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This work is protected by SACD
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Andy Warhol said in the 1960s that in the future, everyone would be famous for 15 minutes.
He was right about one thing.
… As for the fifteen minutes, it turned out he had greatly overestimated our attention span.
Episode 4 /// The Golden Age
Special BFMTV Broadcast / Celebrity Epidemic.
Hosted by: Lorène de Susbielle
Back on our special set, Apolline de Malherbe isn’t with us this morning; I’m replacing her exceptionally, surrounded by our experts. How far will CRISP-19 – as it’s officially named this pandemic – go? The number of victims is increasing at a rapid pace; we’ve just learned about the passing of Guillaume Canet, Fanny Ardant, Alexandre Astier in France… the list is long, and even longer abroad. Autopsies on the bodies of the stars have revealed that they all died from the same causes. Martin Champrier, you’re the director of the Virology Department at Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. The question on everyone’s lips now, and I ask you, is: is the virus contagious, and if so, how is it transmitted?
— Listen, Lorène, for now, what the early studies seem to indicate is that the virus doesn’t spread through physical contact. It’s also known that people close to the victims claimed to have shaken hands or kissed them shortly before their deaths without any repercussions, which would tend to confirm this information.
— Agathe Lebreton, you’re the president of the French Virology Society. Less than a week after Rihanna’s death, can you tell us about the evolution of the pandemic?
— Currently, Lorène, we’re observing a very sharp increase in the number of victims. In fact, we estimate that since Rihanna, considered patient zero, the number of cases has grown exponentially. However, as incredible as it may seem, despite already having hundreds of deaths worldwide, the only commonality among all CRISP-19 victims is that they were famous…
— …which – I interrupt you – confirms my hypothesis: that celebrities are dying in decreasing order of notoriety.
— Milo Pavić, you’re a celebrity journalist and have been a society columnist at Paris Match for many years…
— …It works like a pyramid… a pyramid from which the virus starts at the top, way up there, with people like Riri, The Rock, Beyoncé, Donald Trump, and so on. As it goes down, the less known people are, and therefore, there are more victims. It’s perfectly logical.
— A few years ago, we talked about the « Chinese virus » for COVID-19; now we hear the expression « Hollywood covid » for CRISP19.
— …Which is quite inaccurate, I must say.
— Nicolas Rieux, you’re a film blogger and editor-in-chief of the Mondociné website…
— That label is incorrect; not all celebrities come from Hollywood… And besides, Hollywood hasn’t been the epicenter of film production in the USA for a long time. Louisiana, for example, has emerged over almost two decades. And in the rest of the world, Morocco has become…
— …the good news being, gentlemen, that the virus doesn’t seem to be contagious! If that can reassure our listeners… Guillaume Chambrian, you’re a senior reporter at BFM.
— Yes, Lorène, I’m building on what you said because, speaking of reassuring, the governments of many countries, including France, didn’t wait for autopsy results, or rather, didn’t want to take risks. They decided to confine celebrities separately from the rest of the population to prevent any risk of contamination. In the USA, some stars even offered to open the doors of their properties to welcome other celebrities to isolate together. Shia LaBeouf and Gwyneth Paltrow did this… unfortunately, both actors died shortly after posting their viral videos.
— Which raises a question: are we likely to be struck down by CRISP-19 due to a sudden spike in notoriety? Milo Pavić, we heard you develop a theory on the Quotidien show where you’re a columnist…
— I’m convinced that the virus adapts to the notoriety of the person at the moment ‘T’, even though, in the case of these two actors, it’s a bad example because they were already very famous, and – forgive my cynicism – we could expect their imminent death anyway.
— In France, the authorities have been less lenient and liberal since they imposed on stars to go to specially arranged camps in northern France, Guillaume Chambrian.
— Yes, Lorène, ironically, it’s the former migrant camps in Lille and Calais.
— The SNCF departs every day from Gare du Nord on specially chartered and confined trains to avoid the risk of contaminating other passengers, and its trains – or convoys, as some don’t hesitate to call them – aren’t to everyone’s taste.
