(Accouplements : une rubrique où l’Oreille tendue s’amuse à mettre en vis-à-vis deux œuvres, ou plus, d’horizons éloignés.)
Au moment de mourir, le film de notre vie défilerait devant nos yeux, dit-on. Avec Woody Allen et Paul Quarrington, les choses sont un peu plus compliquées.
Pour le premier, dans son monologue «Down South», on s’est trompé de film.
«And suddenly my whole life passed before my eyes. I saw myself as a kid again, in Kansas, going to school, swimming at the swimming hole, and fishing, frying up a mess-o-catfish, going down to the general store, getting a piece of gingham for Emmy-Lou. And I realise it’s not my life. They’re gonna hang me in two minutes, the wrong life is passing before my eyes.»
Pour le second, dans son roman King Leary (1987), le film est trop long.
«Poppa Rivers was standing down the hallway.
He was as ancient a bugger as I’d ever seen. He looked like God Almighty had forgot to punch his time clock.
“Christ,” I muttered.
“He’s old,” said Manfred. He was wont to say that sort of thing.
“Old ? If his life flashed in front of his eyes there’d have to be an intermission”» (p. 135).
Tout bien considéré, peut-être vaut-il mieux ne pas mourir.
Référence
Quarrington, Paul, King Leary. A Novel, Toronto, Doubleday Canada, 1987, 232 p.
