A Paris Education (2018) - full transcript

Men travel in manifold paths.

Whoso traces and compares these will find strange figures come to light…

It rains a lot in Paris, and it’s always cloudy.

So they say.

Luckily, you don’t like the sun.

Yes, I do.

Just not as much as you.

I’ll visit you anyway.

You’ll meet me at the station with your umbrella.

Okay.

You won’t be late?



No.

You won’t leave me on the platform.

Stop it.

Who knows?

We see each other every day and then…

Who knows what might happen?

Maybe you’ll forget about me.

Yeah, right.

I think I forgot something.

What did he forget? His bag’s going to be too heavy.

Come see us, okay? We’re usually here on Saturday.

Yes, of course.

Croissant? They’re fresh from the bakery at the at the traffic circle.

- You walked all the way there? - It’s good for my legs.



We’re going to miss Etienne.

Where would you like us to drop you off on the way back?

At my parents’ house, thank you.

Buy whatever you like with that.

Thank you.

Well, good-bye, Etienne.

Bye.

Good-bye, honey.

Keep in touch, okay?

Enjoy yourself.

Once I get settled, come visit. Okay?

Go on.

I almost forgot. This is for you.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS

Is it the right translation?

Yes, it is.

So you’ll think of us.

Of you.

A PARIS EDUCATION

A Little Bohemian Castle

Hi. I’m Etienne Tinan.

- Are you Olivier’s replacement? - Yes.

Valentina.

Come in, I guess.

As you can see, this is the kitchen.

This is the largest room in the castle...

For parties, binges, and general madness.

There’s one tonight if you’re interested.

There’s even a piano.

- Why? Do you play? - I just started.

Cool.

Is Olivier your friend?

He’s the son of an acquaintance of my mother.

I hope you’re as nice as him.

Me too.

Don’t look in there. That’s my room. It’s awful.

Come on. You’re over here.

This is your room. Simple, clean, calm.

So what are you doing here?

Film studies, at Paris 8.

I heard that’s a good school.

Yes, we don’t just learn theory. We make a lot of short films, too.

Cool. I’m studying at the Beaux-Arts.

- Do you know anyone in Paris? - No.

I don’t know the city either.

There’s not much going on here compared to New York and Berlin.

People stick to themselves here. But we have fun.

- Do you like to have fun? - I think so.

You think? You seem like the serious type.

Don’t worry. I like to have fun.

I can’t stand your “I’m a feminist, but also conservative... ”

Not at all.

On a political level, I agree with these girls.

I just question their methods.

- No, you can’t. - Sure he can.

If you start taking a little here and a little there…

These girls do it all: feminism, politics, performance, music.

I think the real problem

is that Tolokonnikova promotes her supposedly revolutionary book

while modeling in Moscow.

The real problem is, she pisses you off.

Do you know Pussy Riot?

I heard about the punk prayer they performed in a church.

You like images. What do you think of their videos?

I like film, not images.

Sorry.

I just mean images and film aren’t necessarily the same thing.

What’s the difference?

She’s free. That’s her feminism.

Society is uncomfortable with her political ideas.

That’s true.

She went to prison for a single action.

Her previous actions are what made this one important.

She didn’t go to prison for showing her breasts.

I know someone at Paris 8.

Mathias Valence.

- Mathias Valence? - Yes. Brilliant guy.

The kind who will argue all night about something.

Harsh, uncompromising. He has principles.

I run into him at parties now and then.

He likes me because I love Boris Barnet.

You like Barnet?

- Surprised, aren’t you? - Pleased as well.

Excuse me.

Hi, Lucie. Can you hear me?

Yeah. Did I wake you?

I wasn’t sleeping. It’s barely midnight.

I felt like talking to you. How are you?

Good. The apartment is nice. So is the room.

What’s that noise? Are you at a party?

No, my roommate, Valentina, invited some friends over.

Hello? Can you hear me?

Is it fun?

Yes, it’s fun.

What are you drinking? Juice?

Do you think I’m going to change overnight?

Maybe not overnight.

Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.

I miss you already.

I miss you, too, very much.

I think about you all the time.

Four days before the primaries,

today’s political news is Emmanuel Macron’s candidacy for president

which could distract from Sunday’s vote.

Is his candidacy pointless,

or is he a troublemaker who will disrupt…

Yeah. Lucie.

- Where’s the film department? - I don’t know.

The registrar’s office? Is it past the escalator?

I have no idea. Sorry.

I think it’s safe to say that between 1945 and 1975,

Italian cinema was one of the most prolific in the world.

Imagine you had Fellini, Antonioni, Rossellini,

Ferreri, Visconti, and Pasolini.

Carmelo Bene was more experimental.

Risi, Comencini, and Monicelli were doing Italian-style comedy.

Corbucci, Leone, and Solima were making Westerns.

Cottafavi and Freda were doing peplum.

Mario Bava and Dario Argento were doing horror, and the list goes on.

You see?

The entire breadth of cinematic creation was concentrated in a small area

achieving consistently high quality.

How do you explain this?

Some say that Italy, traumatized by its actions during World War II,

found a way to rebuild its honor,

that it was a kind of second Italian Renaissance.

Consider how difficult it is to name a 19th-century Italian painter

after centuries of productivity.

We’d be hard-pressed today to name a single Italian filmmaker

of the same caliber as those I’ve just cited in any genre.

Paolo Sorrentino?

I don’t see any connection with the masters I just mentioned,

though he does try to imitate them sometimes.

Mario Martone?

Commendable, but nothing more.

That brings us to our subject:

Dario Argento.

In the 1970s, he was the creator, the Murnau if you will,

of a genre known as giallo,

a combination of horror, crime, and erotica.

Can you think of other filmmakers who made giallos?

Go on, William.

It seems to me like we only ever hear about Dario Argento.

We forget about great filmmakers like Umberto Lenzi,

who inspired Tarantino’s Inglorious Bastards.

Aldo Lado or Sergio Martino.

Their films contain incredible murder scenes.

There’s an electricity, astounding visual effects,

and a hypnotizing morbidity

that I don’t think has ever been equaled,

not even by torture porn or rape-and-revenge films.

Well, of course there’s Chainsaw Massacre and Angst…

which I think are spectacular.

What do you think?

He’s a childhood friend. We get along, but we have different interests.

I like hearing all this stuff.

I learn a lot. It’s really not my thing at all.

He might be your friend, but the guy’s a loser.

He’s the very picture of modern mediocrity,

one of those people who praise regressive stuff

and try to convince you that Z movies are as good as the rest.

They have no problem selling out.

He’s made a few gory short films that people have liked.

- He’s going to do well. - See?

But regression is everywhere.

Last year, one of the schools held a Goldorak colloquium.

Yeah, it sucked.

You’re going to get along with Mathias.

You have a lot in common. He and William can’t stand each other.

- How long have you known Mathias? - Two years.

We’re different, but we champion the same kind of cinema.

I met a guy who told me he’s very harsh.

Harsh, but in a good way. And he’s harsh with himself.

He’s his own worst enemy.

What are his films like?

I’ve seen two. They’re very beautiful and very short.

He doesn’t show them anymore. He says he’s moved on.

When is he coming?

You never know with him. He’s like a gust of wind.

Maybe Paul Rossi’s class. He likes him.

If I see him, I’ll mention you.

Have you made any films?

One, with my girlfriend and some friends. It’s not done yet.

- Can I see it? - If I finish it.

Robert Bresson lived there, on the Ile Saint-Louis.

Is that where he filmed The Devil Probably?

Yeah, or near the Pont-Neuf.

We’ll go there later if you like.

- So do you like it? - Yes.

- Does Jean-Noël like Bresson? - Of course.

So does Mathias. But I still haven’t met him.

He hasn’t been to class in almost a month, since school started.

Can I meet them?

Next time, yes.

A month is a long time.

Too long.

You don’t have to say anything right away.

It’s okay.

It’s just hard to do on the spot, but…

- No, it’s… - What?