— Yes, I think we all have the image in mind… trains carrying human beings to lock them up… or rather, isolate them, excuse me for the nuance.
— There have been some sporadic demonstrations in Paris and Lyon, but overall, few people have taken to the streets.
— Public opinion doesn’t seem to really care about the fate of their stars.
— It should be noted that the government redesigned these camps before the arrival of the confined, it even did it « carefully » in its own words, « to make them perfectly suitable for accommodating people. »
— Which implies – forgive me for cutting you off, Lorène – that they weren’t at the time of the migrant crisis.
— Some celebrities, however, refuse to submit to what they consider, I quote, « an abject government blackmail. » François Cluzet is one of them, and we are in a live connection from his Parisian apartment. François, can you hear us?
« Yeah, I hear you, Apolline… uh, Lorène, sorry, I hear you… well, I never watch BFM, I won’t lie to you about that, and that’s why I find it quite amusing to be on your airwaves, but I believe the circumstances force me… it’s funny… well, for someone who never watches, I mean… well, it’s funny. I just wanted to tell you that this government decision is shit, it’s vomit; it’s diarrhea, it’s not even a political mistake anymore, it’s an attack on our freedoms! No, no! It’s even an attack on our dignity as human beings! This whole media-political circus brings back dark things, with SNCF and all… SNCF already sadly famous in the 40s if you know what I mean… its participation in the Holocaust, and it’s doing it again today, so I’m not saying that the railway workers do this willingly, no, but for me, if I were in their place, there would be sabotages every day on the Gare du Nord, Calais line, that’s all I’m saying! What’s happening is too serious, damn it! This Macronian reminiscence of our current government that thinks it’s crowned with the right to do anything, it’s unbearable! And these people – I tell you, it’s not an acting number – I don’t give a damn about them! I… uh, I… arg…
— François? Mr. Cluzet, are you okay?
— He looks unwell.
— I think Mr. Cluzet is feeling unwell; he just collapsed live, uh… I… uh, we’ll be right back after this commercial break.
*
Quotidien:
— François Cluzet has left us; he wouldn’t have died from CRISP-19 but from a live stroke this morning on BFMTV while being interviewed by Lorène de Susbielle… Milo, you were on-site at the time of the incident, what can you tell us?
— Nothing very surprising, Yann, according to this theory that I’ve been trying to make you understand for the past few days…
/zap
Street interview:
— What do you think of the celebrity camps?
— For me, it’s another demonstration of their privileges. They are confined to protect them!
/zap
Télématin :
— Sylvie Adigard, we find you as a special envoy in Calais in a celebrity camp:
— Yes, Marie, I’m with the cast of « Un si grand soleil, » whose series episodes continue to be filmed by the actors with their phones inside the camp. I’m with Aurore Delplace… Aurore, you’re one of the stars of…
— Haha, don’t say that, you’ll jinx me!
— …forgive me, one of the main roles in the series. How are you adapting to life in the camp?
— Listen, for now, I’m happy to be alive. I’m trying to make the most of every second.
— Next to you, Mélanie Maudran, good morning Mélanie, how’s it going here?
— There’s a great camaraderie among us, Sylvie, and as for CRISP, come what may, we’re all here to protect our loved ones and the rest of the French.
— Beautiful attitude, ladies… Marie, a few dozen meters away is another camp, where many famous presenters from France TV are; we’re going there right away, I see Cyril Féraud waving to us through the electrified fence… Hi Cyril!
/zap
La Grande Librairie
Guest: Emmanuel Schmidt
— The real intrinsic question, Augustin, is what is celebrity in the end? This is the debate underlying these confinement camps. In recent days, with the explosion of the number of deaths, we are beginning to not know very well from which threshold we can consider ourselves famous. This morning, at the newspaper, I was told about the deaths of people I had never heard of. So what does all this really say about our society?
