Artigo Acesso aberto Revisado por pares

In the blink of an eye

2008; Elsevier BV; Volume: 7; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1016/s1474-4422(08)70015-2

ISSN

1474-4465

Autores

Talha Burki,

Tópico(s)

Shakespeare, Adaptation, and Literary Criticism

Resumo

During the early 1990s Jean-Dominique Bauby was editor-in-chief of French fashion magazine Elle. His work had taken him all over the world. He drove a sports car, and he planned to write a modern-day version of The Count of Monte Cristo. He had been married and had two children. His father was 92 years old, perhaps a happy augury for his own future. On Friday December 8, 1995, Jean-Dominique, aged 43, had a stroke. He spent the next 20 days in a coma. After he emerged, he learned the name for his condition: locked-in syndrome. The paralysis was interrupted only by movement in his left eyelid but, astonishingly, that proved enough. His mental faculties intact, Jean-Dominique began to communicate with his nurse: she would list the alphabet, the letters ranked in order of frequency (‘e’ came first), and Jean-Dominique would blink at the right moment. Between them, they built words and sentences; it was slow, but there was no alternative. By the end of the following summer, Jean-Dominique had finished dictation of his memoir, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. He died ten days after it was published. The book concludes with the author wondering whether the cosmos holds the key to his situation. ‘We must keep looking’, he advises, before the final line: ‘I'll be off now.’ Mathieu Amalric takes the lead role in Julian Schnabel's impressive adaptation of the story. ‘Two things still work’, explains Jean-Dominique, in his quick witted internal monologue, ‘memory and imagination’. He recalls his former life, and comes to terms with his present, without self-pity. The post-stroke sections are filmed mainly from Jean-Dominique's perspective. One highlight is the visit of two workmen to install a telephone. They are bemused to find this immobile, bed-ridden man, one eye sewn shut, and they ask the nurse why the telephone is needed. ‘Maybe he's a heavy breather’, quips one, and the nurse coldly ushers them away, while Jean-Dominique's voiceover shakes with laughter. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is an artistic and intelligent film, adeptly performed and flamboyantly directed—a lively tale of the power of the mind, and the fragility of the body.

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