“On every subsequent anniversary of her daughter Nina's
death,
Jean Seberg
attempted suicide. In 1978, she somehow survived an attempt, throwing herself
under a train on the Paris Metro.” –
imdb
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| The eyes belonged to somebody else |
The face was wholesome and healthy and feminine, the haircut boyish. Maybe that's what pulled you in. This seductive contrast. Not
for her an Audrey Hepburn-type gamin. She didn’t eat breakfast, let alone at
Tiffany’s. You sensed
something darker, less playful than she herself suggested.
There was
intelligence in the eyes yet they often seemed distracted, in dispute with the face. The two were inharmonious. But that was her odd appeal. At those moments she has you.
To play
Saint
Joan, it helps to have resolve. And ambiguity. She set the tone for female
roles in the
la
nouvelle vague. They are slim and
smart and quote
Camus and know all the answers but can’t tolerate questions.
 |
| All that's hidden behind her face |
If she'd had a cinematic soul mate, it might have been
Greta Garbo, emanating
the inexplicable cool that comes from those who overheat. Too clever for their own good. (Small wonder she worshipped
Brando). But Garbo knew to
cut out before the Big Fear set in. And Marlon grew corpulent with rage.
Jean Seberg never made
it.
“It's sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when
you're sleeping together, you're all alone.” She spoke that line in
À bout de souffle, her
most famous role, with such benign conviction that you sense she'd already made a final decision about life, though it was to be hidden behind her strange eyes and in her beautiful face, right to
the end.
