A top a pedestal in a small Parisian park stands the statue of a chubby cherub which may yet become a shrine for the downbeat generation of mid-century France. Its unlikely model, posing for his sculptor father at the age of two, was yam-nosed, satchel-mouthed Jean-Paul Belmondo, today a 29-year-old ex-pug ugly who has become, with his ferally masculine portrayal of the icy killer in Breathless, the overnight antihero of the nouvelle vague in Gallic moviemaking, and the unwilling demigod of an aborning cult: le belmondisme. Dubbled variously as the French Bogart, the skinny Brando and the second Gerard Philipe for his explosive mixture of cynicism and sensuality, Belmondo distresses his disciples by neglecting to embody his iconoclastic public image: he lives a quietly civilized life off screen as the happily married father of two. But the handsomely homely actor hopes to confound his Breathless followers further with an oncoming flood of vastly varied roles. Among them: an alcoholic writer, a visionary peasant, an ill-fated factory worker, a comic nobleman and an amorous priest. Withal, he confides, "I want to do Shakespeare, the big roles. But first I'd like to do a movie in the States ... a Western."