It’s really beautiful.

I know the story, but I’m not sure other people will get it.

Is that a problem?

I don’t know.

We should know by the third scene that she’s not coming back.

Otherwise the ending isn’t very powerful.

What?

The brother is really good.

Maybe you can cut him a little more.

It would emphasize his pain.

Okay, but I can’t cut everything.

- Do you want to stop working? - No.

I can tell it’s not done yet.

Keep going, Etienne.

I know it’s going to be really good.

Are you okay?

Let’s wait a bit.

If you want.

Can you put some music on?

Bach?

Of course.

My internship is going to last longer than I thought.

Three months?

Almost.

We won’t see each other until…

March.

- We’ll wait. - It’s hard being apart.

- I feel abandoned. - Abandoned?

I feel alone here, too.

But you wanted to be here, away from me.

I don’t want to be away from you.

Film work is in Paris. That’s just how it is.

I’m a small part of your life now.

Let’s stick to the plan.

I make some money, our parents help us, we get a studio.

That’s a long way off, and it might not even happen.

I don’t know.

I think I’m afraid of Paris.

You’ll get used to it quickly.

You might.

Have you seen my book on Francesca Woodman?

What are you doing in the dark?

Oh, sorry. I heard music.

Sorry.

That’s Valentina.

- She just walks in here like that? - No.

We’re just friends. What did you think?

A pretty girl just walked into your room.

Lucie, please. Stop it.

What time is it? I have to catch my train.

The Enlightened

Thank you, William.

Before we discuss your short film, would you like to say anything?

I’d prefer to hear the others first.

I just want to say, it was impressive and funny.

It’s not overdone and...

Our films tend to be heavy, and this one wasn’t.

Bravo. It makes me want to make films.

It makes me want to vomit.

Mr. Mathias Valence.

You arrived in the middle of the screening.

You didn’t see the whole film.

I saw enough, sir.

You’re so predictable. I’m surprised you even watch my films.

I didn’t know there was a screening.

There you go.

I wanted to be wrong about your first films,

but they’re worse and worse.

You’re an ass. We’re sick of your insults.

We’re going to stop there.

Why don’t you tell us what you hoped to achieve.

And if you’re too irritated to listen, Mathias, you can leave.

I’d like to know how he’s going to explain that this is cinema.

You still haven’t realized that film has changed,

that people have changed.

Are you going to bring up “The Tracking Shot in Kapo” again?

Your ideas are old. Dead! They’re not even yours.

Why don’t you try thinking for yourself?

I know how to think for myself.

Yes, my ideas are old, not dead, but very old.

Prehistoric even.

You’re being pedantic again.

What’s this about prehistory?

Cave painters didn’t paint because they were bored with life.

They didn’t understand their surroundings.

Painting helped them live. It was like a magic ceremony,

to apprehend the world, death... Everything.

That’s why it’s beautiful.

And that’s art. It always has been.

Why do you make films?

You don’t know.

What do you yearn for?

Why isn’t it in your film?

All I see in your film is your need to please.

It’s fashionable, so it’s dead. Stone dead.

Is your lesson over? You want me to write you a thesis?

This discussion is going nowhere.

You’re better off continuing after class if you so desire.

All right, Mathias?

William?

I’d like to say I think William’s film is really well done.

It looks like a real film.

I’m not good with technical stuff, and I think it’s technically awesome.

Could we talk about that?

About technique? If you like.

William might be a poser, but he’s not a bad guy.

He’s not calculating. That’s just how he is.

You’re a softy, Jean-Noël Beaumont.

He’s been saying that since we met. So what if I am a softy?

Remember, he liked your films.

So what? Even if he liked Carl Dreyer, it wouldn’t redeem his films.

What do you think of him?

The same as you. I feel less alone when I hear you.

Why do you want to make films?

I don’t know. I’ve wanted to for a long time.

I couldn’t tell you exactly why.

Libération is still talking about Verhoeven.

Did you like his last film?

Yeah, it was pretty good.

It’s incredibly overrated.

Like Fincher and all those guys. It’s rehashed.

It’s warmed-over, contrived.

How does it compare to Vigo or Ford?

It doesn’t, does it?

Bye.

Bye.

I don’t think I passed.

Don’t worry. He’s not easily charmed.

And he likes testing people.

I can’t stand that guy. Hey.

- Have you met Etienne? - No.

- Hi. I’m Solange. - Hi. I’m Etienne.

- Are you friends with Mathias? - Not yet.

He was in my class last year. I had my fill.

I can’t stand pretentious loudmouths.

I think he says what everyone should say, and think.

Do you want to revolutionize cinema too?

I just want to make films and make them well.

- Better put your nose to the grindstone. - Indeed.

Hey, tiger!

- Are you going to eat me alive? - Sorry.

You haven’t fucked in a while, have you?

- You wanted revenge. - What?

Tell me the truth.

You didn’t appreciate what I said, did you?

It’s no big deal.

You admit it.

You were mad at me.

I resisted you.

You fought hard.

- And you got me. Happy? - I didn’t realize it bothered you.

Not at all. Quite the opposite.

I loved the fight. Thank you.

I have to go.

You don’t want to stay?

I never stay. I’m always on the move.

I was always running away when I was little.

Also, I have a boyfriend.

Where did you get this sweater?

Luckily you look smart. The rest is debatable.

That sweater’s fine.

I’m just kidding.

Don’t play the tough guy. It’s for your own good.

Bye.

Bye.

- Bye. - Bye.

They just keep coming.

Can I listen?

Of course. I’m not keeping you up?

No. I like it.

What is that again?

Gustav Mahler.

- It’s in Death in Venice. - Right.

Tadzio.

Aschenbach.

The pursuit of inaccessible beauty.

I’m massacring it. Sorry.

That girl earlier, it was nothing.

I love my girlfriend.

We’ve known each other a long time.

She’s all I think of.

Someday we’re going to live together in Paris.

It’s going to be wonderful.

- Do you still watch his films? - I try to.

I like his early movies from the 1970s.

They’re not as good anymore, but…

I can’t watch them anymore.

I’ve had enough of whiny French films.

They’re just as bad as the vulgar American stuff.

That’s harsh.

They’re cookie-cutter films.

There’s no madness, no risk, no taking chances, no fun in any of it.

- No scandal. - Right, no real scandal.

Not scandal made for television or social media.

I want to see films that talk about real life.

The real scandal would be to see you and me, all of this…

in all its innocence,

in all its radiance.

And in all its horror, too.

That would really hurt, and it would be exhilarating.

Is he still here?

What a bore, surrounded by his cohorts.

Smart-asses who fake everything in their petty films.

They’re just glad they sell.

Anything that sells. Make money, make a hit.

They’re obsessed with making hits, but they’re just rip-offs.

He’s pathetic.

What do you do?

- Are you one of his friends? - Not really.

Maybe you’re the pathetic one.

Or you.

Or me.

Awesome conversation.

Fascinating guy.

If you say so.

Have you seen Héloïse’s films?

Yes, they’re good.

They’re amazing.

I love what you do.

You succeed in making films that recreate life.

Your films really measure up.

They’re powerful.

Thank you. You make beautiful films, too.

I can’t hold a candle to you. I do what I can.

I salute you, young ocean!

Cheers.

Why are you blushing?

Did you hear what he said?

Classical music is emotional.

There’s something... You tell stories, you create images.

It’s powerful.

For example, rock is intellectual music.

Because…

Jean-Noël?

Cheers.

I really like classical music.

Have you seen Mathias?

Mathias left.

Is he coming back?

- No idea. - He seemed to be in a hurry.

Have a good night.

Brother Etienne

Are you sleeping?

Come in.

I saw the light on,

but I knock now, to be safe.

Have a seat.

Is the film coming along?

Yeah.

I just got back from a party.

Me too.

Do you have one for me?

- I have two left. - Let’s share them over a drink.

- Alcohol free, right? - No.

