It’s been nearly sixty years since 24-year-old Catherine Deneuve and her older sister Françoise Dorléac starred as twins in *The Young Girls of Rochefort*.
The movie, which also featured a young Gene Kelly, was the last film the sisters made together. Deneuve went on to become internationally famous, while Françoise’s life and career were tragically cut short.
Born into an acting family, Deneuve, now 79, made her first appearance in the 1957 French movie *The Twilight Girls*. Her big break came in 1960 when she starred in *The Umbrellas of Cherbourg*, a romantic musical that highlighted her French style and innocence, launching her into stardom. This was just the beginning of many films she would make with director Jacques Demy.
Her talent for dramatic roles caught the eye of legendary director Roman Polanski, who cast her in the psychological thriller *Repulsion*. Deneuve’s brilliant performance as Carol, a mentally troubled woman, earned her the nickname “ice maiden.” This image was solidified in her next film, *Belle de Jour*, where she played a housewife who secretly works as a prostitute—a role that won her awards and global fame.
In 1963, Deneuve became a mother, having a son with French screenwriter Roger Vadim. She later had the chance to star alongside her older sister, Françoise Dorléac, in the 1967 musical *The Young Girls of Rochefort*. The two sisters were very close, and with their similar looks, playing twins in the movie felt natural.
But just three months after *Rochefort* was released, tragedy struck. Françoise, at only 25, died in a car accident, a moment Deneuve describes as the most painful in her life.
“The day I lost my sister, I lost my joy of living… it is the most painful thing I have experienced,” she shared in an interview with *Paris Match*, a French weekly magazine.
The loss of her sister didn’t slow down Catherine Deneuve, who became the epitome of 1960s glamor, often seen as a femme fatale wrapped in Yves Saint Laurent.
Deneuve, known as the face of French cinema, has appeared in over 120 films throughout her 60-year career. Reflecting on how the industry has changed, Deneuve explained, “Human nature is vast. There are roles more suited to people of my generation. As you age, it’s the same in life—you gain experience and play characters you couldn’t when you were 30.” She added, “It’s hard to find the right path. You can age better in Europe than in America. But women today look younger than they did 50 years ago. Back then, a 50-year-old woman looked her age. Now, not so much.”
Despite her worldwide fame, Deneuve has mostly starred in French films, with only a few roles in English-language films.
Catherine Deneuve explained why she mostly supports French cinema, saying, “I feel very French, but I speak Italian and English, so I feel very European. However, I don’t feel close to English people. Even though England is not far, their sensibility and character are very different.” She added, “I feel closer to Spanish or Italian people because the Latin character is different from the Anglo-Saxon one. We have different educations and cultures.”
Some of her English-speaking roles include *The April Fools* with Jack Lemmon (1969), *Hustle* with Burt Reynolds (1973), *March or Die* with Gene Hackman (1977), and the 1983 cult classic *The Hunger*, where she played a lesbian vampire alongside David Bowie and Susan Sarandon.
In 1972, Deneuve divorced British photographer David Bailey, whom she married in 1965 after meeting at a Playboy shoot. Their wedding guests included Mick Jagger. From 1970 to 1974, she was in a relationship with Italian film icon Marcello Mastroianni, with whom she had a daughter in 1972.
In 1980, Catherine Deneuve delivered an award-nominated performance in *The Last Metro*, starring alongside another famous French actor, Gérard Depardieu. This marked the beginning of a successful collaboration, as they would appear in 15 films together.
Deneuve mentioned that she and Depardieu have similar work styles, saying, “We are both instinctive actors. We prefer to arrive on set and figure things out in the moment rather than rehearse ahead of time.”
In the 1990s, Deneuve received an Oscar nomination and a César Award (France’s national film award) for her role in the French period drama *Indochine*. The film, released in 1992, also won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.
The 2000s introduced Catherine Deneuve to new roles, including the award-winning musical drama *Dancer in the Dark*, where she starred alongside the unique Icelandic singer Björk. In 2010, she reunited with Gérard Depardieu for the eighth time in the film *Potiche*.
