Dear subscribers,
Four years ago, I had met for a long time, between Toulouse and Bordeaux, the humorist Gaspard Proust, who was starting a triumphant tour of his last show.
He then confided to me that he was wondering about his future, doubting his desire to go back on stage for a one-man show, or even to turn to the cinema again.
He had just settled far from Paris, from its noise, its dirt and its mayor who disfigures our capital, in an isolated house at the foot of the Alps, probably hoping to see his native country, Slovenia, through the mountains. .
Proust (born Pust) was not lying.
He certainly returned to the stage this fall, but in a play by Sébastien Thiéry, surrounded by two other actors (
Tomorrow the revenge,
at the Antoine theater).
And if he continues to write, it is chronicles and killer tickets that he distills once a week, in the columns of
the Sunday newspaper
and on Europe 1. Brilliant, hard-hitting, grating, often hilarious texts...
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