Oh, really?

Surprise me.

What’s the occasion?

Nothing. I just feel like it.

Shall we toast? Look me in the eye.

Shit. This is strong.

It’s not for lightweights.

- The Provincial Letters? - It’s by Pascal. Do you know him?

I must have read Thoughts in high school.

He wrote these letters to prove the Jesuits were frauds,

with a morality built on ambiguity.

What do you mean?

They claimed you can have faith without love,

that you have the right to lie.

It’s called mental equivocation.

You have the right to tell someone a lie

as long as you tell God the truth.

It’s doublespeak. Pascal hated it.

Why are you reading it?

I did philosophy before coming here.

I studied Thoughts.

But I hadn’t read this one. I love it.

So you agree with Pascal?

It’s hard not to.

What if we did a test?

What?

To see if your ideas are in line with your actions.

How?

You’ve never told me if you like me.

I like you a lot, Valentina.

So?

So, what?

Why don’t you show it?

You like taking it slow?

I love Lucie. I’ve decided to be faithful.

Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.

The way you said that, so serious.

I made a simple statement.

No.

You were super serious. Believe me.

Okay, I sounded serious. So what?

If you say that in a serious tone,

it means fidelity doesn’t come naturally to you.

That tone of voice is a moral shield.

You don’t play it straight.

Listen, I cheated on Lucie more than once, but I don’t want to anymore.

Okay.

So the only faithfulness that matters is to yourself.

That doesn’t sound like Pascal. That sounds ambiguous.

I was with a guy for three years. I know what it means to be faithful.

I’m asking you if that’s what’s most important.

Yes, it is.

- Now you’re lying to yourself. - I’m not.

First of all, what does it mean to cheat?

If the other person doesn’t know,

is it still cheating?

More ambiguity.

You’re with a girl. You start seeing another.

Neither knows about the other. They’re both happy.

Where’s the harm?

Will they be happier if they know? No.

If you see just one, will you give her more than you give each individually?

No.

Because you give each of them

different things.

Would you be happier?

No. So?

You know where the problem lies.

Neither knows about my double life.

Do they know everything about you when you’re faithful?

Do they need to know everything about you? No.

Transparency is a fascist illusion.

Maybe. To me it feels like breaking a contract.

Anyway, there’s no denying...

Betrayer or betrayed, they’re both awful.

Maybe.

But it’s no worse than betraying yourself.

If faithfulness to another means faithfulness to yourself, fine.

Otherwise, it’s the same thing Pascal criticized the Jesuits for.

I guess.

Etienne Tinan…

you know I’m leaving for Berlin in January.

My friend Annabelle is taking my place.

Why are you changing the subject?

I’m not changing the subject.

What are you trying to say?

Nothing.

Maybe she’ll have better luck with you than I did.

You should develop the connection between Chekhov and Naruse.

It’s very interesting.

Descriptions of everyday life, of ordinary people.

I think they share a certain pessimism, too.

And there’s this idea that art can offer momentary relief

but not safety.

Keep going. It’s worth exploring.

When is the new draft due?

In a month or two.

Okay, great.

How’s your short film coming along?

I’ve just started. I think I have an idea.

If you’d like me to read it, I might be able to give you advice.

Okay, thank you.

How are you settling in?

All right. I’ve made some friends.

No financial problems?

Things are tight. I’m looking for work.

Do you know about student services?

Yes. I’ve been there.

What about Paris? Are you getting used to it?

Slowly.

You’ll see, you’ll start working, make beautiful films,

and you’ll never imagine living anywhere else.

Thanks for the encouragement.

I’ll be waiting to hear from you.

Good-bye.

What time does it close here?

- I don’t know. - Thanks.

Hi.

Hi.

- Jean-Noël told me you made a film. - Yes.

I’d like to see it.

It’s not finished. I’m not sure I want anyone to see it.

It’s good to show each other our films.

It can help things along.

You don’t show yours anymore.

I’m the past.

You’re the present and far more important.

- All right. - Great.

- Bye. - Bye.

- I haven’t forgotten you. - I don’t believe you.

Why do you say that?

- You aren’t listening. - I am.

I have to go. I have shopping to do.

- I’m going to a party tonight. - A party?

At Alain’s.

He made it into the opera chorus.

He’s so happy. He’d given up hope.

The great thing is, he’ll be able to get me in.

I’ll go to concerts every night.

It’s going to be a big party, with lots of people.

I’m going with Benoît. I haven’t seen him in a year.

He sent you a message, but you never responded.

- Etienne? - What?

- I’m boring you. - You’re not boring me.

- I have to go. - Already?

Does Bach still make you think of me?

Of course, Lucie. I haven’t forgotten you.

Take care.

You too.

- How are you? - Fine.

I got your letter. I was worried.

- I’m glad to see you. - Oh, yeah?

I don’t know.

I didn’t tell our parents.

Just like a good little boy.

I do what I’m supposed to, Alice.

I got your letter. I was worried.

- I’m glad to see you. - Oh, yeah?

I don’t know. “Meet me on the 12th, where we played as kids.”

I didn’t tell our parents.

Just like a good little boy.

I do what I’m supposed to, Alice.

Ask me anything and I’ll do it.

I’m pregnant.

Alice!

Alice!

Come back!

Thanks. I mean, well done. It’s good.

It’s not perfect, but there’s some great stuff in there.

- Really? - Yes.

It’s nice to see a film that isn’t full of Paris clichés.

And not just because none of us are from Paris.

That doesn’t mean it works, though.

The sister’s monologue after her brother dies is too literary.

It’s a caricature of lamentation.

It’s careful and meticulous, but it doesn’t feel like death.

- It’s a literary death. - I didn’t want it to be naturalist.

It’s not a question of naturalism.

It sounds wrong.

Like the music in the opening scenes, it’s just there for emphasis.

- That’s literature too. - You’re being unfair.

The music is daring.

It underlines the action, but there’s a slight discrepancy.

I don’t agree about the monologue. I think it’s moving.

A long monologue is rare after a character’s death.

But it sounds fake.

There’s a price to pay for truth. You’re not paying it.

I don’t agree with you.

I don’t agree at all.

Jean-Noël must be in love with you. He’s lost his sense of judgment.

You can be in love and have a sense of judgment.

Apparently not.

Screw you, Mathias Valence.

Now there’s an argument.

I’ve always figured you were homophobic.

You’ve outdone yourself.

Can we talk about your film?

I have quite a few things to say.

Yes, of course.

Etienne has a girlfriend, and I don’t stand a chance.

You can be in love and know you have no chance.

So?

That’s the story of my life. I have loads of unrequited love.

All I ever get are quickies in corners.

How do you know that won’t change?

A crumb of comfort. Thanks.

We’re being too easy on him. He gets what he deserves.

Really? Explain then, Liberty Valance.

I’ve told you a hundred times, you’re a softy.

You fall for anyone who comes your way.

Get a hold of yourself. Toughen up.

Things will get better. You think this is going to help?

WILL O’ THE WISP

Are you suicidal?

Some psychologist you are.

And you’re a tough guy,

refusing to look at that girl over there so she’ll look at you?

Wrong, Jean-Noël Beaumont. I know her.

- Actually, I need to talk to her. - So he knows her.

- Can I read your next screenplay? - So he can destroy you again.

I’m sure it has potential. I might be able to help.

When will you show us your masterpiece? So we can pick it apart.

I’m rewriting the story line as I edit.

What’s it about?

I might figure that out when it’s done.

Have you read Flaubert’s letters on writing?

- No. - It’s all in there.

Mr. Tinan.

Mr. Beaumont.

Bye.

I’ve never seen that girl.

I hear he gets around, but he never talks about it.

He’s very discreet. I don’t even know where he lives.

He wants to read your screenplay, so your film wasn’t shit.

Or he just wanted to make me feel better.

He’s not the type.

He saw something he likes in you.

Like I did.

Thanks.

I hope you weren’t upset by what we said about you and me.

