By Paul Kendall Last Updated: 5:01PM BST 14 May 2009  When Eric Cantona left Leeds United Football Club in November 1992, the fans were devastated. So devastated, in fact, that the manager, Howard Wilkinson, felt it necessary to explain the situation over the public address system before the following Saturday's match.  Cantona, a player the like of which had never been seen before at Leeds, had wanted to go, he told the crowd. Or, to put it another way, the Frenchman had not been prepared to stay and abide by the rules under which everyone else had to operate. He wanted to be picked for the team every week, or not play at all. Wilkinson was unable to give Cantona such a guarantee, he told the crowd, and, not long afterwards, the footballer sent Wilkinson a fax asking his manager to find him another club.  This version of events gets short shrift from Cantona, but there was one sentence in that fax that was indisputably penned by the Frenchman.  'The salmon that idles its way downstream,' it said, 'will never leap the waterfall.'  No one else in the world of football has been more fond of fish metaphors than Eric Cantona. Appearing before the press two-and-a-half years later to comment on his punishment for running off the pitch and kung-fu kicking a Crystal Palace fan, Cantona silenced the room with the enigmatic statement: 'When the seagulls are following a trawler it is because they think the sardines are going to be thrown into the sea.'  It's not the sort of sentence that's ever likely to fall from the lips of Wayne Rooney, or any other Premiership player for that matter. But Cantona was much more interesting than your average footballer. He was a painter and a poet in his spare time and had a burning passion for life that expressed itself in exquisite skill on the pitch and, sometimes, inexcusable acts of violence.  When he scored a goal he would often stand, hands on his hips and chest out, like a Roman emperor, acknowledging the adulation of his subjects, both at Leeds and then at the club that sealed his fame, Manchester United. 'Ooh. Aah. Cantona. Oohaah Cantona,' they would chant in response.  Even his kung-fu kick – aimed at a man allegedly shouting racist abuse – did nothing to harm his reputation among the Manchester United faithful. If anything, it brought the player and the fans closer together. They loved the athleticism, the passion, the sheer audacity and the Bruce Lee-style form of justice. When Cantona finally returned from suspension, an unofficial T-shirt, featuring a picture of the player's back, wearing his famous No 7 shirt (collar up), proclaimed: 'Eric's been punished enough, now others must suffer.'  In his first match back, the Frenchman underlined the point by scoring a goal against Liverpool. Now, 12 years after he retired from football, the 42-year-old Cantona has made a film that is a love letter to the legions of fans who supported him.  Called Looking For Eric, it is a favourite to win the Palme D'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival . Directed by Ken Loach, it stars a relatively unknown actor, Steve Evets, as a postman and Manchester United fan, who is struggling with a midlife crisis. Cantona, who plays himself, appears to the postman, also called Eric, in a vision and becomes his life coach. An ensemble cast, lead by John Henshaw, play Eric's workmates and fellow United fans.  The central plot concerns Eric the postman's efforts to win back his ex-wife. But it is also about the importance of friends, and the camaraderie and bon homie epitomised by a crowd of football supporters.  'This film is an homage to the fans,' says Cantona. 'Because they are beautiful people. I had a special relationship with the fans in Manchester. I felt it very deeply. There is so much solidarity and friendship between them.'  Unfortunately there is less solidarity and friendship between us. I have had to admit that I haven't seen the film yet (it was impossible for me to make it to a screening) and Cantona is not impressed.  'That is not very professional,' he says.  'Sorry,' I splutter. 'I've been out of the country…'  'OK,' he says. But it's obvious he's not OK. During the interview he mentions it again on three separate occasions, each time telling me how unprofessional I am.  It's difficult to judge Cantona's acting ability on the strength of Looking For Eric, which I eventually see a few days later. After all, it doesn't require much in the way of acting to play yourself. The best one can say about him is that he delivers his lines – mostly a series of proverbs ('He that forecasts all perils will never sail the seas'; 'He that is afraid to shake the dice will never throw a six') – with a satisfying amount of self-mockery.  In fact, acting has been Cantona's main job since retiring from football. He has done other things as well: painted; taken photographs (his photos of bullfights have appeared in a number of exhibitions); and managed and played in the France beach football team. He also left his first wife, Isabelle, with whom he has two children, Raphael and Josephine, and married actress Rachida Brakni.  But he has poured most of his energy into his films. Looking for Eric is his 15th and, although he himself admits he wasn't very good at first, some of his more recent performances have been praised by the critics.  'For the first three or four years I was new to acting and I didn't have any experience at all,' he says. 'Maybe I wanted to prove too many things and I thought I could do it without working hard. But I was wrong and one day I realised that I had to work hard and [after that] I found the confidence and freedom to play.'  We are in the lounge of a London hotel and, as he talks about acting, Cantona leans forward on the sofa, fizzing with enthusiasm. He has film-star looks (swept-back hair, a square jaw, an intense stare) and is dressed in a brown suede jacket, brown trousers and a black T-shirt underneath a grey V-neck sweater. On his feet are a pair of red trainers that don't go with the rest of his clothes but somehow seem perfectly appropriate.  His English is very good, but delivered in a thick French accent that is sometimes difficult to understand. 'I have learnt the best way,' he says, 'is to read the script, to know the character, even the things that are not right, and ask myself questions about the character, about the other characters. Why things happen.' (Cantona says 'appen'.)  'Behind every man, every woman, there's a story. Once I know this kind of thing, I start to work on the lines, his dress, haircut.' ('aircut'.)  