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[url=http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A32935-2003Sep5.html]France's B.B. Gun[/url] Brigitte Bardot, Still Shooting From the Lip By Maite Selignan Special to The Washington Post Saturday, September 6, 2003; Page C01
PARIS -- Brigitte Bardot's latest animal rights campaign benefited the stray dogs of Romania. Her latest campaign against humans -- specifically immigrants -- has brought her into court for the fourth time for allegedly inciting racial hatred.
Though she hasn't made a film in 30 years and is often described as a recluse, Bardot, now 68, never really exits the spotlight here. Convicted and fined for making anti-Muslim statements in earlier writings, the former sexpot is unrepentant and still finds many fans. Her latest published rant, "A Cry in the Silence," has sold more than 300,000 copies; the book topped the French bestseller lists for eight weeks this summer.
In it, she denounces the unemployed, Muslims, homosexuals and her countrymen in general. She describes the French as "a parade of frights, human caricatures, horrors of every size, of every race, of every class."
The former actress declares that French schools are "centers of depravity, with drug dealers of all kinds, clans of budding terrorists and mass consumers of condoms." She calls illegal immigrants "beggars who profane our churches to transform them into human pigsties, [defecating] behind the altar and [urinating] on the pillars, spreading their sickening smell under the sacred vaults of the choir."
As for modern art? It's excrement, "both literally and figuratively," declares the one-time national treasure known widely here as "B.B."
All this leaves her friends from the old film days groping for words. "She is very difficult to defend," says British singer and former cinema partner Jane Birkin, "but I never like to tear her down, even if it would be so easy to do so when she comes up with unfortunate statements like saying that there are too many immigrants in France. She is a glorious actress."
One of B.B.'s former lovers, television journalist Allain Bougrain-Dubourg, still expresses tenderness and admiration for Bardot the woman. "I am guarded about the rest," he says. "I do not agree with everything she says, but some of it is true. It is the way she turns her phrases that goes against her."
Bardot herself is unapologetic. In a brief telephone interview from her house in St-Tropez, she declares, "What is important is for eight weeks it was the first-place hit. . . . It was number one in book sales."
"The journalists were mad," she adds. "But that did not stop the sales."
Why did she feel the need to write such invective? "I don't know," she says, shifting between French and heavily accented English. "Because I wanted to write it. One day, I thought, we were living in a very special society. . . . I see every day in the newspapers, on the TV, when I go out in some place, I see things that shocked me.
"I didn't know I was writing a book. It was like therapy for me. For me, it was important to tell what was inside of me, to see without any indulgence." She finds vindication in letters she has received since "A Cry in the Silence" came out -- 17,000 of them, she says, and all were positive, with encouragements like, "Bravo, Brigitte!"
Bardot has been a cultural force since 1956, when her husband, Roger Vadim, directed her in "And God Created Woman," which shocked the puritan France of the time. The scene where Bardot dances barefoot on a table remains one of the most memorable moments of French cinema.
Although not a major success in France, the film propelled the young actress into the limelight in the United States, where it was a huge box office success. Suddenly B.B.'s photograph seemed to be everywhere, and for 20 years she seemed the very embodiment of sexual freedom. She endured paparazzi chasing her daily and dozens of fans sitting at her door.
Her first book, "Initials B.B.," recounted those early years of success. Bardot described a constant depressive state, several secret abortions, an endless list of lovers and the frenzy she caused every time she set foot outside her house. Hence the emotional instability, legendary tantrums and whims, and countless bottles of champagne that carried her through life.
Bardot's cinema career was not smooth. Critics disparaged her acting abilities. Her only American film, "Shalako," with Sean Connery, flopped, and she has visited the United States just twice -- and the second time she was relentlessly pursued by photographers in New York and Los Angeles.
"I know it badly, the United States," she says on the telephone. "I am not exportable. I am too French."
When she reached her late thirties, she found acting and the accompanying fame more and more difficult to endure. She still looked stunning, but people continually commented on how she was aging.
In 1973, Jane Birkin shot a nude scene with Bardot in the film "Don Juan." "I tried to find faults, but her body was just perfect; her legs, her waist, even her feet were perfect. She was even more beautiful without any makeup on," she recounted in an interview. "But passers-by would look at her and yell how ugly she had become. It is such a delight for people seeing somebody who used to be so dangerously beautiful becoming a little bit more ordinary."
Still, B.B.'s decision to give up cinema in 1973 drove many people in France to desperation. At the time, she explained to the press that she was fed up with movies and the demands of celebrity. She found a new focus in life, animals.
"It took me years to be taken seriously," she said in the second volume of her memoirs, talking about the creation of the Brigitte Bardot Foundation, which pursues the protection of animals.