Don’t worry.

I think I’m getting sick.

I’d better be getting home.

You won’t finish the game?

You’re leaving me here?

I’m kidding.

Go home, Tinou. Get some rest.

What’s with the long face?

- Are you okay? - You’ll never guess what I just did.

What did you just do?

I destroyed my film.

Done. Trashed.

You destroyed your film?

A year’s worth of work, doubt, fatigue, pain.

Why did you do that?

Because it was an awful film.

Now you’ll make another one, a better one. So there.

Right.

You’ve never bothered to ask what I like doing.

Here it comes.

Etienne Tinan is a navel-gazer.

Fine, I’m wrong again. I beg your forgiveness.

When are you going to show me your work?

There’s a group show in the spring.

I’m warning you, though, you might not like it.

I’ll be there. I promise.

You haven’t slept. You should get some rest.

Sleep? Today? I don’t feel like it.

That’s Bach.

You recognize it?

It’s all you listen to.

Should I change it?

No. I like it.

You know I’m leaving for Berlin in a few days.

I’m going to miss you.

Annabelle’s taking my place.

She could never replace you.

Do you mean that, or are you just being nice?

I mean it.

Well…

if we don’t kiss now, we never will.

Let’s kiss.

Really? You want to?

Even if you’re not in love with me?

Yes.

Wait.

What?

What color are my eyes?

What is this, Valentina?

I just want to know if you’ve really seen me.

They’re green.

Am I right?

Obviously.

Let me see.

More important things await.

Yes?

You have a visitor.

Hey, buddy. Feeling better?

Yeah, it’s good to see you.

Jean-Noël told me you were sick.

It’s been four days.

I hope I’m better Monday. I found a job.

Here.

THE LETTERS OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

Take this, too.

LUTHERAN LETTERS

It will help you focus on the good fight.

Thanks.

Thanks a lot.

- Can I smoke? - Go ahead.

What a face.

When I was little, I spent weeks in bed. I had very bad asthma.

I read a lot.

That’s when I developed the desire to write, to make films.

I didn’t have any books, so my sister brought them from the library.

Elise.

I loved my sister.

Now she’s a total right-winger.

Fillon and whatnot.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was…

the guys she hung out with.

I never see her anymore.

We don’t even talk.

There’s no point talking to people you don’t agree with.

No one changes their mind during an argument.

Or even starts to doubt.

“Le doux Gérard.”

I like it a lot.

“We lived in a strange time.

It was a time of action, hesitation and idleness,

shining utopias, philosophical and religious idealism,

a faint enthusiasm mingled with an instinct toward renewal,

impatience with past dissension, uncertain hope.”

That’s not bad.

Yeah.

Not bad at all.

I’ve been thinking.

My internship’s longer than I thought. Your life is in Paris.

I’ve visited three times in four months.

You came here once and spent your time at home.

- Can I say something? - Let me finish.

Your friends are what matter most to you and I never even met them.

You almost never call.

When we talk, you’re distant. You’ve changed.

- No, I haven’t. - Yes, you have. A lot.

I’m not sure you love me anymore.

That’s not true. I still love you, Lucie.

I could cope with the cheating before, but things are different.

I can’t anymore.

- Let’s be honest. - What do you mean?

I’m going. This is too difficult.

- Let’s Skype later on. - I don’t want you to see me cry.

Lucie, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.

We should stop seeing each other. It’s best for both of us.

Let’s talk later.

I’ll make the decision for us if I have to.

I’ll come see you next weekend.

- No, don’t come. - Lucie.

Thank you.

Are you okay?

You don’t look well.

I’m not.

I was wondering…

What?

How do you know something’s worth it?

When what’s worth it?

In general.

There’s always a price to pay. How do you know it’s worth it?

Is that philosophy or for a crossword puzzle?

I’m serious.

It’s worth it when it can’t be any other way.

Something like that, right?

WUTHERING HEIGHTS

Daughter of Fire

So this is the Tuileries.

It’s beautiful.

Do you want to go to the Louvre?

We don’t have time. We can’t miss our train.

We can visit one or two rooms. I do that sometimes.

Maybe next time.

Your father’s legs hurt.

His last venous ultrasound wasn’t great.

I hope you don’t smoke. Don’t make the same mistakes he did.

No.

Your apartment is nice. I liked it.

- It’s a change from Lyon. - Yes.

Lucie came to see us last week.

How is she?

She’s had a hard time getting over your breakup.

It’s been hard for me too.

I liked that girl. I’d gotten used to her.

Six years is a long time.

I call her sometimes, but she doesn’t pick up.

She’s protecting herself.

- What about your film? - It’s coming along slowly.

What counts is doing it.

At any rate, I wouldn’t live here.

It’s beautiful, but it’s so noisy.

We’ll get on the metro here.

You know the city now.

A little.

THE LETTERS OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

- How’s it going, Héloïse? - Good.

I was wondering… Mathias made me want to see your films.

Could I?

Sure. I’ll give them to you.

Great, thanks.

- Are you working on another one? - Yes.

I’m having trouble editing. I shot without a story.

It was amazing. I felt so free.

But now I’m writing the story as I edit.

I’m not sure it works. It’s stressful.

- What about you? - I’m trying to write.

It’s all clear in my mind, but I don’t like anything I write.

I get blocked for hours. I’ve written a few pages.

- I’ve got to get going. - See you.

See you.

- I picked up a DVD of Khutsiev. - Really?

Let’s watch it at my place.

At 6:00 p.m. I have a meeting now.

Sounds good.

That means the guy doesn’t watch films in the dark.

Every day on a computer screen...

Hold on a second.

Hi. I’m Etienne, your roommate.

Annabelle.

I’m getting rid of stuff. This room is suffocating.

- Can I help? - No, thanks.

- Hello. - Hi.

- See you later? - Okay.

Did you see that shot?

When you see it like that, it looks so simple.

It’s really beautiful.

Yes?

Am I bothering you?

Not at all.

I wanted to ask you about the apartment.

There’s no hurry.

- What are you watching? - A Russian film.

Marlen Khutsiev. Ilyich’s Gate.

I don’t know it.

Do you want to watch?

Join us if you like.

Yeah, okay.

I don’t care about degrees.

I’m enrolled in classes, but I hardly go.

I love sociology, but I prefer taking action.

- You’re an activist? - Yes. I try to be.

Something has to be done.

I liked it when the father’s ghost tells his son

he has to figure things out for himself.

That’s honest.

It’s like that today.

Our fathers failed. They gave in to everything.

They left the planet in a dire state,

and it’s up to us to save it and ourselves.

Exactly.

- What are you doing about it? - Making films.

You think that’s enough?

Should we feel guilty?

You can make films and take action in real life.

Films impact real life.

You believe that? You think cinema can save the planet?

It certainly won’t destroy it.

But politics, compromise, and abuse of power all wreak havoc.

Not if we take grassroots action.

I’m not fighting to establish yet another corrupt government.

We’ve seen what became of the pseudo-revolutionaries from ’68.

They switched sides to follow the power.

Our concern should be addressing tangible problems.

Mistreated refugees, devastated lands.

It’s a humble goal.

Together, these actions might lead to something bigger.

You don’t find that idealistic?

- So you do nothing? - I told you. I make films.

Political films?

A film isn’t meant to deliver a political message.

Film is political when it has something honest to say.

And not just for yourself,

but for the viewer who might be impacted by it,

be it now or later, here, or elsewhere.

What makes something honest?

Something that speaks to an honorable life worth sharing.

It’s how you film human beings,

but also the sunrise, trees, snow, the world.

That’s too vague. It’s aesthetic. It only addresses part of the problem.

“Dreams must become reality and reality a dream.”

- Novalis. - Right.

If no one does anything to save trees,

to stop industry from destroying the earth,

filmmakers won’t have anything to film.

Why can’t the two be compatible?

Why can’t filmmakers and activists each do their own thing?

Too easy.

