On October 1, Brigitte Bardot published Mon BBcédaire, a small white-covered book in the form of a notebook, reproduced in her own handwriting in blue ink. Amid crossed-out words, she pours out her thoughts in alphabetical form, from A for Abandonment to Z for Zoo. At 91 years old (she celebrated her birthday on September 28), the eternal muse of French cinema left a kind of final testament that summarizes her unfiltered personality. On the first page of the book are two unequivocal quotes from the BB philosophy: “Freedom is being yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable” and “Animals are the angels of this earth. They deserve our respect more than our apologies.”
While Greta Garbo retired from film and public scrutiny at 36, Bardot, who died Saturday, did the same at 39 after making The Edifying and Joyous Story of Colinot, a 1973 comedy about medieval love affairs. The actress literally left the set carrying a goat that was about to be slaughtered. Bardot saved the animal from the spit and never made another film. The myth was thus preserved while the woman continued on her own path.
Unlike Garbo, Bardot didn’t hide from the world, and her interviews and public statements were as frequent as they were impactful. In the late 1970s, she starred in one of the most high-profile animal rights campaigns of the time. It was in Newfoundland, Canada, where she was seen embracing a beautiful baby harp seal with white fur. The actress confronted the hunters and achieved unprecedented media coverage for such a cause.
Bardot retired from film with a certain resentment she never concealed, feeling trapped by her fame for life. Her precious freedom consisted of being able to do almost nothing. She made Saint-Tropez — where there is a hideous sculpture in her honor — her stronghold. And she only broke her seclusion to campaign for animals or for her ultraconservative ideas.
The great female myth of French cinema cannot be understood without the power of a beauty that defied all. Bardot with Picasso, Bardot with Gainsbourg, Bardot dancing, always dancing, while men of all kinds admired her, speechless. The actress astutely cultivated her wild air. With her long blonde hair framing her face, her eternal little black dress, and her ballet flats or flat shoes, watching her walk on screen with her alluring determination remains something otherworldly.
But the wild animal lived in a cage. It was Jean-Luc Godard’s film Contempt (1963) that most radically exposed the sexual objectification in which the actress had become trapped. In the famous opening sequence, with George Delerue’s music and the screen tinted red and blue, Bardot lies completely naked on the bed while Michel Piccoli, fully clothed, responds to her, section by section, confirming that yes, from head to toe, she is beautiful. The strange discomfort provoked by the sequence and, in general, by her presence in the film, perfectly encapsulates the nature of her solitary throne. In Mon BBcédaire, under the entry for the word Eternity, BB wrote: “Eternity has no beginning and no end. It is an infinite vertigo that cannot be explained.”
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