La Pagode
I need this poster.
Tributes
A drawing of Serge and Jane on their former home's wall
This was a weekend that Serge Gainsbourg would have been proud of. Not only because it was saturated with memory of the man himself, but because we enjoyed ourselves up to his impeccable standards. After a long week of conjugating for hours a day, there was no option but to go out and celebrate. We chose the modern Lebanese restaurant Liza, sharing tapas of hummus, pumpkin kebbe, chicken rolls, kebabs and the most fragrant rose, almond and pistachio ice cream I've ever had. Before descending upon our usual clubs, M, A and I decided to attempt to infiltrate the mysterious Experimental Cocktail Club, a semi-private faux speakeasy frequented by off-beat locals and celebs, such as Quentin Tarantino. Luckily for us, the bouncer appeared to have a thing for the awkward Américaine vibe we were working, pronouncing us "trop mignons!" and waving us inside. We weren't disappointed. Hard liquor is usually shunned in favor of wine here, but these concoctions were exquisite— some of the best of my life. Perhaps the fresh ingredients explain the appeal. The bar practically smelled like a florist between the herbs, berries and flowers being crushed into syrup.
Despite getting lost in the night, we had to find ourselves again right after dawn to make a showing of the new film, Serge Gainsbourg: Vie héroïque at la Pagode. Incidentally, it appears that the owners had an even rougher evening than us— no one arrived until ten minutes before the film to let people (or the resident cat) into the theatre. But the old-fashioned decor, velvet curtains and incredible chinois architecture made it worth the hassle, not to mention a quality-vs.-convenience moment.
As for the film, like the director, I can't really be impartial when it comes to Serge. That explains why he decided to make the movie partially animated/puppetry fantasy, claiming he loves Serge too much to tell his story through anything but, "exaggerations and lies." Although the Pan's Labyrinth actor seriously, seriously freaks me out, I loved the way Serge was split into different personalities. And of course, the music made up for any of the weaker moments. But we have Serge to thank for that.
Today was one of the first beautiful afternoons we've had in awhile, so I decided to walk around the 7th. Funnily enough, I found myself coming up to chez Gainsbourg-Birkin and decided to stop by to pay my respects. Although each is an icon to me individually, I find their union incredibly moving. Supposedly Jane and Charlotte keep the inside of the house exactly as it was when Serge was alive, with all of his old knick-knacks and many, many Repetto white Zizi lace-ups.
Here are a couple of my favorite Serge moments. The first is him singing "Manon," which is 1) possibly the most tragic song ever and 2) perfectly explains why women couldn't keep their clothes on around him, despite the face. The second is him with Jane— enough said.
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