You don’t solve urgent problems, where people and the earth are suffering.

Your films should show that.

The problem is, activist films are made like commercials.

You film a refugee or a shrinking ice pack just like Total films its oil rigs.

Who cares?

What matters is educating people so they take action.

If people who want change think just like their enemies,

there is a problem.

If the guy who makes a film about refugees feels the same as the CEO of Total,

there’s a problem.

A dignified life must pass via the senses.

It’s not an ideology.

A film should communicate that the world is a livable place.

When I see activist films, how they depict people and the world,

I just want out.

Not everyone is an artist like you.

The activists who fight while you’re off making films

aren’t necessarily poets.

But they’re changing things.

We’ll see if it’s for the better.

You know what I think? You seem out of touch with real life.

You lecture about life, but you live yours through film.

You live an armchair life.

It doesn’t have much to do with what happens to real people.

Annabelle, do you know this music?

I don’t know. Maybe.

Gustav Mahler.

It’s in a film I’m sure you’ve seen.

Artists aren’t obliged to save the world in the way you describe.

Maybe if they had several lives.

They do what they have to do. They create.

That’s how they save the world.

“Romanticize the world,” said Novalis, who you seem to like.

That’s simplistic thinking.

When Matisse wanted to serve France in the war, Marcel Sembat told him…

“You can serve your country by continuing to paint.”

You’d have sent Matisse to war.

I would never send anyone to war. That’s nonsense.

Mathias.

Don’t take it personally.

Mathias has integrity.

Good, so do I.

- We’re out of wine. - That’s too bad.

Then it’s time for a song.

Dear friends, gather round for Sylvie…

by Erik Satie.

She is so beautiful

My Sylvie

That the angels

Envy her

Love, on her delighted lip

Left

Its sweetest kiss

Her eyes are large stars

Her mouth is made

Of rubies

Her soul is the height

Of a clear sky

And her heart

Is my paradise

Her hair is black

As shadow

Her voice as sweet

As honey

Her sadness is twilight

And her smile a rainbow

She is so beautiful

My Sylvie

That the angels

Envy her

Love on her delighted lip

Left its sweetest kiss

All right. I’m going, too. I’m beat, guys.

Until next time.

- Bye. - Bye.

Get home safe.

- Here. - Thanks.

You know, Mathias, he’s got integrity,

but only in words, not in life.

And what pretension.

The conversation just took a bad turn. I’m sure you agree at heart.

Where’s he from? He might as well be from Paris.

Bordeaux.

Jean-Noël is from Clermont. I’m from Lyon.

We sound Parisian?

No, that’s stupid. He just acts like he’s the center of the world.

Where are you from?

Poitiers.

My last name is Lit, as in “bed.”

Annabelle Lit.

Like in the poem by Edgar Allen Poe, “Annabel Lee.”

- “The beautiful woman... ” - …“the angels still envy.”

Yes, I know.

But I’m more down to earth. Like a bed.

I drank too much.

I’m beat. I’m going to sleep.

Good night.

Good night, Miss Lit.

What about that reporter?

I’ve made contact. She’s reliable.

She’s going to pass along the information.

- There were no reporters the other night. - What happened last night?

A fight.

The cops were taking blankets again.

Those guys are cold, things are tense, they fight.

The problem is we don’t have enough of anything.

People in the neighborhood are furious.

I can go to Montrouge tomorrow for supplies.

Check with Denis, but it’s going to be tricky.

- What are you writing? - It’s for his film.

- Can we get some coffee? - I’ll get it.

So what do we do? The cops are going to kick them out.

We resist. We publish the images. People will support us.

With enough of us, it could work.

Except they’re getting more violent.

They think they can do whatever they want.

With the elections, they won’t want trouble.

Even so, there will be arrests.

What do you suggest then?

We can negotiate to gain some time.

There’s no point negotiating. No point at all.

Are you looking at my face?

It’s not a pretty sight. I’m exhausted.

I’m looking at you because I’m impressed. What you do...

You could do what I do.

No, I don’t have your courage

and your… selflessness.

I want to do this.

I don’t stop to think about courage or selflessness.

I’m glad you wanted to come with me.

Next time, I’ll take you to a camp.

You might want to get involved

and prove to that friend you admire so much that he’s wrong.

Sure.

- I don’t always agree with Mathias. - I don’t believe you.

I’m beat. You want to get a drink?

Yes. Can I take you to a film after?

To discover something new.

Why not?

It was wonderful, like being in a children’s book.

That little boy had such a sweet face.

I didn’t think you liked it, or that you were too tired.

I fell asleep when it was too intense.

When I woke up, it was even more beautiful.

There was a time when I’d wake myself up at night

just to remind myself how amazing life is when we open our eyes.

This film was a bit like that.

I was worried you’d find it too abstract.

No. In fact, I liked the tangible elements.

The fabrics, the cloth, the carpets, the stones... all of it.

What did that bourgeois behind us say?

That she didn’t like static films without dialogue.

That idiot should keep her mouth shut.

Thank you. I had a lovely evening.

Now Annabelle Lit is going to bed.

Good night, Miss Lit.

Good night, Mr. Tinan.

Give me your opinion. If I like it, we’ll talk.

I can write whatever I want?

That’s why you’re here.

You decide what’s worthwhile.

I told you, I liked your test synopsis.

You were tough, but you made your case.

You’re going to see and read a lot of bad things.

Really?

We receive dozens of poorly written series about the Resistance,

shows like Ushuaia, Hanouna.

You get the idea.

That’s not what you’re after.

Let me be clear.

We want innovative projects. Otherwise, we get bored.

- True. - I do, anyway.

Do you have a cigarette? You can smoke at the window.

Sorry. I finished my pack.

Oh, well.

You never know. Maybe you’ll find us a diamond in the rough. Who knows?

- Good luck. - Thanks.

“I live, by day, full of courage and faith

and, by night, die In holy fire.”

Have you seen Mathias?

No. I don’t know what he’s up to.

He must be working on his film.

I don’t know.

I heard he was spaced out, wandering the streets one night.

- I’m going to call him. - He won’t pick up.

Let him come back on his own.

There he is.

I love this place. I come here a lot.

Do you like it?

Are you okay?

Yeah, sure.

That one’s not bad. He looks mean.

Apparently, my life would be easier if I looked mean.

Wouldn’t you rather be nice and read my screenplay?

I’d like your opinion.

I’d love to. That means a lot to me.

I haven’t been able to write lately.

Let’s go see the monkeys.

Here’s your coffee.

Thank you.

Barbara.

Sorry. Thank you, Barbara.

You’re welcome.

Barbara?

I’m glad to see you.

I was wondering what you were up to.

Nothing much.

There are days when human misery makes it hard to breathe.

- Is your job going well? - Yes.

I write summaries of bad series. It’s boring, but I need money.

What do you do for money?

I get by. I work as little as possible.

No matter what you do, work is exploitation.

I don’t want that.

You want to get some air?

It’s nice here.

It’s pretty.

Have you been here?

No.

I rarely take walks in Paris.

I have a new life in Paris. I wanted it for a long time.

But I was alone before.

It was easy to think I had talent.

Now I feel very ordinary.

I’m not sure I have anything to say.

It’s normal to have doubts in the beginning.

I hope so.

If you have to make films, you’ll make them.

I think Mathias does more harm than good.

He’s charming, but he’s also destructive.

Not necessarily.

Do you think he’s talented?

I’ve known plenty of guys like him. They’re all talk.

Everyone says he makes beautiful films.

I’d like to see them.

Forget the other night. You’ll see he’s a good guy.

He puts the bar high,

but it’s not destructive, it’s motivating.

I hope he’ll like my next film. I hope you will too.

Do you want to read what I’ve written?

I’d like to know what you think.

I don’t know much about film.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not very long. Twenty pages.

Would you?

Would you?

If you want me to.

What is it, Annabelle?

What’s wrong?

Are you okay?

I don’t know.