After appearing in the 2019 film *The Truth* with Ethan Hawke and Juliette Binoche, Deneuve was filming the French movie *Peaceful* when she was hospitalized due to a stroke. Although her family described it as a “very limited” ischemic stroke, production on the film was delayed until July 2020, when the then 76-year-old actress was able to return. Deneuve, who had smoked since she was 16, finally quit after her month-long hospital stay.
Honored with a lifetime achievement award at the 2022 Venice Film Festival, the French icon, who celebrates her 80th birthday this year, continues to thrive, and we look forward to seeing her in many more films!
Sassy Neighbor Drove All the Tenants Crazy at Night – So We Found a Way to Give Her a Taste of Her Own Medicine
When Michelle moved in, she refused to follow one simple rule: bring your key. Instead, she pounded on my window at all hours, demanding to be let in. After countless sleepless nights, the other tenants and I came up with a plan to give her a taste of her own medicine.
I’ve always been a stickler for rules. Call me boring, but there’s something comforting about knowing where you stand. That’s why I loved living in our little apartment block on Maple Street.
A woman and her dog | Source: Midjourney
We had one golden rule: after 8 p.m., you always carry your key. Simple, right? Well, it was until Hurricane Michelle blew into our lives.
The day Michelle moved in, I should’ve known trouble was brewing. I was collecting my mail when she strutted up the path, wild red hair flying, and enormous sunglasses perched on her nose despite the cloudy day.
“Hey, new neighbors!” she called out, voice loud enough to wake the dead. “I’m Michelle! Who’s gonna help me with these boxes?”
A woman waving | Source: Midjourney
I exchanged glances with Matt from 2B. He shrugged, and we both headed out to lend a hand. As we lugged boxes up the stairs, Michelle chattered away.
“This place is so cute! It’s like, totally retro. I can’t wait to spice things up around here!” She winked at Matt, who nearly dropped a box labeled “PARTY SUPPLIES.”
“Yeah, well,” I puffed, struggling with what felt like a crate of bricks, “we like it quiet around here. Especially after 8.”
Michelle laughed, a sound like tinkling glass.
A laughing woman | Source: Midjourney
“Oh honey, the night’s just getting started at 8!” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll see, I’ll breathe some life into this place.”
I should’ve taken that as the warning it was.
For the first week, things were okay. Sure, Michelle’s music was a bit loud, and yeah, she had a habit of clattering up and down the stairs at all hours. But it wasn’t until the second Friday night that the real trouble started.
A woman in her home | Source: Midjourney
It was just past midnight when the first thump-thump-thump echoed through my apartment. My dog, Biscuit, lifted his head with a whine. I tried to ignore it, burying my face in my pillow. But then came the buzzing. It was incessant, like an angry hornet.
Groaning, I stumbled to the intercom. “Hello?”
“Heeeeey!” Michelle’s voice, slightly slurred, crackled through the speaker. “It’s me! I forgot my key. Can you let me in?”
An intercom entry phone | Source: Pexels
I sighed, pressing the button to unlock the main door. My apartment was on the ground level so I opened my door to remind her about the key rule.
“Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!” Michelle gushed, her breath reeking of tequila. “I was gonna be stuck out there all night!”
“Michelle,” I started, trying to keep my voice level, “remember the rule about always carrying your key after 8?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Pffft, rules are made to be broken, right? Besides, you’re right here! It’s no problem for you to let me in.”
A laughing woman | Source: Midjourney
“Well, actually…”
But there was no point in saying anything more. Michelle had already clattered up the stairs and disappeared, leaving me standing in the foyer, fuming.
I wish I could say that was a one-time thing. But over the next few weeks, it became a nightly occurrence.
Sometimes she’d bang on windows, other times she’d ring every buzzer in the building until someone let her in.
A woman in front of a staircase | Source: Pexels
It didn’t matter if it was 10 p.m. or 3 a.m. — Michelle seemed to operate in her own time zone.
One particularly frustrating night, I was jolted awake by a rhythmic tapping on my bedroom window. Groaning, I glanced at my alarm clock: 2:37 a.m.
“Adrienne! Adrieeeeenne! Wake up, sleepyhead!”
That was the last straw for Biscuit, who ran over to the window and started yapping. I stumbled out of bed. Pulling back the curtain, I was met with Michelle’s grinning face, illuminated by the streetlight.
A woman at a window | Source: Pexels
“Michelle!” I hissed, sliding the window open. “What are you doing?”
