Testimonial | Farewell District 31! | The Press

Thank you Luc Dionne and Aetios for these five beautiful seasons! I had initially been invited to go on a carousel ride of three or four episodes the first year… Louis Bourgoin will have finally experienced a roller coaster ride over nearly 50 episodes! I'm very grateful for that, especially since I had the chance to meet absolutely wonderful people, who work at a hellish pace with a lot of talent. I will miss this magnificent team… even if I know that our paths often end up crossing again in this profession. But for now, I will face the void.

The scriptwriter having decided to put a gun to the temple of the character I was playing, and having pulled the trigger, I find myself momentarily without a contract, without a role, without income, in the midst of a pandemic. Ouch! I know, it's part of the job. I only notice with a little hindsight how much death has been present in my work recently and that it is, in a little over a year, the third character in a row that I interpret who perishes in a violent way: murdered by an associate in Victor Lessard, shot dead by the police in Faits divers 3… and now this Louis Bourgoin backed into a corner, dying by his own hand in District 31. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Two in the heart, one in the head.

Yet I am a hardened mercenary, a professional accustomed to being called upon to serve, then to leave. Sometimes even, like this time, without warning.

This has been my life for more than 30 years: contracts to be won, then mourning to be done. And each time, reinvent yourself.

Yep… we didn't wait for the virus: reinventing ourselves is the very basis of our existence as artisans, that's what we have to do, several times a year, for as long as possible. As long as we hold on. It is our reality.

But we have the reflex of wanting to keep the light only on the stage, and to preserve what is happening behind the scenes for us. Me first. Keep it light, light. In fact, I have always considered that being discreet about our moods was a courtesy towards the spectators… the less we know, the more we can dream.

However, I believe that we are going through a period where this modesty can unfortunately be mistaken for superficiality and casualness in the face of events.

The truth is, it hurts.

Obviously, no one put a gun to my head to force me to do this job. I chose this life: I lend my voice, my body, my heart and my mind — all that I am — to the characters entrusted to me. I put myself at the service of authors and I try to carry their creation as far, as high as possible, with all the humility necessary for us to hear their voices well, but also with enough implication to let my atoms tint the humanity of these men that I am given to play. Because, yes, it's a game. An intense game, which sometimes leaves traces, but which remains a game. It's an essential condition for being able to go far in creation, without getting lost. To be able to last. And continue to reinvent itself.

It's a game. But I admit that sometimes, it a little scratches the soul all the same. Playing someone who commits suicide is difficult. Especially in the midst of a pandemic. Even if I have already done it a few times, in the cinema and in the theater too, it is never easy to soak yourself in this icy water. Because forfeiture, in order to make the public feel it, as with all other things, requires walking the path that leads to it, and observing the precipices that emerge from the shadows while preserving oneself from vertigo. And even relying on technique, which protects and liberates the actor, the observation is clear.

Loss scares. Especially in troubled times.

Be aware of the impact

And to the difficulty of approaching despair is added a responsibility not to provoke more. That fiction does not negatively influence reality. Do not censor yourself, while being aware of the impact.

Sharing this allows me to kind of exorcise it, but also to underline how our job has ruthless demands…

No, of course, we don't save lives and we know it, and it's not the salt mine, nor the compulsory overtime of obnoxiously overtaxed nurses, nor the teachers in classes of 30 students, half of whom have special needs, neither the police, nor the farmers, nor the restaurants, nor the attendants of CHSLDs, neither nor nor…

Nor a bloody long quiet river. This year, the sea is particularly raging. And to the onslaught of this perfect storm where our common physical, mental and economic health is threatened with shipwreck, is added this very ugly wave of contempt of some of our fellow citizens for everything that is a "tartisse".

I have read everything, heard everything. And not just cowardly trolls, and anonymous as they should be, but also prominent columnists. "Want-debts, Subsidy-suckers, It's-my-taxes-that-pay-for-that, Collaborators-De-Legault..."

The target is perfect, the artist has become the ideal scapegoat for those who need to let off steam and who have always harbored an insecure distrust of anything that could be perceived as different.

This spectacular resentment that is surging is probably magnified by the distress that is gaining ground, but it deserves to be named and denounced for what it is. Hatred.

Artists are workers. Autonomous. Hopefully we are middle class, like a bus driver or a teacher. But without a safety net, without employment insurance, without a generous government or employer pension plan. Autonomous, as in arrange yourself. Reinvent yourself.

Although there are very rare exceptions that make a fortune, which some media use to sell fantasy and glossy paper, for the vast majority of us it is a life oscillating between precariousness and uncertainty. The truth is that!

This is not the first crisis in our history, certainly not the last either, but I am convinced that the only positive way to face it is to rise together. Without climbing on the shoulders of the weakest around you. Choose solidarity and rise as a group. To not sink.

That's what I want to do, and I won't sink. I will play the scores that I am given to play, in solidarity with the group of humans to which I belong. This is the job I will continue to choose, as long as he chooses me. Because I like being part of a WHOLE, a united group working to build a bridge to each other. That's really how I see our job, we help to build bridges between beings, bridges that are not necessarily useful to everyone, but that exist, and by the very fact become essential. Not necessary, but essential. It's still better than walls.

I wish us the grace to find ourselves all together on the other side of this ordeal, growing up, and with a better filled reservoir of empathy for each other.

And I can't wait to continue moving with you from I to WE. See you soon.

Consult the website of the Quebec Association for the Prevention of Suicide1 866 APPELLE (1 866 277-3553)