Your eyes, they were…

Sorry. I’ve had a bad day.

Was it something I said?

It’s nothing.

It’s the confidence you place in me.

It’s almost… childlike.

When you look at me like that, I feel…

It’s too much. I feel small, worthless.

What you do is amazing.

I told you. I’m not Annabel Lee from the poem.

I’m practical, unromantic even.

Believe me.

Since we’re both practical, maybe we can help each other.

Maybe we’ll achieve what Novalis said.

“I live, by day, full of courage and faith

and, by night, die in holy fire.”

We must look so pathetic sitting here.

Maybe. But who cares?

Good night.

- One last drink? - No, thank you.

- Okay, wait. - What?

Just a second.

Oh, right.

The Cheater.

That’s the working title.

Okay.

Good night.

Good night.

Jean-Noël, how’s it going?

Not good. I just got some bad news.

My father died.

He died today.

Was he ill?

He had a heart problem, but nothing…

Well, yes, he had a heart attack.

I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.

Don’t apologize. No one knows what to say in these situations.

Death comes as a surprise.

I know how it is. I was with my grandfather when he died.

I drove him to the hospital. We were on a farm.

I took care of him, changed him.

I got used to it, like a little soldier.

I called... I’m not after anything. I don’t want to bother you.

I just wanted to tell you because…

you’re my closest friend.

That means a lot to me.

Tell Mathias if you see him. I don’t want to leave a message.

Of course, no problem.

If you need anything, tell me.

That’s kind of you. I’ll be okay.

See you soon, Etienne.

Okay, take care.

Thanks.

- Hello, sir. - Hello, Etienne.

I wanted to tell you I found those books on Japanese cinema I told you about.

I can lend them to you.

They’re quite heavy. You should stop by to get them.

- Thanks. - E-mail me for a date.

- Good-bye. - See you soon.

I came to talk about Annabelle. It’s indecent. I’m sorry.

It’ll take my mind off my father.

I’m not sure she’s such a great girl after all.

Why?

Volunteering doesn’t make her infallible.

After all, she’s sleeping with Mathias,

who doesn’t treat others very well, including his friends.

He doesn’t know how I feel about her.

She doesn’t either. I’ve never met anyone like her.

Of course she’s attracted to Mathias. He’s the more interesting one.

You’re going to make me piss myself.

Go on, play.

“More interesting.”

I’d like to see his film.

Speaking of films, I read yours. I like it.

I’m not just being nice.

I’m glad to hear that.

I can help you out with casting, location scouting…

Really? What about your film?

I can’t write. I’ll do it next year. I’ll enroll again.

Besides, I need action.

What’s going on, Annabelle?

It’s over. I dumped that jerk.

Bye-bye, Mathias.

I don’t ever want to talk about it. I just want you to know it’s over.

Now I can breathe,

take care of things, leave this city full of assholes.

There’s nothing natural here. I need nature.

I’m leaving tomorrow to meet a friend in a protest camp.

It’ll be okay.

What are you doing?

Sorry.

You think I go through guys like I go through underwear?

No, it’s not...

What’s with you guys?

What am I doing on your bed?

I didn’t mean to do that.

Why are things always so messed up?

Doesn’t anyone know how to be in a relationship?

It’s always superficial. We constantly delude ourselves.

We’re wrong about everything.

It’s pretty sad, really. It makes you want to shoot yourself.

What do you want?

You want to kiss me? Fuck me? What for?

You leap at every chance you get.

What do you think those girls want?

You don’t think they want something besides a fuck?

It’s not like that.

What then?

If it’s not that, what do you feel when you fuck a girl?

How does it make you feel?

Be honest for once.

See? You won’t even answer.

Nothing honest to say.

Why are you looking at me like you want to hit me?

You’re treating me like a child. I don’t need your preaching.

I’m not ten years old. I’m sick of it.

Come back. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Did you sleep well?

Can I get you anything?

There are still things to improve. It’s too abstract in places.

For example, scene four... The guy who goes home drunk.

When my grandfather was drunk, really drunk,

he drank a lot of water right from the faucet.

Alcohol made him thirsty.

You have to include things like that.

That’s what makes it tangible, real, surprising.

I had some ideas for actors. I’ll show you photos.

Do you like the jam?

My aunt made it, with real blackberries.

…she’s ahead of Bernard Arnault, CEO of LVMH.

Why not rank the world’s poorest people while they’re at it?

William found a producer for his first feature film.

I never thought he’d make it so soon.

When I think back to high school...

Then again, he always does his best.

- “Only the mediocre... ” - …“are always at their best.”

Who do we have to thank for that?

Thank you, Mathias Valence.

Would it bother you if I stayed here a few days?

Yes, it would bother me a bit because…

No!

Of course it doesn’t bother me. You can stay.

On one condition. Shut up about the girl.

Okay.

Anyway, I’m happy. It’s going well.

Each issue has a theme. There are many political columns.

I take care of research, and I do some translation.

My boss is a nice guy. I think he appreciates me.

I’m happy you agreed to see me.

I missed you.

I miss you.

I also met a boy at the newspaper.

We’ve started seeing each other.

Do you love him?

Yes, maybe.

It’s probably better that way.

You didn’t think we’d get back together, did you?

No. I think about you often.

You’ll always be my deepest love.

The first.

First love isn’t necessarily the deepest.

Yes, it is.

You don’t believe that.

I’ve given it some thought…

and I’m not sure you really loved me.

What do you mean? Don’t say that.

You only ever loved cinema. You sacrificed everything for it.

Actually, you only ever really loved yourself.

You know that’s not true.

You’re saying that to feel better and to hurt me.

No, you’re mistaken.

I don’t want to hurt you.

And thinking that about you hurts me much more.

All that lost time…

I know you, Etienne.

You’re going through something difficult.

That’s why you insisted on seeing me, so I would comfort you.

You’ve always confused me with your mother.

That’s nonsense.

A boy’s first love comes just after his mother.

It’s confusing.

Did you read that in your women’s magazine?

Sorry.

Me, too. I’m sorry.

Are you going to see your parents?

No. I came to see you.

I’m going this way.

Bye.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be your crew chief today.

My team and I are happy to welcome you

aboard this TGV bound for Paris-Gare de Lyon.

The Black Sun of Melancholy

I don’t feel anything either.

She really feels something. She really loved him.

We have to see it in her eyes.

I don’t feel anything either.

It’s been a while. It’s probably normal.

She’s protecting herself.

It’s been a while. It’s probably normal.

Maybe if I hold you, we’ll feel something.

I don’t think so.

Can I try?

If you like.

This is stupid.

Let me go.

Okay. Good.

- That’s it? - That’s it.

When do you think you’ll get back to me?

In about two weeks.

Bye.

- Bye. - Bye.

What do you think?

She’s all right.

Really? I liked her.

She’s too reserved.

She was nervous, but I think she could be powerful.

We’ll have a look at the tape.

I feel like the text is a little too literary.

- Could you tweak it for tomorrow? - I can try.

I don’t think I can shoot without you.

Do you want to help with the actors, with everything?

You want me on location?

If you want to and you have time. I can’t do it on my own.

Helping others is probably what I do best.

Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.

We never hear about people like you who help others.

History remembers certain names,

but amazing, indispensable people work alongside them in the shadows.

Without them, the people we remember would have accomplished nothing.

JAPANESE CINEMA

Do you like it?

Yes. It’s not what I expected.

Maria Yudina had some character.

She stood up to Stalin.

She left behind unorthodox recordings of Mozart, unlike any others.

I’ll listen to them.

Thank you for introducing me to her.

It’s a change from Glenn Gould.

That must be my son.

Would you like to eat with us?

Yes, okay.

Have you heard from Mathias Valence?

Not in the last two months. Maybe he left Paris.

He’s an odd kid, but talented.

- I hope he stays on track. - He will.

More wine?

Thank you.

I’ll get dessert.

My father always shows concern for the same kind of student.

What kind is that?

He’s a lefty, like my mother. Very left.