Cantona used to prepare for football matches with a similar amount of dedication. Despite his precocious talent he would always stay on after training to practise his skills. And, unlike virtually any other footballer (again, Wayne Rooney is a good benchmark), Cantona has always been interested in the human condition and why people do what they do. In the past he has admitted to seeing a psychiatrist. Does he still? 'No,' he replies. 'I don't need it anymore.'  But why did he used to go? Did he hope it would cure his – how to put it? – anger issues?  'I went because I found it very interesting,' he says, locking his hands behind his head. 'From my point of view, it's not what we see around us, it's what I read through your eyes, inside you, around you. For me, that's the most beautiful thing. It's what I try to see when I look at somebody. When I look around me.'  Cantona has always been an emotional man. In his autobiography he recalls how, as a teenage prodigy, he broke down in tears when the referee brought a remarkable solo run of his to a halt because his bootlaces were undone. Cantona's team were 1-0 down at the time, with five minutes to go, and needed to equalise to win the league. He was apparently in the act of drawing back his foot to score when the whistle blew.  'I learned about how much stupidity and injustice there was all around,' he writes in the book. That night he lay in bed gazing up at the poster of his hero on the wall: Bruce Lee.  This was in Caillols, just outside Marseilles, where he grew up in the foothills of the Massif de la Sainte Baume. His father, Albert, was a psychiatric nurse and a painter from Sardinia, his mother's family were from Barcelona and had fought against Franco in the Spanish Civil War. This lineage, combined with Marseille's reputation as France's rogue city, might help explain Cantona's own rebellious streak.  As he grew up, the footballer earned a reputation as a wild man. While playing for Auxerre, in the French first division, he was fined for punching his team-mate Bruno Martini in the face. Two years later, playing for Marseilles, he kicked the ball at the crowd and ripped off his jersey after being substituted. He was banned for a month.  Just a few months earlier, he had been banned from international matches for one year after saying on television that he thought the national coach, Henri Michel, was 'practically a s---bag'.  And in 1991 Cantona was summoned before a French FA committee to explain why he had thrown the ball at a referee. As the chairman announced a one-month ban, Cantona muttered 'idiot' under his breath. When asked to repeat his comment, he strode up to each committee member in turn and bawled 'idiot!' in his face. The length of the ban was immediately doubled.  Despite this disregard for authority, managers, on the whole, offered Cantona an immense amount of understanding, acknowledging that his fiery temperament could not be separated from his passionate devotion to the game.  'I must have the freedom to express myself,' Cantona used to say. 'Without freedom there is no happiness, no joy.'  He certainly got his wish at Manchester United. The manager, Alex Ferguson, allowed him to play the way he wanted and, in return, Cantona helped the team to four league titles and two FA Cups. '[Alex Ferguson] gave me enough freedom for me to be involved completely and not to feel in jail,' he says. 'That's psychology. Man to man.'  After the infamous kung-fu kick, Cantona was fined £20,000 by Manchester United and suspended until the end of the season (a ban that was extended by an FA disciplinary committee). But Cantona claims that, behind the scenes, Ferguson treated him exactly as he had before.  There was no animosity between player and manager. Cantona simply took his punishment. Nevertheless, it must have been a hugely stressful period, with everyone from the Prime Minister downwards condemning his actions. Cantona was banned for eight months and, in his absence, United lost the league by one point to Blackburn.  Does he regret that kick now?  'No, not at all,' he shoots back. 'I don't have any regrets, even when I am wrong.'  So he would do it again?  'No, no, no. That doesn't mean that I would do it again. But I have done it, it's good, it's bad, I have my own judgment of myself. But I don't have any regrets because you have to make mistakes to improve yourself. If you don't make mistakes you have zero experience. You have to provoke things sometimes.'  But tens of thousands of children looked up to him: you were a role model, I say. 'Yes, but I didn't want to [be],' he replies. 'I only wanted to play the best football. If I was a role model, it's maybe the newspaper made it. Me, I played like when I was a child. I didn't play football to have a good image, to be important, to have power over the people. I never felt bigger than anyone else. Never. So I'm not a role model, I'm just…' He leaves an actorly pause. 'Myself.'  At the risk of inciting the man's wrath, this answer seems like a cop out. He was a role model, whether he liked it or not, and with that came certain responsibilities. A gallic shrug. 'I don't care. It's what I want which is important. I didn't want the pressure to be a role model because people realised that they'd lose a soul. Me, I am what I am and I will never change.'  I raise an eyebrow. Up until this point I've been impressed with the new, more modest, post-therapy Cantona; the self-deprecating film role, the admission that he's made mistakes, his willingness to listen to other people's advice. In fact, just the fact that he is giving an interview is a bit of a breakthrough; for years he refused to speak to the press ('I'm lucky if he speaks to me,' Ferguson once said). There has even been the hint of a smile around his lips. But this 'I am what I am' sounds more like the Cantona of old. I won't change. If you want me, you'll have to change. To his credit, the Frenchman immediately checks himself.  'I will change,' he says. 'But only from my point of view. I listen, but I don't listen to everybody.' The concept obviously doesn't come naturally to him, but he is trying.  Next year he will face the toughest challenge of his acting career; he is performing in a play directed by his wife at the hallowed Marigny Theatre in their home town of Paris. It will be a good test of Cantona's capacity for criticism; unlike those days at United, when he had ultimate confidence in his abilities, Cantona knows that the whole thing could be a disaster.  'Maybe I will not be very good,' he says. 'But I'm not afraid to try. If I feel that I can do something good, I will try again, and again and again.'  'Looking for Eric' is released on June 12
The former Manchester United forward was once the enfant terrible of    English and French football. Now that he&rsquo;s acting in Ken Loach's Cannes Fim    Festival faourite 'Looking For Eric', has he mellowed? In a word: non