She giggled, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. “I forgot my key, Addy. Be a pal and buzz me in? I’ve been tapping at your window for ages already.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Michelle, this has got to stop. You can’t keep doing this. What if I hadn’t been home?”
She shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the whole situation. “Then I would’ve buzzed Matt. Or Tiffany. Someone’s always home, right?”
A woman talking to someone | Source: Midjourney
The whole building was at its wit’s end. One day, Tiffany from 3A cornered me in the laundry room, dark circles under her eyes.
“Adrienne, we’ve got to do something about Michelle. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks!”
I nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion myself. “I know, Tiff. I’ve tried talking to her, but she just laughs it off.”
A woman in a laundry room | Source: Pexels
Matt joined us, his usually neat hair a mess. “I called the landlord,” he said, voice low. “Guess what? Michelle’s his niece. He said, and I quote, ‘She’s just having a bit of fun. You all need to lighten up.’”
“Lighten up?” Tiffany hissed. “I’ll show him ‘lighten up’ when I fall asleep at work and get fired!”
That’s when Riley from 4C spoke up. I hadn’t even noticed her lurking by the dryers.
“You know,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “if Michelle won’t listen to reason, maybe we need to speak her language.”
A woman in a laundry room | Source: Pexels
We all leaned in closer as Riley outlined her plan. It was petty, sure. Childish, even. But after weeks of sleepless nights and Michelle’s careless laughter ringing in our ears, it felt like sweet justice.
The next night, we put our plan into action.
Michelle stumbled home around 1 a.m., and as usual, she started banging on windows and buzzing apartments. Someone let her in, as usual, and I listened as she breezed upstairs.
We struck an hour later.
A woman glancing over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
I went outside and kept buzzing her apartment for a full ten minutes. Eventually, her voice crackled over the speaker.
“Who is this, and what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Hey, Michelle! It’s me, Adrienne. I took Biscuit out and forgot my key. Be a pal and buzz me in?”
“Are you serious? It’s 1 a.m.!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, but I always do it for you, so what’s the problem?”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
I heard her mutter something, but she let me in. I quickly texted Tiffany and rushed upstairs for the next part. I arrived at Michelle’s floor just as a series of sharp knocks echoed down the hall.
“Michelle? Michelle? Are you home?” Tiffany called out as she knocked on the door.
“Tiff? What are you doing?” Michelle groaned.
“Oh, I just wanted to check if somebody had let you in. Good night!”
A woman knocking on a door | Source: Pexels
I leaned against the wall, stifling my giggles. But we weren’t done. Over the next few days, we kept up our campaign. If Michelle forgot her key, we made sure she couldn’t sleep. It was petty, yes, but it felt so good.
By day five, Michelle was a wreck. Her hair was a tangled mess, her designer clothes rumpled, and dark circles ringed her bloodshot eyes. As she trudged up the stairs, I almost felt bad. Almost.
A tired-looking woman | Source: Pexels
“Please,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from yelling, “can you guys stop this? I get it, okay? Just stop waking me up every night!”
Tiffany, who’d come out to watch the show, couldn’t resist a jab. “Oh, so you do understand how annoying it is. Funny, you didn’t seem to care when you were doing it to us.”
Michelle’s lower lip trembled, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. But then she squared her shoulders. “Fine. I’m sorry, alright? I’ll start bringing my key. Just… please let me sleep.”
A woman glancing to one side | Source: Pexels
We all exchanged glances. It wasn’t a grand apology, but it was something. Slowly, we nodded.
“Okay, Michelle,” I said, trying to keep the triumph out of my voice. “We’ll stop. But remember—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, fishing in her purse. “Always carry my key after 8. I got it.”
The next evening, I tensed as I heard Michelle’s distinctive clatter on the stairs. But to my surprise, there was no banging, no buzzing. Just the soft click of a key in a lock.
Keys in a door | Source: Pexels
I couldn’t help but smile to myself. “Funny,” I murmured, settling back on my couch, “how peace always comes when everyone finally starts playing by the rules.”
Biscuit wagged his tail in agreement, and I scratched behind his ears. Our little apartment block was back to normal — or as normal as it could be with Hurricane Michelle living upstairs. But hey, at least now she had the key to fitting in.
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