Almost oddly so, with this concept of “positive discrimination.”

What are you trying to say?

He likes to help those who start out with little.

You know what I mean.

I like Etienne not only because he’s a nice kid,

but because I believe in his talent and intelligence.

Of course.

I appreciate young people who believe in something.

Oh, really? What is there to believe in today?

Life on Mars, since it’s impossible here?

The game isn’t over. Not everyone gives up without a fight.

You should apologize to Etienne.

Don’t speak to me like that.

I’m sorry if he offended you.

Don’t take it personally. I’m the real target.

Do you get along with your parents?

We don’t see each other often.

You don’t get along?

We do.

But we’re very different.

But they’re kind.

They’re helping with my studies,

though they know it will push us further apart.

You take mushrooms, butter,

big shallots, garlic, parsley, and grated Parmesan.

- I don’t like mushrooms. - I prefer a big steak.

A big steak. How can you still eat meat?

I love it.

You wouldn’t if you saw the slaughterhouses.

Maybe. You never stop lecturing. It’s annoying.

That’s why it didn’t work out between us.

You know he’s not your type.

Go on. You were at grated Parmesan.

Life’s a bitch.

You think?

- Garlic, parsley, grated Parmesan. - Butter, shallots.

First you have to wash the mushrooms and remove the shafts.

That’s too bad.

Stop interrupting me.

Jean-Noël and I are working out the casting.

- What about you? - I finished editing.

I won’t film without a story again. It’s too…

I really got myself stuck.

I found something by Tarkovsky that helped.

Do you know the story of the Japanese painter?

A court painter travels from province to province.

In each province, he uses a new style and a different name.

He’s able to remove himself completely and create a form of impersonal art.

In doing so, he accesses something deeper, because he’s done away with the self.

That allows him to find a direct connection with the world.

A loose, infinite freedom.

I like that idea. It really opened my mind.

So you’re done with personal films?

No. But I also want them to be impersonal.

I’ve said enough about my life.

Haven’t I?

I like your life.

What is that?

François’s parties are always weird.

How many are there?

A little rabbit.

They’re really well done.

Are you okay? You don’t look well.

Hey, how are you? We meet again.

So you know each other?

We sure do. How are you?

- I didn’t see you. - I just got here.

It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.

I’ll get some drinks.

I thought you left Paris. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.

Are you kidding? I wouldn’t disappear like that.

I needed some peace and quiet to work on my film.

It’s almost finished.

I’ll show you soon.

I’m really happy to see you.

I want to hear about you. Let’s head out.

You want to leave?

We’re not in good company.

Come see.

Yes, William.

Jean-Noël, meet Audrey and Hélène.

It’s the other way around.

- Let’s go. - Okay.

We should have asked Jean-Noël to come.

He’s fine with William.

It’s rare we get to talk in peace.

Relative peace.

Hear that rumbling?

It’s silence I miss in Paris, not nature.

- Do you go back to Bordeaux often? - No.

I’m from a little town just outside. It’s pretty boring.

So you prefer Paris?

I always feel like life is happening somewhere else,

like I’m a tourist of sorts.

I feel a bit like that, too.

Isn’t this tower beautiful?

Yes. Breton. Nadja.

Especially Nerval.

This was his neighborhood.

“I am the gloomy one, the widower, the inconsolable,

the Prince of Aquitaine in the ill-fated tower.

My only star is dead.

My constellated lute bears the black sun of melancholy.”

He hung himself nearby.

Where?

Rue de la Vieille Lanterne. Come on.

Where’s the street?

It cut through the prefecture,

intersected this road, the theater,

and continued on to the Seine.

It’s gone now.

No trace of “doux Gérard.”

He’s all around us now, everywhere.

It might be quieter over there.

It feels real sometimes, doesn’t it? Like the world exists for us alone.

Cinema can make those moments felt.

Make it apparent that it’s here, that we’re here in it.

That’s what’s wonderful.

It makes life easier.

It makes survival possible.

That’s political, too. It doesn’t have to look like propaganda.

Have you heard from Annabelle?

No. And it’s just as well.

I don’t want to be harsh, but she’s impossible.

She’s a bit unsettling.

I’ve known people like her.

They say we’re pretentious when they have an answer for everything.

They come out all right in life, not us.

Still, she’s brave.

Do you really want to ruin the evening?

Did you hurt yourself?

I’m fine.

Sorry for laughing.

It’s okay. I’m going home. I’m beat.

Can we meet up soon?

Of course. I missed you.

I want to read your screenplay.

Send it to me. I’ll tell you what I think.

Okay, great.

See you.

See you.

You’re still up?

Do you have a ciggy?

I don’t know.

Cigarette?

Good luck with work. Good night.

Good night.

Hi, Mathias. Here’s the latest draft.

Let me know what you think. See you soon, Etienne.

“Against all this, you need only, I believe,

do nothing other than simply continue to be yourselves;

which means to be constantly unrecognizable,

to forget at once the great successes

and to continue unafraid, obstinate,

eternally contrary;

to demand, to will,

to identify yourselves with all that is different,

to scandalize and to blaspheme.”

Do you still want to shoot in black-and-white?

No. Color is better.

We have 12 extras for scene 15. Is that enough?

What do you think?

It’s fine. Decide fast if you want more.

We start in three weeks.

Have you heard from Mathias?

No, why? You want to give him a walk-on part?

I sent him the screenplay. He hasn’t replied. He must hate it.

He probably hasn’t read it.

Egotism is practically second nature to him.

You know what? He doesn’t see us as being on his level.

He sees us as less than him. He doesn’t owe us anything.

We’re his friends.

He feels bad telling me my film sucks.

- I’m telling you it’s going to be great. - Thanks, but…

- Mathias’s opinion is more important? - No, but it’s different with us.

We’ve always been more…

More what? Emotional?

I was in love with you and so I can’t be objective?

I want both your opinions. That’s natural, isn’t it?

Of course it’s natural.

But if my opinion mattered more, you’d be confident.

But all you do is doubt. You even doubt Paul Rossi.

He only bothered because I’m a pleb.

What are you talking about? It’s clear what Rossi thinks.

You like being unhappy.

You’re always unhappy. Cut it out.

- Why are you taking that tone? - Because you’re pissing me off!

Why are you so upset? Everything’s fine.

No, it’s not.

Jean-Noël Beaumont. Talk. I’m listening.

Jean-Noël, it’s Etienne.

I don’t know what you’re up to. It’s scaring me.

Come on, call me back.

- Hello. - Hey.

- I’m looking for Jean-Noël. - I just came to get his stuff.

Can you tell him Etienne wants to see him?

He mentioned you. I don’t think he wants to see you.

Did he say why?

I’m not getting involved.

I have a right to know.

I don’t know what’s going on between you,

but he needs some space to find his bearings.

He says his friends are holding him back.

Tell him I’m sorry I hurt him, but now he’s hurting me.

I’ll tell him.

No, don’t. There’s no point.

He’s an idiot for doing this. Bye.

Are we sure we can shoot in the café in Belleville?

In principle. The owner is nice. I’ll stop by again.

Do you have a new shooting script?

We figured out most of it. We’ll improvise the rest.

The more we can plan ahead, the better.

I know.

Let’s stop there. We’ll be in touch by phone.

Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m., Avenue Trudaine.

I’ll send you the call sheet.

Stanislas?

Will David be there tomorrow or not?

- Can I talk to you? - What it is?

I know where Jean-Noël went.

Really?

He’s casting William’s feature.

How do you know?

I know someone in production.

Has he talked about us?

About you. And Mathias.

What is he saying?

Héloïse and I think you should know.

You have to stop torturing yourself.

Fine. What did he say?

That you know nothing about life.

That you’re pretentious, self-centered,

a bourgeois aesthete…

and that you always looked down on him.

- That’s insane. - I’m sorry.

I think it’s disgusting.

But we’re going to make a good film.

That’s going to piss him off.