She sold most of her belongings at auction to obtain the 3 million francs required by French law to create her foundation. In 1991 she also donated her famous beachside house in St-Tropez to the foundation but continues to live there.
For years, the public viewed her animal rights work as another of her fads. But she stayed with the cause, and the foundation acquired credibility. Now, however, there are worries that Bardot's new book could hurt the efforts of its 54,000 members.
"I dare hope that people will tell the difference between the book and the foundation," says its spokeswoman, Stephanie Roche. "Brigitte will always be Brigitte. Nobody devoted herself to the animal cause as she did. She completely gave up her amazing career to support animal rights." Bardot said of the foundation members: "Even if they are not okay with all the subjects in my book, they are all with me. They are all my collaborators."
Though still hunted daily by dozens of tourists in St-Tropez, trying to get a glimpse from tour boats, B.B. gave up her sexy style long ago. She wears reading glasses and keeps her hair in a loose, grandmotherly bun. These days her notoriety stems mainly from her right-wing views. Bardot has railed for years against Islamic immigration -- France is home to some 5 million Muslims -- and in the late 1990s she was sued and convicted three times for published comments critical of Muslims. She has paid fines to human rights groups as high as 48,000 francs ($6,850). She has been married for 10 years to Bernard d'Ormale, a senior executive in the National Front, the extreme right-wing party that rocked the French political scene last year when its candidate, Jean-Marie Le Pen, came in second in the first round of voting in the presidential election. He was roundly defeated by President Jacques Chirac in a runoff.
Disappointed fans try to explain her book by saying that her National Front acquaintances are manipulating her. In "A Cry in the Silence," Bardot praises Le Pen, saying he has been faithful to his ideas "against all odds."
The book was read and reread by a small army of lawyers before publication. Bardot does not mince words in it: "We are reduced to take a politically correct pride in intermingling our genes. . . . It is a great shame."
She also bashes women in politics, gays who assert their rights, unemployed people who are "handsomely kept by taxpayers" and schoolteachers going to work "not shaven, with greasy hair, dirty shirts, disgusting jeans and muddy sneakers."
Talk like that has turned many against her. In the 1960s, she was selected to be the model for the statue of Marianne, the French republic's official emblem, which stands in every town hall. Today, some mayors admit turning the bust toward the wall, as they no longer want Bardot to symbolize the republic's values.
Her support for Le Pen will not get her into legal trouble, but some quotations from her book might. The Movement Against Racism and for the Friendship of Peoples and the League of Human Rights have both sued Bardot, for "incitement to religious and social hatred."
French law makes it illegal to publish or to say publicly anything that would drive people to racism. But judges are left with the delicate task of drawing a line between that and an opinion that contributes to democratic debate.
Mouloud Anouit, the president of the Movement Against Racism, says: "Freedom of speech should not legitimize racism and homophobia. It is justice's role to enforce equal respect for the dignity of individuals."
However, French law does not make general homophobic comments illegal. Gay associations cannot join the other groups' suit because the law allows for court action against anti-gay statements only if they are directed against a specific person. "Hopefully, the Bardot affair will convince the government of the necessity to modify the law," says Alain Piriou, spokesman for Inter-LGBT, a group that represents lesbians, gay men, bisexuals and transsexuals.
Other associations, such as the International League Against Racism and Anti-Semitism, declined to bring legal actions against Bardot. "We refuse to give more importance to her than she really has in society," says Richard Ferero, vice president of the league. "She is a misanthropist who has more compassion for animals than for human beings. We refuse to play a role in her press campaign."
Some commentators and journalists have called for a boycott of "A Cry in the Silence," which proceeded to sell hundreds of thousands of copies within a few weeks.
Most of the book's buyers appear to be fans of Bardot's films and, therefore, over 50. Marie-Therese Varlet, 70, is one. "I loved her when she was younger. She was so beautiful; she used to make me dream. Now that she is aging, I feel we have a lot in common. I am myself very concerned about animals' welfare. And I quite agree with what she says in the book."
Other people can't understand what all the fuss is about. Paulette Padilla, 43, thinks Bardot is absolutely uninteresting: "I am certainly not buying this kind of book. This is not literature, this is rubbish."
The French have long considered Bardot more partial to animals than human beings, and according to a psychiatrist invited onto a recent three-hour TV program to discuss "the Bardot case," she is easy to explain.
"She identifies herself with animals because she has been tracked down by photographers for years," the doctor opined. "She understands them and feels that they are the only ones able to understand her in return. And just like beaten animals, she developed fear and aggression towards humanity."
Staff writer Keith B. Richburg contributed to this report.
é 2003 The Washington Post Company