An actor, and then later on an activist producer and director, Jacques Perrin’s career as a cinematographer did not follow the beaten path. Although born into the profession, he forged an original and demanding path for himself, and confronted the most improbable challenges and stakes with audacity and tenacity, believing that his only talent was “knowing how to bring together talented people”. Those who participated in his films will remember, amongst his other qualities, his kindness, his courage, his obstinacy, his confidence, and the respect he showed them.
As was the case for many of us, Jacques Perrin’s death deeply affected me. He’s one of those people you believe are immortal given the space they take up in your life and the guidance they provide you. He helped me trace my own path starting with Winged Migration.
All of us have a fairy godfather or godmother who brought us into the tight-knit world of the cinema. Meeting Jacques Perrin was decisive for me, and he introduced me to many other people. He was looking for a camera assistant to work with Luciano Tovoli on the first and only film by Marc Grünbaum that he produced, Adoption. The year was 1979, I was finally about to work on an ambitious feature film with a talented cinematographer.
As we were shooting Winged Migration, we were desperately looking for the right solution to shoot the particular flight patterns of cranes, who make huge detours around thermal currents. I had suggested we use an Aaton A-Minima 16mm camera to make the work easier for the cameraman who was strapped into the harness of a paraglider. Jacques Perrin’s response was sharp: “Dominique, we are shooting a cinema film in 35mm.”
“Philippe, do you think we could go even further?” I heard that question so many times during the six years I worked on Oceans with Jacques Perrin. I was the technical supervisor and one of the 24 directors of photography for this film.
Jacques, It is hard to summarize thirty-five years of conversations in just a few lines. What I know is that you had a special relationship with each of us; that was your strength. You were able to raise an army of filmmakers to conquer your follies, you were able to make us believe that nothing was as important as the cinema and that only poetry gave meaning to life.
Jacques, you’ve gone and joined your partner and our mutual friend Luc Drion, who had left us much too soon, and I am sure that both of you will have impassioned discussions while you watch us muddling about during these difficult times for cinema, for politics, and for the future of planet Earth.
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