/zap
TPMP:
Cyril Hanouna
Well, loves, let’s stop kidding for five minutes because, yeah, it sucks to tell you on air, but I’m told in the earpiece that Philippe Chevallier is dead… Yeah, yeah, it sucks. I know he was very saddened yesterday by the death of his buddy Régis… Régis Laspalès.
Gilles Verdez
At least, Cyril, it puts an end to this sordid and, forgive me, frankly disgusting debate that raged on social media for the past few days…
Jean-Marie Bigard
Yeah, well, I’m happy: I won my bet by betting on Laspalès.
(boos) (laughter) (applause)
Géraldine Maillet
No, it’s not funny, Jean-Marie, seriously…
Cyril Hanouna
Hey, Bigard, stop it, stop it, or I’ll kick you out…
Matthieu Delormeau
But by the way, are you okay, Jean-Marie? And Cyril? Aren’t you afraid with what’s happening?
Jean-Marie Bigard
Oh, you know, my dear, we’re vaccinated, so…
(explosion of laughter) (applause)
Cyril Hanouna
hahahaha … oh shit, my darling, I love you so much!
(applause)
Médiamétrie:
Full house last night for TPMP special CRISP19, which recorded its highest audience since the creation of the show.
Le Parisien:
Death of Cyril Hanouna
Public:
Is Hanouna really dead from CRISP19?
VSD:
Hanouna, his shocking last words.
Closer:
Death of Hanouna: Delhormeau refuses to take over the show.
Le Monde Diplomatique:
In China, a glimmer of hope for the Uighurs.
Quotidien:
— … Remember AIDS in the 80s; initially, it was called « gay cancer, » but it quickly turned out that the virus didn’t only affect homosexuals…
— What do you mean by that, Milo?
— You’ll see, Yann… You’ll see.
Le Parisien:
A columnist for Quotidien, author of a thesis on celebrity, launches the theory that CRISP19 might not only affect stars.
*
Special BFMTV Broadcast / Celebrity Epidemic.
Hosted by: Lorène de Susbielle
— Before starting this show, we wanted to pay tribute, on behalf of the entire BFMTV editorial team, to our colleague Apolline de Malherbe, who passed away last night from CRISP19. A minute of silence on air…
(seven seconds later)
…Milo, you are a journalist specializing in celebrities, working for many tabloids, but you also wrote a remarkable essay called « Life, Death, Celebrity. » For the past few days, you’ve been making numerous TV appearances with a theory that is causing a lot of talk… On social media, some don’t hesitate to call you a prophet, others a harbinger of doom. So, where do you position yourself?
— I’m just trying to do my job as a journalist and open people’s eyes.
— To what?
— To the fact that we will all die… someday. CRISP19 is the cancer of our planet, and it is becoming generalized by striking methodically. It took care of the most famous people, and now it continues its trimming down to the bottom of the pyramid… in order of decreasing notoriety, certainly, but it will go all the way. And I can assure you that we will all go through it.
— Do you have proof of what you’re claiming?
— Proof? I could have one, yes, hehe. Do you remember that famous quote by Andy Warhol, « In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes »? I only need a few seconds for my demonstration…
— We’re listening.
— Tell me one thing, Lorène: am I a star?
— N… no. Well… not yet.
— Exactly. Well… uh, are we live?
— Always, yes.
— Okay, well look… wait until I undo this… just give me a moment…
— Mr. Pavić, what are you doing? Mr. Pavić? Mr. Pavić! Put your pants back on, please…
— Look at them, my big balls on your face, do you want them, huh, bastard…
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X / Trending in France:
This columnist loses it live on BFMTV!
TikTok / You might like:
-18 when you have no limits and no plan B
Google / search suggestions:
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Facebook / comments:
« poor guy thought he was on pornhub »
« when it can’t wait anymore »
« he waited for this moment all his life »
« He made it in ten seconds »
« Shocked by some comments, do you realize it’s sexual assault? »
C à vous:
— … Yes, Lorène de Susbielle will file a complaint against Milo Pavić.
— That’s only right. I remind you he waved his penis in her face.
