In 1958, Robert Badinter, then lawyer for L’Express, left his reserved domain to observe his contemporaries. In an article entitled “Guaranteed under 30 years”, he even singled them out: Sagan? “What could be more harmless than [son] sad purr.” Vadim? “His work is rubbish. Nothing is more conventional than these films which claim to be revolutionary.” Yves Saint-Laurent? “Where is the renewal?” Buffet? “It cannot bring about a revolution comparable to that of the Cubists or the Abstractists”.
L’Express of February 20, 1958
Robert Badinter is, for a few more days, “under 30”. An ebullient and brilliant lawyer at the Paris Court of Appeal, he expresses here, freely and vigorously, a personal point of view but which joins that of a fairly large number of representatives of the “New Wave” with regard to their contemporaries famous.
Our time is that of youth fraud. According to the press, the era belongs to those under thirty. Sagan’s prints ridicule Father Hugo; Buffet is a billionaire; Saint-Laurent draws the needle better than the Cid his rapier, Vadim finally, alone after God, recreated woman. However, on the sidelines, contemplating these champions with whom she is endowed at great expense, the young men listen and remain silent. The old fair on the square has never taken on such fresh colors. Never has she seemed more worn out in her tricks. Because our millionaire artists are not carried by the momentum of their generation. In each age, however, men rose together who shook up previous art, and in whom their contemporaries recognized themselves. From the romantics to the school of five, each generation saw the birth of its champions whom it threw like battering rams against the suffocating porticos of previous buildings. The ancients, threatened, protested at these new forms. Then everything gave way, and the young generation thus experienced their maturity in an art that was theirs.
False masters
Nothing like this in our time. Our elders of the day are wiser. Still dashing, they did not wait for the attack. To better confuse him, they chose masters for the youth according to their taste. In vain. Youth silently turns away. Why would she accept being given false masters. She will know how to recognize her own when they burst out of her.
Whether it is Sagan, Vadim or Saint-Laurent, their existence depends on their usefulness. If they are paid dearly in fame and money, they deserve it. All participate in the established order where their role is defined. They save our elders from the worst anguish: that of a future that would no longer recognize them. Our shattering under-thirties are dedicated to this task of consolidation. We can therefore give them some bits of income: they are the guardians of capital. The glory of these young people guarantees the continuity of the game. What could be more harmless than the sad purr of Sagan! Established writers and their publishers have nothing to fear from these quiet little books. Sagan doesn’t go out of style, nor does she create anything. By launching Sagan, Mr. Julliard was not demonetizing his old collection. He was simply creating a young author as old as the others.
What a relief
The recognition was also immediate. Wealthy writers quickly crowded in to make room for Sagan. Because Sagan finally reassured them. Was this dreaded future just these little things that were already so old? What a relief… Suddenly youth lost its power of renewal, its dangerous power of the unknown. Sagan, nurse of so many glories, deserved her due.
Vadim? His work is worthless. Nothing is more conventional than these films which would like to be revolutionary. Their very exploitation turns out to be uncertain, at least in France. Why then this desire to pose Vadim as a playmaker, as a young lion of the production? The men in power in the cinema sell dearly to the public a dosed mixture of pornography and brutality. Hence the interest in elevating these means to the dignity of principles of art. It was Vadim’s company which, in a rumor of false scandal, still favored the established order. About the child Saint-Laurent, who turned Dior into a doll’s house, nothing to say. Had he covered his models in rags, the result was a foregone conclusion. The miracle was as certain as after the Annunciation. The Dior house relies on foreign buyers. And the big thing in sewing is not to create, which is art, but to sell, which is commerce…
Young Saint-Laurent’s trapezoid was therefore in no danger of giving way. The artist worked with net. We could almost have dispensed with showing the collection. The world would nonetheless have learned of the existence of a new gentleman with fairy fingers. Mr. Boussac, however, moves with the times. An old play, certainly, but played by a young actor. This is the golden rule of successful covers. Saint-Laurent will therefore play Dior at Boussac. Where is the renewal?
Buffet, alone among our young stars, carries within him a universe. Tenaciously, he continues to reveal his own vision of the world. Accepted or rejected, it nonetheless exists and weighs on our sensitivity. But setting Buffet out as a painter, Buffet star is exhibited, Buffet photographed, interviewed and always bearing the words: “Guaranteed less than thirty years”.
Buffet’s success, however, does not pose any danger for other painters. Buffet is a lone wolf. Without a master, without a companion and without discipline, he could not bring about a revolution comparable to those of the Cubists or the Abstractists. Much better. The meteoric rise in his paintings gives us hope that the entire painting market will benefit from his advertising.
The biblical curse
Thus the prudence of our elders is affirmed. Until now, the generations have clashed. But our masters of the moment are wiser; they pretend to applaud the conquests of those whose vocation is to dethrone them. In reality, the heroes they arm are in their image and in their hand. We live under the reign of deception. “And I will give them children as princes and effeminate ones will be their masters…” The old biblical curse weighs on this youthless time.