RIP Christian Henri Leplus

I’ve been out of sorts this week as I lost a very dear friend who lived with our family for the past 10+ years or so. He was originally supposed to stay a few weeks but somehow it morphed into something much more long term.

I first met Chris back in September 2008 when I got the wild idea of actually making a presentation reel based on my comic book THE LOST ONES. I was interviewing applicants for the position of Director of Cinematography and was getting discouraged at the prospect of young guys out of film school telling me how I was going to shoot my film when Chris showed up to meet me. 

He already had more than 40 years of experience, was extremely French (having been actually born and lived in Paris), and gave me hope when he said the magic words, “You tell me what you want on film, and I will shoot your vision.” At this point, age didn’t matter at all. I had found my Director of Cinematography. More than that, though I didn’t know it at the time, I had found a mentor.

As we worked on shooting scenes for THE LOST ONES presentation reel, what we shot both impressed and inspired another friend of mine, who wanted me to film a script he had written. It was because of the experience I gained shooting the reel that I felt comfortable making the quick leap to a much bigger project.

All during this time, Chris was both encouraging and infuriating. Infuriating because he could see my shortcomings and inexperience show and never hesitated to point them out. Yet, in the next breath, he would patiently guide me to a solution while preserving the vision I saw in my head instead of compromising that vision.

We worked under difficult circumstances and an extremely limited budget, yet somehow we pulled off (with help of a number of family, friends and industry professionals) what we set out to do. The result was a 60-minute pilot episode titled THE REPUBLIC.

I couldn’t have pulled off the project without Chris, yet he was the one most effusive of praise for me for the finished film. “This was your film school” he would tell me, “and you have what most don’t, a finished film.”

To Chris, the work was the only thing that mattered. So much so that because of his willingness to travel anywhere for the job, he lived in a storage unit that had a room for a bed along with a bathroom with a shower. It was only once the landlord decided to destroy all the bathrooms in every unit of the complex instead of working with the city to get the units permitted, that Chris found himself having to look for a new home on a fixed income.

When learning of Chris’s situation, Bernie and I offered him the use of our spare bedroom while he looked around for a place to live.

Circumstances would result in that spare bedroom being his solution and so he continued to live with us. He was easy to live with and was a constant presence in the home for our two cats whenever Bernie & I had to be elsewhere. He proved to be a great companion for Bernie’s mom when she moved in with us because of her health issues, sitting next to her watching TV for hours on end up until the day when she passed away.

Chris himself suffered from cancer for most of the 10 years he lived us, so there were plenty of doctors visits and treatments during that time. Even so, he never complained or exhibited any self-pity over his situation, eternally grateful that we were the kind of people we are.

During the last couple of years of his life, maybe longer (I never kept track), I would usually take Chris for his treatments every three weeks until this past October when he startled me with his request, “I want to go into hospice care.”

Chris had had enough and saw no point in prolonging his existence, especially since it was long past time when he could step onto a movie set doing work that gave him purpose.

I tried talking him out of taking what I saw was a drastic step toward the inevitable, but he was determined, and I had to respect that.

We continued to take care of him until two days before Thanksgiving, when his nephew and great-niece flew in from Paris to see their favorite Uncle one last time.

After that, we had him transferred to a facility that could provide better care 24/7 than we ever could for his final days. I managed to to visit him shortly after that when he looked me in the eyes and said matter-of-factly in his customary French manner, “Dying is boring.”

I received a phone call from his caregiver Monica roughly about 7:00am or thereabouts on Monday, December 11. Chris had passed away earlier at 6:09am while she held his hand and played gospel music at his request softly in the background.

I made it up to the facility about a couple of hours later to take care of Chris’s remains. I’d see to it that his last wishes were honored.

Chris leaves behind family in France, including an older sister and her family, as well as a legion of friends and colleagues scattered throughout the world. Chris traveled everywhere, including war zones. He would be debriefed by the US State Department after several of these travels.

He met, dined with on occasion and photographed numerous celebrities such as Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, Robert Forster and many others, including Bond girl Daniela Bianchi who starred in FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE. Chris shared an interest in cooking with actor Vincent Schiavelli, who played Dr Kaufmann in the Bond film TOMORROW NEVER DIES. He did photo shoots in the offices of Senator Ted Kennedy shortly after his brother was assassinated as well red carpet shots from the Academy Awards.

The one assignment he was most proud of was a documentary he filmed about a Monk who spent most of his years living in Communist China and was living out his days in a monastery here in southern California. Chris was in the audience when the man gave what proved to be his final sermon during mass, proceeded to sit down and then died before the congregation. He had just turned 100 years old. Chris admiringly stated after “He died with his boots on” and expressed a preference for dying in a similar manner.

Chris never bragged of his accomplishments or the people he met. One would only discover his past experiences through offhand moments that left one wondering whether he was being serious or pulling one’s leg. Eventually, the photographic evidence would show Chris underselling his experiences and connections.

Chris would say there are only 2 kinds of problems. The first were those he had an answer for, therefore it was not a problem. The other were problems beyond his control, so they didn’t count as problems either. Somehow, he made it through 84 years which began with Nazis marching through the streets of Paris when he was a young boy. He lived a life and then some.

Rest easy, mon ami. You will be missed.