MARSEILLE 90-91

How did the project of documenting the Virage Sud over the full 1990–91 season come about?

At first, it was a commission from Le Figaro Magazine, which asked me to do a portrait of a capo. Meeting the leaders of the Fanatics Ultras Winners made me want to continue. It had everything needed for a strong subject: a human story and a rich visual environment.

Looking back, would you say it was a turning point for the Virage Sud, for OM, or more broadly for Marseille’s supporter culture?

Yes, I think it was a turning point. The groups were beginning to structure themselves and to see themselves as active participants. It’s no coincidence that Bernard Tapie, who came from the world of entertainment, soon gave them the means to develop, particularly through the management of season tickets.

At the time, did you feel you were photographing a world that was about to disappear or deeply transform?

I would say it was more a world being born. Everyone was young, driven by a kind of hunger and belief. They were ready to commit themselves fully, as long as they were recognised as the famous “Twelfth Man”, which also became the title of my exhibition in 1991.

OM at that time was a kind of alchemy: a boss, a coach, a stable team with players supporters had time to identify with. Everyone was working together to create something special, without really worrying about individual recognition.

Your position is quite unique: you were both part of the Virage and an observer. How did you find the balance between total immersion and photographic distance?

I don’t think the question of distance really came up. I had previously worked with rock bands without being a musician, and with Zingaro without having any particular interest in horses.

What interested me was immersing myself in groups and putting my instrument - photography- at their service. Taking “photos as if there were no photographer,” as Marc Hodoul, former CU84 capo, later told me.

The Virage Sud at that time is often described as a community rather than just a group of supporters. Is that accurate?

I genuinely think we can talk about a community. Everyone shared the same values and gave their time and energy to a common goal. The Virage was a real machine for integration. It also wasn’t yet segmented.

In your view, what did the Virage Sud say about Marseille at that time?

A lot was changing in Marseille at the time. The city was waking up after decades under Deferre. IAM and Massilia were bringing a new sound, Tapie embodied a kind of outspoken energy that resonated with people, and OM was commanding respect.

More broadly, the South was emerging from its torpor and its clichés — you could think of the Movida in Spain. The youth in the Virage were asserting a loud, mixed identity in contrast to the capital. Everything was there for a sense of pride to return.

In turning this into a book, what did you most want to convey? A period, an atmosphere, a way of being in the stadium, or something more universal?

Above all, the image of a certain innocence. Today everything moves very fast and has become oversized. Teams change before you’ve even learned the players’ names, judgments are immediate, tifos almost spill onto the pitch.

Players no longer really know who they belong to, and supporters sometimes feel like they own the club. In a way, that’s not entirely wrong: football has become the biggest show in the world, and at the Vélodrome, as elsewhere, they should at least be recognised as stakeholders.

How do younger generations, who didn’t experience the Virage Sud of the 90s, react to the book today?

There’s first a sense of envy, because I was lucky enough to live through that period. But there’s something else as well. I realised that for them, the book marks the beginning of a story they see themselves as heirs to: the history of the Virage, unfolding alongside the history of the club.

It makes me reflect. On one hand, football is becoming more and more of a spectacle. On the other, part of the crowd refuses to settle for the role of a passive consumer. That’s part of OM’s DNA — and in that sense, Marseille remains a unique city.