— Young people call that a « biffle, » Babette.
Closer:
Milo Pavić Case: our exclusive video behind the scenes of the BFMTV set.
VSD:
Who is Milo Pavić, the exhibitionist journalist making a buzz?
AFP:
Milo Pavić went from 623 followers to 2.7 million in a day. The shocking video on the BFMTV set had 38 million views when YouTube deleted it, but it reappeared in other versions, sometimes blurred, on other platforms. Memes and edits are multiplying. They have millions of views on YouTube.
Le Parisien:
CRISP19: Sudden death of Milo, the sadly famous « star » of social media. He reportedly said while collapsing, « I warned you. »
Science et Avenir:
(…) what is worrying is that his gesture, as unacceptable as it is, has proven his theory in practice. Of course, now it remains to model it into a coherent mathematical model.
*
Victor is irritated. He has a look in his head since yesterday but can’t seem to remember it. Only a few notes come back to him from time to time. They evaporate immediately. They seem to be associated with a melody – quite poignant. He vaguely remembers that the piece is performed by a singer, but that’s about it. Seagulls drift across the infinite sky, a blue that drives one mad, like white notes on a score, drones like the black ones; ferries, like half-notes, on the pale green ocean. After humming some vague tune, which he himself doesn’t even identify as the one he had in mind, Victor asks Pauline if she recognizes the piece. The young woman doesn’t pay attention, torments the straw in her mojito, rubs the cuticles of her nails with her roxy nails. The young man follows her gaze to a small pier where the couple they met two days ago has just appeared. The one who had suggested going to this secret beach. The excursion was planned for today.
« Do you think they are mad at us? » The young woman shrugs without taking her eyes off them but disconnecting from the scene.
« It doesn’t matter, right? » Victor watches them board a fragile boat. Their attitude seems different from the previous days.
The day before, after lengthy consultation, they had approached their table at dinner. It was Victor who, by mutual agreement, had spoken:
« Hey, are you both okay? » They weren’t okay. Victor and Pauline knew that even before asking the question. A few hours earlier, a couple of friends of theirs, also influencers, had died. Pauline had learned it from her news feed. A message from the communication agency that represented them.
« Well, listen, it’s annoying, but in the end, we won’t be able to accompany you to that beach tomorrow. » Pauline had told him to pretend that some unexpected friends had arrived, but, facing their defeated faces, Victor couldn’t lie:
« Yeah, uh… sorry, it sucks, but, you know, you’re still pretty famous, both of you, and with what’s going on, it’s too risky for us… » The couple had tried to defend themselves, arguing that they weren’t that famous, that the whole island believed it because the majority of its summer population consisted of influencers, but in reality, they all lived in a kind of bubble and for that reason, made the mistake of believing it. This was roughly what they had answered, taking turns like witnesses at a trial.
« We won’t make a story, » the young woman had exclaimed. « I promise, no posts! »
« Yes, and anyway, we wouldn’t tag you! » the young man had added. Pauline had frowned.
« Why are you going to that beach if you’re not going to do anything? »
The couple exchanged a long skeptical look, then the young woman answered in a small voice, almost apologizing:
« Well, we thought it could be, um… nice to do something. »
« You know, » Victor resumes, « there’s even a little guitar intro. »
« No, baby, sorry, I don’t see what your piece with the little guitar intro is, » retorts Pauline. The boat’s engine revs, and the smell of diesel invades the small square until it disappears with the couple on board. Pauline thinks they look pale under their tan. Her mojito is now just a graveyard of melted ice.
« What annoys me is that I don’t even have it on the tip of my tongue, this piece. »
« We’ll have to ask them to remove us from that post we made at the fish restaurant the other day. »
« You can do it yourself, » says Victor, « just go… »
« Oh yes, right… » She takes out her phone and taps on it for a moment. « It’s done. It’s forgotten. I don’t think they’ll be mad at us. Do we get a notification when someone does that? »
« I don’t think so… »
« And anyway, we were clear with them… »
« And it might be more prudent, you’re right. » Victor sucks the bottom of his mojito, stops as soon as the straw begins to sputter into the void, glances at Pauline. But the young woman doesn’t shoot him that usual disapproving look. Instead, she stares at something in the distance.
