's so painful. Nathalie Lévy: What was so singular about Gaspard? Xavier Dolan: I saw lots of interviews with Gaspard when he died. And he was someone who loved words... and loved to think. Sometimes he looked up at the sky, before speaking. And yet all of his words were relevant, measured, cultivated... He was a literate man, and curious. He spoke well. And he spoke when he had to speak.”

“Xavier Dolan: I think of him all the time, actually... I think... It's hard to conceive it.. It takes a long time to accept this situation... to accept his departure... It's inconceivable... I often dream of him... I think of his family... his son... I think of his talent, his beauty... And I will talk about him tonight. Host: That's why you're here, actually. Beyond your César nomination... Xavier Dolan: Yes... honestly. This nomination is a recognition that I really appreciate, obviously, but it's not the first reason I'm here. I really wanted to say some things about Gaspard... Not because I have the right to do it, but because I feel the need to do it. I knew him professionally and intimately, as well. [Holding back tears] I hope tonight I'll be able to control myself better than now. But... I really feel the need to say personally how much I loved him and why.”

“Tonight I wanted to pay a tribute to my friend, to our friend, Gaspard. I have chosen to do so in the form of a letter, which is as follows: Madame, I am addressing this letter to you without even knowing you, without knowing you well. Outside, behind my bedroom window in the woods where I have taken refuge, the snow twirls in the air. It is transfigured by the light of the sun and the wind persists in beating it into loose snow. Big conifers rise in front of me, covered with a very heavy white deposit. Winter is calm, all of a sudden, after a brutal start. I knew that in coming here to seek out isolation, I was going to start thinking and writing about Gaspard, I had already written for Gaspard before, I had written to Gaspard, but I had not written about Gaspard. And other than for an article, an interview or a prize, believe me that I had no intention to do so. The day he died, I watched again, obviously looking for his company, several of his films, including 'A Very Long Engagement'. Mathilde's hope of finding Manech under this [Angelo] Badalamenti music... Opposed to my grief... She was going to find him. Perhaps I had intentionally decided that this film would confirm the things that we refuse to see, that I still refuse to this day, this evening. For example, to see, to believe. But I didn’t come here to speak about the career of Gaspard Ulliel — I could recount the list of brilliant exploits and feats, of starry passages among the stars of the Riviera, of the industry. But what effect could these things have on the gaping wound of his departure? I couldn't help but think he would have hated this kind of elegy. He would have perceived a lack of elegance in this glorification. And he was very elegant. Because his career speaks for itself. Through the articles that praise him and all the roles that survive him. His talent, we still have it. And no one can take that away from us. It's the privilege of being famous and an actor of his light to be able to count on art to fade us into eternity while other important bereavements for some remain unknown to all or become so quickly evanescent. It's a whole world that cried for Gaspard... it's a whole world that still mourns him. Tonight I wanted to share two things with you. At 16 or 17, I had written my first screenplay. (...) In this film which was called "Les Ailes Roses", there was a central figure of a lost teenager who was looking for himself and felt very alone who hid his preferences from the world. At the end of the first act, an angel appeared to this young man and guided him towards the light... (...) I had written an email to give it to Gaspard. It never got to him, at least I don't think so. I had also written another role for him later on, and it didn't work out either. Another luminous figure, more angelic in benevolence who saves a character who is once again lost. Years later, I asked him to be Louis in the adaptation of "It's Only the End of the World" by Jean-Luc Lagarce. The fallen angel whose wings life had cut off, sacrificing himself to protect his family. During our first reading, the conflicting schedules of everyone lead to an impasse that he had to sort out by telling me this, "Do it without me, Xavier. In the reading, after all, I'm the one who does not speak, I'm the who listens. I will have the opportunity to catch up". And he did. Gaspard was often the one who listens and does not speak. We have often talked about his discretion or his gentleness, of the mystery that he did not intentionally cultivate. But little has been said about his eloquence. I've heard him talk so much about his love for his profession. About life, the beautiful things, in a neat language that celebrates the musicality, the scarcity of words while many were making a point to speak first, Gaspard was distilling from a thought, a more accomplished, more chiseled look. A bit like the one he poses at the end of 'Saint Laurent' from his friend Bertrand Bonello, in this moment when he's eyeing the camera and lays his eyes precisely on the situation that is life and our souls as well. He seems to have understood something that has possibly escaped us all. I chose to address this letter to you, Madame, because I did not know other than by telling you how much I admired and loved him. I didn't know how to pay him a real tribute. I think he would have liked to know that I wrote this letter while listening to a piece by Olafur Arnalds entitled "Tree"... "L'arbre". He would have listened to it. Even better. We would have listened to it together, without excluding all those who loved him. His family, it seemed natural to me to write to you this evening. To you, whom I immediately thought of that morning. Because a mother's love is stronger than anything. I believe it. Stronger than life. Stronger than art itself. And certainly stronger than death.”