See you later.

Yeah, see you.

Thank you.

You knew it was coming.

Not like that.

He was my friend. What did I do that was so horrible?

Say good-bye. Forget about him.

- Your film is all that matters now. - It’s shit.

You don’t believe that.

I don’t even know why I want to make films.

Why did I come here and leave the people who love me?

What right did I have to do that?

- Are you done? - No.

Your films are alive. They have presence.

My stuff is dead.

I believe in you.

I’m glad to be your assistant.

I’m going to learn a lot for my own work.

It’s too late anyway.

Everyone’s onboard. You can’t back out now.

- Héloïse? - Yes?

Cancel everything. I’m not coming tomorrow.

Etienne, if you don’t show, I’ll drag you over myself.

Hello, Etienne. It’s Dad.

You could call us now and then.

Everything’s fine here.

We hope you are, too,

that you’re doing well,

and that you’re happy with your work in Paris.

We can’t wait to see your films, of course.

We love you. This was Dad.

Shut up.

Etienne, move your ass and open the door.

I’m not leaving.

Etienne, open up.

You can’t back out now.

GOOD LUCK, BUDDY. TO BOTH OF US. MATHIAS

You’re pissing me off!

It’s good, but you’re walking too slow.

I thought he was ruminating, sad.

Yes, but you’re walking too slow.

I can walk faster, but I want to know why.

Is this okay?

- Everything okay? - Yeah, sure.

Is Etienne okay?

He’s fine. Don’t worry.

I’ll walk faster. It’s just the character...

If you go home, you’ll want to jump out the window.

So you don’t drag your feet. You’re trying to survive.

Let’s go.

Everybody ready?

Camera.

We’re rolling.

Clapper.

The Cheater. Four of three, third take.

Action.

Etienne?

Hi.

Hi.

Barbara. You don’t remember me?

I do. I just didn’t expect to see you here.

We didn’t get to talk much.

Here’s our chance.

Yeah.

How are you? Still working there?

Yes. You’re not coming back?

It was just to make ends meet. I can’t spend my life in TV.

What are you doing now?

I just shot a short film. It’s done.

I’m exhausted and a bit lost. It’s the comedown.

Are you happy with it?

It was better in my head. We’ll see once it’s edited.

- I’m sure it’ll be great. - Really? That’s nice of you.

At the office, everyone said you wrote intelligent, useful commentary.

A film isn’t commentary.

You have an artistic temperament.

You put yourself down a little too…

Too what?

Like you’re playing it up a bit.

Maybe I am.

In any case, I’m glad I ran into you.

It’s rare here. It’s so big.

- Are you from Paris? - No.

I’m from Reims. I got here six months ago. I’m studying English.

I wanted to see the capital, but I’m not sure it’s won me over.

I might be a country girl after all.

Parisians are the ones who talk about the country, not us.

When I lived in Lyon, I didn’t say I lived in the country.

If I sound like a Parisian already…

Maybe you have been won over.

Maybe.

Are you awake?

I was looking at you.

I liked you right away, you know.

As soon as I saw you.

Really?

Don’t get attached.

Jerk.

Out of the question.

I’m not good at these things.

You think I am?

Yet you seem so serious.

Much more than me.

You seem to know what you want.

You’re not messing around.

- Hello. - Hello.

I haven’t heard from you. How was the shoot?

- Good. Editing starts next week. - Great.

You might not have heard, but…

something happened yesterday.

People are keeping quiet to protect the family.

Mathias Valence… killed himself.

He jumped from his bedroom window.

Had you seen him recently?

No. This happened yesterday?

Yes.

No one knows what drove him to it.

Come with me.

Let’s get some air.

- Do you want to play? - That’s okay.

Are you okay?

I lost a friend.

I lost a friend. Do you understand?

He jumped out his bedroom window.

I don’t even know where his bedroom is.

He was my friend, and I don’t know where he lived.

He said he had no place in the world.

Now he’ll be in Paris.

I’ll walk around Paris and think, “He’s here somewhere.”

I’ll never know who he was…

who he was at heart.

He was my friend, you know?

We had a unique relationship,

and I know nothing about him.

Do you have friends?

Do you know who they are at heart?

Who am I at heart?

Who knows?

I don’t even know.

No one knows anything about anyone else.

How can we help each other if we don’t know anything?

Maybe all we can do is listen.

Without knowing, without understanding.

Like you.

You’re listening. You don’t understand a thing.

But I know you’d like to.

It helps to have you listen.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe deep down, that’s what friendship is,

to just listen without needing to understand.

Two years later

I’ll finish it by Friday. I promise.

Yes.

Don’t worry. Mr. Danilo can read it this weekend.

Sure.

Good-bye, Magalie.

Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?

I’m fine.

Nothing’s wrong. I’m telling you, everything’s fine.

You’re irritating me.

Yes, you are.

I told you I’m fine.

I haven’t read many recent books, but I’ve been rereading the classics.

In school, they told us Baudelaire was good.

I didn’t care for him, but I couldn’t admit it.

I just reread him,

and he’s really not that great.

Rimbaud, yes.

But Baudelaire, frankly…

I like him.

Brother Alexandre

Brother Alexandre

Are you sleeping?

Are you sleeping?

Morning bells are ringing

Morning bells are ringing

We can’t go any later. She won’t be able to get us.

She’s picking us up over there.

We’ll set up, then head to the meeting.

Hi.

Etienne. What are you doing here?

I just noticed you.

- Some coincidence. How are you? - Good. You?

This is Melchior.

Etienne was my roommate. He’s a filmmaker.

- Are you still making films? - Trying to.

I’ll get the car.

I’ll meet you in five minutes.

- Bye. - Good-bye.

I’m taking him to a protest camp. He’s helping repair roofs.

- You’re still at it then? - Yes.

We build, they destroy. We build, they destroy.

How are you?

I’m all right.

I heard about Mathias.

His mother called me. He left a note.

He left me his books. I didn’t want them.

It was quite a shock.

For you, too, I imagine.

Yes.

Tell me what you’ve been up to.

What can I tell you?

I live in the 14th arrondissement. I quit school.

I failed the Fémis film school entrance exam.

I read screenplays for a TV production company.

They want me to write a series.

It would mean a lot of money. I’m not sure.

I think I’m going to say no.

I’ve been writing a feature for two years. That’s what matters.

I’m having a hard time finishing it.

I found a producer though.

What about the short film?

I finished it.

I sent it to festivals, but it didn’t win.

Sorry for not getting back to you, but I had a lot on my mind at the time.

I know.

What about Jean-Noël?

I never hear from him.

He’s working with a childhood friend,

a director who made a successful first film.

Are you making new friends?

A few, but it’s not the same.

I’m really happy to see you again.

I’ve thought about you often.

I wondered if you were still in Paris, if you’d achieved what you hoped.

I’m glad you’ve stayed true to yourself.

I’m not surprised, though. You seemed determined.

I’m happy to see you, too.

We shared something powerful.

I think about it often.

I’m going to catch up with Melchior.

I’m going to stay a while. I like being in cafés, alone in a crowd.

See you around, Etienne.

I hope so.

THE PROVINCIAL LETTERS

THE LETTERS OF GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

LUTHERAN LETTERS

“Against all this, you need only, I believe,

do nothing other than simply continue to be yourselves;

which means to be constantly unrecognizable,

to forget at once the great successes

and to continue unafraid, obstinate,

eternally contrary;

to demand, to will,

to identify yourselves with all that is different,

to scandalize and to blaspheme.”

- Hi. - Hi.

I’m beat. I’m going to take a shower.

I have so many papers to correct.

- Are you okay, love? - Yeah.

Josephine’s selling her piano for nothing. Are you interested?

There’s no room here.

I know. For later.

We’re not going to stay here forever.

I’m not very good.

Who cares? We’ll play easy stuff.

For four hands. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I miss playing piano.

If you like.

Adaptation by Kate Robinson

Subtitling: HIVENTY