Kids interview Coluche
by Charactorium · Coluche (1944 — 1986) · Performing Arts · Society · 4 min read
That morning, two fifth-graders on a field trip push open the door of a theater dressing room. On a chair, a man in blue striped overalls waits for them, a big smile on his face. Coluche motions for them to sit down: “So, you wanted to ask me some questions? Go ahead, I don't bite.”
—What was the Café de la Gare like when you started?
Ah, you know, in 1969, we had nothing at all. With my buddy Romain Bouteille and a young madman named Patrick Dewaere, we set up a little café-theater. A café-theater is a very small room: people have a drink, and you perform three feet away from them. Imagine a dark room, full of smoke, where everyone is packed tight. We had no set, no money. But we were free to say anything, to laugh at everything. That's where I learned my trade. A tiny stage, but a great playground.
A tiny stage, but a great playground.
—Why did you dress in those funny striped overalls?
Look at me: blue overalls with thick stripes, a t-shirt, and especially my bright yellow sneakers. You know why? Because in my day, stars dressed to the nines, in nice pressed suits. I wanted the opposite. I wanted to look like the guy next door, the worker, the neighborhood kid. That outfit was my way of saying, “I'm one of you, not above you.” And admit it, it made people laugh just by walking on stage. A clown doesn't need to speak to make you smile already.
I wanted to look like the guy next door, not be above.
—Is it true that a simple sketch made you famous?
Yes! In 1975, there was Le Schmilblick. It was a parody of a game where contestants had to guess a mysterious object, the famous “schmilblick.” Something that doesn't exist, you see? So I played a magnificent idiot who repeated everything wrong. People laughed because they recognized themselves in that gentle foolishness. Before that, a year earlier, I had already done C'est l'histoire d'un mec, a very simple monologue. Remember this: sometimes a little story about nothing touches millions of people. It just has to ring true.
A little story about nothing can touch millions of people.
—You made people laugh, so why play in a sad movie?
Good question, my child. In 1983, Claude Berri offered me Tchao Pantin. A dark role, a broken man, shattered by life. Nothing like my funny overalls! I was a bit scared: what if people didn't believe it? A year before, I was clowning around with Louis de Funès in L'Aile ou la Cuisse. And now they asked me to cry in front of the camera. Well, in 1984, I received the César for Best Actor. Everyone was surprised. Me first. A comedian can also tug at the heartstrings.
A comedian can also tug at the heartstrings.
—Was it a joke that you wanted to become president of France?
At first, yes, a provocation! In 1980, I announced I was running. My slogan, listen carefully, was: “Tous ensemble pour leur foutre au cul.” I wanted to mock politicians who promise everything and deliver nothing. And then, surprise: in some polls, I climbed to 16%! Just imagine: a guy in yellow sneakers worrying the real candidates. It panicked everyone. So I ended up withdrawing my candidacy. But I had proven one thing: laughter sometimes scares more than a speech.
Laughter sometimes scares more than a speech.
—Weren't you afraid when you mocked powerful people?
Afraid? A little, of course. Mocking the powerful has never been without risk. But you know, I said I was “the only candidate with no reason to lie.” The others wanted power; I just wanted to shake people up, wake them up. In my time, many French people felt betrayed, tired of empty promises. My weapon wasn't a serious speech, it was the joke — a biting remark. A good joke goes through walls better than a stone. And no one can forbid you that.
A good joke goes through walls better than a stone.
—How did you come up with the idea for Restos du Cœur?
It came very simply. On September 26, 1985, I was on the microphone of Europe 1 radio. And I blurted out, just like that: “I have a little idea… something if there are rich people who want to help us, we could set up a free canteen in Paris.” That was it. At the time, people talked about the “new poverty”: people who used to work found themselves with nothing, because of unemployment. That outraged me. That first winter, we distributed nearly 8.5 million hot meals.
I have a little idea… a free canteen.
—How did it feel to see all those people hungry?
It made me angry, my child. I said it frankly: it's not normal that in France, a rich country, there are people who are hungry. I myself loved good food, hearty meals with friends. So the idea that others had nothing on their plate stuck in my throat. Restos works thanks to volunteers — people who give their time for free, for nothing, just from the heart. Thousands of helping hands. And you know what? Even after me, in 1988, a law was passed to facilitate donations. They call it the “Coluche Law.”
It's not normal that a rich country leaves people hungry.
—Is it true you went super fast on a motorcycle?
Ah, that was my great passion! I loved speed, the wind, the roar of the engine. In 1985, I beat a world record on a special bike: over 250 km/h! Imagine the feeling: you're lying on the machine, everything shakes, the landscape blurs, and you fly like an arrow. The heart beats very fast. I also liked tinkering with my bikes myself, in the afternoon, hands in the grease. It was my secret garden, far from the spotlight. A moment when I was no longer Coluche the artist, just a happy man on his machine.
Far from the spotlight, I was just a happy man on his machine.
—If we could talk to you today, what would you want us to remember?
You ask me a touching question, that. My life ended too soon, on June 19, 1986, on a motorcycle, near a southern village called Opio. But what I want you to keep is not my death. It's that I made people laugh, and I also reached out a hand. The two go together, you see. You can be a joker and have a big heart. So if one day you meet someone in need, remember my little idea launched on the radio. A gesture, a shared meal: it changes a life. That's my real record.
You can be a joker and have a big heart.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Coluche's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.