« What are you looking at? » The spell is broken.
« Nothing… nothing, uh… » She hesitates. « The sea is beautiful today. »
« Bluer than yesterday? »
She erases her smirk with a side glance, seems to want to retort something, then the features of her face relax.
« Maybe that’s it, yes… »
« Did you post a story of your mojito? »
« It’s true. »
« Do you want another one? I’ll finish it for you. »
« No… » She smiles. « But if you want one for yourself, go ahead. »
« It’s okay, baby. »
« The streets are quite empty, aren’t they? »
« It’s because people stop much less to take photos. » His gaze falls on an old couple, sitting on a bench. And they’re not taking photos, eating ice cream, or talking. They’re not doing anything special. They’re just there, sitting side by side. A little further, Victor spots another one, then another, and another. He shares his surprise with Pauline.
« …No, I think there were as many when we arrived on the island. We just didn’t notice them. »
To take a step back, it’s true that there had been some changes in Santorini in recent days. The air had filled with a relative silence. Only the faint hum of drones, alert sounds, and phone notifications could be vaguely heard. The island was gradually regaining its original colors, made of shades of white and blue. The endless scarves of influencers no longer fluttered in the wind along the viewpoints. People were now avoiding celebrity. No more young people dancing in the streets. Because it would have been incongruous to show off on social media.
Some did try to take advantage of this lull to gain popularity. And they succeeded. For a few hours at least. And they died the same day. There were now so few new contents on social media that followers rushed to any publication appearing on their deserted news feeds. At one point, Victor had even reached the end of his TikTok feed. Suddenly, the app simply didn’t offer him any other videos. He had tried swiping. Again and again. In vain. So, he had put down his phone and watched Pauline without her noticing, combing her hair in front of the mirror in their suite. After a few comings and goings of the comb in her hair, her face darkened, her gesture halted. Victor had contemplated her, observing herself in the mirror, a strange expression spread across her features. She had lowered her eyes and sighed—a mere murmur in the air—removed the brush from her hair. Her eyes had then met Victor’s in the reflection. And she had seemed almost surprised to find him there, and he had smiled at her. And she had raised her forehead, slowly, confidently but without haste, her face serious. Then, as he continued to stare at her, the warmth of her smile had cracked her mask, and she had smiled back at him. And the combing back and forth had resumed. Soon, she had been beautiful in her own eyes as well.
In the evening, at dinner, in the hotel restaurant. Pauline and Victor eavesdrop on the discussions at neighboring tables. A little further, old gentlemen in their forties chat among themselves:
« It’s the planet rejecting us, the fault of our outrageous overconsumption! Our lifestyles! »
« It’s a kind of apocalypse, I think… CRISP is a sort of divine vengeance that is befalling us. That’s what it is. Everything was written. »
« Pope Francis was one of the first to die, though. »
« Yes, well, Greta Thunberg too, I’ll point out. And not in the last ones either. »
« And Nicolas Hulot too, by the way. »
« Ah? »
« This very morning. »
On a television screen hanging in the hall, Meghan Markle’s silent face is animated. There’s a banner scrolling below. « The princess’s confessions before her death. » From her seat, Pauline manages to read the subtitles for the hearing impaired:
« I had always thought that my discomfort with celebrity was a psychosomatic manifestation of a deeper crisis within me… a discomfort that I would have been one of the only ones to feel due to my position. In the end, this pandemic makes me feel much less unique, and that’s somewhat reassuring… Yes… I think I’m ready… ready for what will happen to us, Harry and me. » Pauline closes her eyes. She closes them even tighter when Victor tells her that the couple they met has been found dead, in the late afternoon, on that secluded secret beach surrounded by cliffs, on the other side of the island.
—- END OF EPISODE 4 —-
Syd Vesper 
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