It’s impossible to disassociate Delon from his youthful beauty. But there was always a palpable darkness underneath, even early on, which worked fantastically for Ripley in Plein soleil (1960). It was his fourth film as a leading man but the first to splash internationally. The famous poster helped: a bare-chested Delon at the helm, taking charge, his brooding eyes the harbinger of a violent storm. His career was about to explode.
Delon was a master of ambiguity. Let’s not forget that he had fought in Indochina before he turned twenty, and got in all kinds of legal trouble in Saigon ten years before the Americans officially took over from the French. Upon his return, he stumbled into acting accidentally, without any training whatsoever. But, at twenty-two, he had a PhD in survival. Acting, it seemed, was a cinch.
It was understandable that Visconti took to Delon’s looks right away. But he also gave him some serious tasks to perform, which broadened Delon’s range. In between Rocco and His Brothers and The Leopard, Delon was drafted by Antonioni. L’Eclisse (1962) was the last installment in his trilogy of existential ennui. Delon and Monica Vitti made a couple from another world, unlike any romantic pairing in history of film. They were instantly iconic. And still are.
Like Belmondo, whose career was developing simultaneously, Delon stretched into commercial cinema before turning thirty. He also mastered English, and set his eyes on Hollywood. Ralph Nelson’s Once a Thief (1965) remains the best of his American films. He tried a few times more, but his charm didn’t work so well when surrounded by old school stars like Anthony Quinn or Dean Martin. However, he brought stark realism to his part in The Lost Command (1966), revisiting Dien Bien Phu.
Then came Jean-Pierre Melville, and Delon became another type of icon – an honorable criminal with an axe to grind. And nobody in Europe could grind that axe as persuasively as Delon did. Not even close. Even when playing a cop, he proceeded with a cynical heart, always darker than the criminal he pursued. You never believed in his smile, if you could see him smile at all. In every other film, he would die violently just when you wanted him to succeed.
There were some amazing curios in there, too. It was Delon who made Charles Bronson an international star, way before Hollywood even saw a potential. First came Adieu, l’ami (1968), a macho-love-fest-claustrophobic-heist thriller, which still works like a Swiss watch, if you properly wind yourself up before watching. Then, somehow, we were subjected to the most insane proposition: Toshiro Mifune, Bronson, and Delon in a Western shot in Spain, directed by a Brit. Defying reason, Red Sun (1971) worked in a strange, absurd way – as a spoof, as an action flick, as some strange cross-cultural statement. Appropriately, Delon’s bad guy’s name was Gauche.
Yet, Delon was always careful to juggle action with solid drama. From that golden period, several fantastic performances are of note, including of course his Mr. Klein for Joseph Losey. However, it is La prima notte di quiete (1972) which, in my opinion, offers Delon at his dramatic best. The film still remains little seen, but it deserves a serious re-assessment. Here, as an unglamorous, worn-out intellectual, Alain broods like he’s never brooded before. Nothing spells melancholia better than off-season Rimini, and Delon’s tired eyes staring into the grey Adriatic mist.
There was fun stuff, too. Reportedly, Delon played Zorro (1975) to please his ten-year-old son. It was Stanley Baker’s penultimate film, and the extended climactic duel between the two is one of the best I’ve ever seen in the genre.
Delon has started to produce his own films early on, and later, he tried directing. Preferring to stick to what made him bankable, he confidently directed himself in two perfectly decent crime thrillers in his mid-forties – Pour la peau d'un flic and Le Battant.
Coming off Swann in Love (1984), Volker Schlöndorff’s audacious take on Proust, Delon felt he needed to get manly again. He got in the best shape of his life at fifty, and made a lamentably weak revenge thriller, Parole de flic (1985). It was a huge financial success. Also, it marked the beginning of his decline as a major star.
Despite being little known and appreciated in the States (much like Belmondo and Louis de Funès), Delon was revered world-wide. His influence as an actor and the influence of his most famous works (Le Samouraï, L’Eclisse, Il gattopardo) are ongoing. My personal favorite tribute came from John Woo and Chow Yun-fat: in the Melville-on-steroids A Better Tomorrow (1986) the leading character is wearing the Alain Delon sunglasses, designed by Delon’s own firm.
Which is a strange way to end my missive, but what the hell. Something just got stuck in my throat.
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When I was researching a time period in France for a novel (https://www.lysbleueditions.com/produit/le-monopole-de-la-tristesse/) - sorry for the shameless plug -- I came across an interesting history regarding Delon I'd never heard about, which was the Marković affair - I won't go into details since you might like to research it on your own, but it also involved allegedly scandalous photos of the wife of the then-president of France...
Great tribute, NYT ran one too but yours is more interesting!