(2 of 2)
Pushing the boundaries of the fact limitation, I asked him why he made the documentary. He replied that he had said no four times but that the filmmakers misunderstood him the last time. When I pushed the question of why he would let the filmmakers follow him around, letting them use everything except one would-be kick-ass breakfast scene in which he chokes on yogurt, he said, "It's not an imperative, it's an experience. Experience cannot be avoided."
Leaving the room to go onstage for a brief, post-screening Q&A with the audience, Derrida ran a hand through his hair to straighten it. He talked about how I had made him conscious of his hair. Deconstructionists can't let anything go. At the discussion, someone asked Derrida what kind of music he likes, and he revealed his love for free jazz and told a really long story about how Ornette Coleman once got him to read onstage during a show. "His fans were so unhappy they started booing. It was a very unhappy event. It was a very painful experience," he said. "But it was in the paper the next day, so it was a happy ending."
In the end, everyone, even the smartest people in the world, cannot help talking about themselves. The media may be vultures who shove tape recorders at families of murder victims, but the families almost always want to talk. Derrida didn't want to make a movie or talk to TIME or tell people that he likes jazz or that he read at a concert, but he couldn't help it. Despite the fact that he can say whatever he wants in his chosen medium--really hard-to-read books that will be read forever--he still can't stop himself at any given moment. It's not megalomania or vanity but a hard-wired human need to express yourself. At least, that's my excuse for writing all these narcissistic columns. That, and I'd love to get a movie deal going.