Let’s begin with something easy, Catherine: what comes to mind when you think about the beginning of an ordinary day? Is there a ritual that opens it?
I would say a coffee. A good coffee — that’s all. I don’t have any rituals, no.
Is there a piece of jewelry, perhaps even one you wear every day — I do not mean high jewellery – that you are irrationally attached to? Something you consider your talisman or simply your lucky charm?
I’m not a “talisman” type at all, and I am not superstitious. But there’s one thing I always have with me: a little Indian figure, the small elephant Ganesh. A very tiny one.
Did you choose it yourself, or was it a gift?
No, I took it myself, I think, when I was in India. I have been there only once, but I believe that’s how it was.
And if we turn to Pomellato – does the Maison bring back any memories, considering the history you share with it?
I had a long relationship with their Italian designer whom I loved very much, Sergio Silvestri, who passed away a few years ago. He was with Pomellato right from the very beginning, and that’s where I met him. I was very attached to him — we did so many things together, so many photos, photos wearing of course Pomellato. Once, there was a big charity auction and I went up on stage to help. They gave me something truly extraordinary, the most important piece at the time: a very large gold cross, with a stone… not an amethyst, no — it was a bit redder, but not a ruby either. One of the stones Pomellato uses. [Rubellite, ed.] I can’t remember its name, only that it was red. And it was really extraordinary. A very old bond, truly.
Moving to another subject and speaking about people, what is it in someone’s personality that fascinates you most when you meet them?
The gaze, first of all. I would say the gaze. And then the spirit, the wit, if you want to call it this way.
Is there someone you’ve met recently whose work has struck you?
So many people. But there’s one I admired enormously, who left us only a few days ago – the woman who created Persepolis, in whose film I voiced one of the characters, her name is Marjane Satrapi.
Moving from one subject to another, is there a scent or a song that reminds you of a beautiful moment and brings a clear image of your childhood to mind?
For me, it’s absolutely the perfume my father used to wear, Le Cinq by Molyneux. He always had it on his handkerchief. He used to always wear that perfume, a scent I will never forget.
And your favourite corner of Paris?
I would say the aquarium at the Porte Dorée, whose furniture was designed by Ruhlmann, and it still is there as it was.
Is there a city abroad where you feel at home?
I would say Italy, in general. I feel its culture vey well, I speak Italian, and the language brings you close to the people, you know. Yes, I must say Italy.
Anywhere in particular?
Especially Lucca. My daughter’s father has a house there in the hills. I adore that place so I always go back.
After all these years of filming, is there still something in the filmmaking process that surprises you: in short, the magic of cinema?
It’s that, no matter how many films, no matter how attentive you are — and I am very attentive, not just to my role — it’s always something else. Always something new, different and special, every single time. Which is surprising, so I would say it is “The” surprise.
Have you ever thought about stepping behind the camera to direct?
[Laughs, ed.] No, never! That, never. That’s completely another story; you are either on one side or the other. It’s like Alice in Wonderland: you are on one side, or else you are on the other, for me.
One last thing, Catherine: what is the strangest and most unexpected memory you have from a film set?
Well, I would say it was with Buñuel. Before shooting a scene in Tristana… I was supposed to be on the balcony, already an amputee, simply watching the boy downstairs, the gardener whom I knew and who was always around me — you could just see me opening my shoulders — so, as soon as I had to look at him like that, Buñuel only told me this: «Above all, no psychology.» That’s what he told me.
