Le goût de la télé

Je reviens de passer une audition pour une émission de télé à laquelle je pourrais peut-être participer sur une base régulière comme chroniqueure. Je n’étais pas absolument convaincue que j’avais envie de retourner à la télé. Ça faisait deux ans que je n’avais pas été placée devant une caméra pour faire une chronique. Quand la télé me manquait, c’est surtout au travail d’équipe que je songeais et pas à ma face à l’écran (ça, ça me manquait pas mal moins). J’ai rencontré des gens intéressants ce matin (dont un blogueur connu qui auditionnait comme animateur), j’ai remis les pieds sur le plateau de tournage et hop, le goût de la télé m’est revenu, comme de la belle visite qu’on est content de voir. Ah ben! R’garde donc qui qu’y est là! On pensait pas te voir la fraise à matin!

Les auditions, c’est parfois cruel, mais les gens qui regardent les cassettes d’audition peuvent l’être encore plus. Croyez-moi: j’ai assisté à quelques unes de ces séances de sélection et personne n’est épargné. Question de chimie, de goût, du pied sur lequel on s’est levé ce matin là. Ceci étnat dit, je partirai en vacances la semaine prochaine avec l’esprit tranquille (et avec Blork) en attendant de connaître en détails le sort de cette émission de télé qui est en pleine période de changement (non, je ne dirai pas de quelle émission il s’agit, du moins pas maintenant). Qui vivra verra!

Special features and bonus track

Whenever I watch a movie or a tv series on DVD, I try to listen to the commentary tracts. Unfortunately, I don’t often make it all the way to the end.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that the information the director, writer or actor provide is not interesting. Quite the opposite. But there’s something about the quiet and monotone voice that they often adopt to do the recording that puts me to sleep. I can sense the presence of the microphone and the padded walls of the recording studio. I can imagine them dressed in comfortable, messy clothes, sitting in the small room with a cup of coffee between their hands, watching the movie on a small screen, trying to bring back the memories of their work experience so that they can share it with us.

The soundtrack of the movie plays softly in the background as if someone somewhere had forgotten to turn off a radio. The voice on the commentary tract goes on an on. I sit there and I watch, motivated to stay awake and to make it till the end. After a little while, I decide that I can close my eyes for a minute because I’ve already seen the movie and the picture is not really necessary anymore. It reminds me of being read to as a kid. You know the book so well the pictures don’t matter anymore. Only the voice of the dear person who reads to you.


Sorry. Did I just fall asleep again? Damn.

Anyway, this weekend we watched the grand finale of Six Feet Under. It was intense and beautiful and good, just like everybody who saw it said it was. I had gotten pretty emotional while watching DVD number 3 – that funeral scene just about killed me because it was close to something I’ve experienced in the past – but I managed to calm down for the last episodes.

I listened to Alan Ball’s commentary track on the last show, which he wrote and directed, and this time, I managed not to fall asleep and sat through the whole thing, wide awake. It felt like the right thing to do to make sure I could « grieve » properly since the series is lost and gone for good.

Last night, I had a dream which I won’t describe here because it would be boring and I can’t remember the details anyway. Let’s just say it involved friends and family. There was nothing really special about the dream, except for the fact that the actual soundtrack of the conversations was set to a low level and the voice-over of Alan Ball was narrating the action. He was explaining why a family member said what he said, why someone was dressed with certain clothes, why someone else entered the room from the front door instead of the back door… Alan Ball was narrating my dream, providing a commentary track to my own universe. Now THAT is what I call special features.

As I said, I don’t remember the dream so well but I’m glad to announce that no one died in the end.


Quebec City, September 10th.

I got to Quebec City right on time to hold your hand before it would turn cold. Your fingernails were long and stained from nicotine. You probably didn’t have the strength to trim them anymore. I played with your fingers in mine, noticing how your hand was the only part of your body that still looked strong. Sometimes you seemed to reply back with a little pressure, but I couldn’t tell if it was voluntary or just a muscle spasm.

I got there early enough to see you breathe still, even though it had become hard for you. You wanted to talk, but it made you cough. I gave up the idea of hearing your voice again and asked you to simply nod yes or no. When I asked « are you in pain, Dad? », you nodded « no ». When I asked you if you would squeeze my hand when you were going to feel pain, so that I could get you medication, you nodded « yes ».

I got there right on time to see you open your eyes, but it was already too late to find any expression in them. You only opened them when the nurses moved you, because you didn’t want them to. You didn’t even want me to wet your lips so they wouldn’t be so dry. You just wanted to sleep. You wanted to go.

I got there right on time to ask you if you knew that I loved you, even though it was probably the first time I told you out loud that I did love you. I waited until the other ones were gone, until there was no nurse around, to kiss your tiny head and tell you so. We don’t say these things very easily in the family. It always makes us cry and god knows we’re not comfortable with tears.

I did not get back to your room on time to be there when you died. None of your kids were there. Knowing you, you probably chose it that way. In social gatherings, you would come around to make us all laugh, and then you would walk away in your corner, turn on the t.v. and tune out. You chose to spend Christmas eve and other holidays alone when it was held somewhere else than your apartment. You didn’t like phone calls much, or visits. You wanted peace and quiet. You often said so. « La paix », we would often hear you mumble, as you sat down on your chair in front of the t.v.

I just hope it’s very, very peaceful where you are right now.