A life-changing encounter: Simon McBurney's journey with the legendary clown, Philippe Gaulier.
An Unforgettable Mentor
Many of us can recall a teacher who left an indelible mark on our lives, a mentor whose wisdom we carry with us forever. For Simon McBurney, this transformative experience didn't come until he was 24, living in Paris, and stumbled upon a class taught by the enigmatic Philippe Gaulier.
Philippe was a force of nature - provocative, demanding, and hilariously inappropriate. He taught Simon a valuable lesson: to carry no baggage, no preconceived notions. In his eyes, knowing nothing was a strength, for it meant approaching life with an open mind, ready to embrace the ridiculousness that we all share.
A Unique Family Background
Philippe's mother was Spanish, and her delicious meals became a highlight for Simon and Philippe, enjoyed in the latter's apartment adorned with his writings, many bearing the word "rêves" (dreams) on their spines. Philippe's relationship with his father was complex; he referred to him as "ce salaud bourgeois" - a bourgeois arsehole. This nickname hints at a rebellious spirit, which was further evidenced by Philippe's delight in sharing the story of his expulsion from school at age eight for punching the gymnastics teacher who was attempting to instill military-style discipline in the young boys.
A Man of Strong Opinions
Philippe's ire was reserved for a range of professions and attitudes: the military, the church, hypocrisy, inauthenticity, politicians, academics, and fascists. But it was the "collaborateurs" - those who collaborated with the enemy during wartime - who truly incensed him. For a boy growing up in postwar France, this slur carried a special weight, reserved for the most despicable.
"C'est un collabo de merde de chien" - a dog-shit collaborator - he would spit out, the words dripping with disgust and a peculiar relish.
The First Encounter
Simon's first meeting with Philippe was on a cold November evening in 1980 at his studio on Rue Alfred de Vigny. He was immediately captivated by Philippe's tangled black moustache, obscuring the region between his nose and lower lip, and the pipe clenched between his teeth. His wild hair, bright green sweater, and ageing boots completed the picture of a man who took nothing seriously, yet missed nothing.
The room was filled with people, all curious about this enigmatic teacher who offered something unique, something that couldn't be found elsewhere.
"Bonsoir," Simon greeted him, shaking his hand.
"Bonsoir," Philippe replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You arre eeengleesh?" he asked.
"Yes ... Oui," Simon replied, unsure how to navigate this strange encounter.
"Tout le monde a des problèmes," Philippe said, and Simon was left wondering what this enigmatic man was trying to convey.
The First Lesson
"Moi, je suis le professeur, vous ... vous êtes des élèves," Philippe declared, placing his hand on his belly. Rules were established, and the game was set: Philippe was the teacher, and his students were the pupils. The gymnastics teacher was parodied, and the power dynamic was turned on its head, a structure to be laughed at and shattered.
There was no set style, no predetermined ideas. Each student was carefully attended to, taken apart, and rebuilt. They were invited, insulted, cajoled, and delighted, but most importantly, they were played with. Philippe played with his students with infinite generosity, his laughter infectious and his flexibility spontaneous.
Learning from Failure
We learned to fail and start again, to let go of our own ideas and embrace the vulnerability of exposure. When people laugh at you, it reveals a truth, and we often hate being laughed at in real life. But with Philippe, we learned that embracing this vulnerability was key to revealing our humanity.
Sharing this fallibility with the audience in a complicitous relationship is a radical act, an anarchic spirit unique to the art form.
A Lesson in Play
"If an actor has forgotten what it is like to play as a child, they should not be an actor," Philippe would say, taking Simon to the bar during their lunch break. He had decided Simon would be his assistant, and they needed to discuss the afternoon session.
"Tiens, mon petit, on va chercher de l'inspiration," he said, leaning across the bar with his pipe in hand. "Deux grands martini gins ..." and with that, they embarked on an afternoon of inspiration and play.
But here's where it gets controversial... What do you think about the idea of embracing failure and vulnerability? Is it a radical act of humanity, or a risky strategy that could backfire? Share your thoughts in the comments!
