My Father's Glory (1990) - full transcript

MY FATHER'S GLORY

I was born in Aubagne,
at the foot of Garlaban,

which was crowned with goats,
in the days of the last goat-herds.

Garlaban is a huge tower
of blue rock.

It rears up into the sky of Provence.

It is not a mountain,
but it is more than a hill:

it is Garlaban.

The ploughman and his sons,
by Jean de la Fontaine.

"The farmer's patient care and toil

"Are oftener wanting than the soil."

My father was a schoolmaster.



"The farmer's patient care and toil
Are oftener wanting than the soil."

His name was Joseph.

He had a deep and pleasant voice,
and bluish black hair,

which would become wavy
whenever it rained.

"A treasure in it is concealed."

One Sunday,
he met a young seamstress

whose name was Augustine.
She was so pretty he married her.

I never did find out any more,

for we never spoke
of such things at home.

They were my father and mother,

forever and always.

Father was 25 years older than I,
and that never changed.

Augustine and I were the same age,

because Mother and I were one,



and I thought, as a child,
we had been born the same day.

Joseph!

Sibelard, take my place, quickly.

To think you gave me this child...

Augustine...

Sibelard! Sibelard!

I'm a daddy...

And it's a boy!

For a schoolmaster's son,
school is his entire universe.

Marcel!

I have few memories of Aubagne.

I only lived there three years,
for my father

made a meteoric leap,

from Aubagne to Saint-Loup,
in the suburbs of Marseilles.

Lovely little Marcel!

When my mother went out,

she'd leave me
in the class of my father,

who taught six-year-olds to read.

- Pi... Pe... Papa.
- Good!

I would sit quietly at the back,

and admire my almighty father.

Good!

One fine morning...

Mother took me to my seat,
and left without a word.

While my father...

- No. It isn't true!
- What's that?

Mummy didn't punish me.
It's not true!

Who said she did?

It says so there.

But, but... You can read?

Yes.

Read this then.

The mu... mmy...

pu... ni... shed...

her little boy who was naughty.

The daddy is proud

of his little boy

who can read.

That means you like me a lot.

- Does your head hurt?
- No.

When did he last read?

Yesterday morning.

The lid of a tin of soap.

- And since then? Nothing?
- No.

Your sister doesn't want him to.

It's for his own good.
You shall make his brain explode.

- Mummy, am I sick?
- Of course not.

Have some more pie.

A cerebral explosion!
That's quite ridiculous!

I don't want him to go to class,

or open a another book,
till he is six!

Let him be a child a bit longer.

I now had a baby brother.

His name was Paul.

"We found him in a cabbage patch",
said Augustine.

As for Father,
he said something about a seed.

These vegetable-patch explanations
temporarily satisfied my curiosity.

Gee up!

That year,
Father made a meteoric leap,

for he jumped from Saint-Loup,
over the suburbs,

to his new post as schoolmaster
at Chemin des Chartreux School,

the biggest primary school
in Marseilles.

Marseilles!

- I shall be late!
- Of course you won't!

It isn't even 8 o'clock.

Hang on...

No! Tomorrow...

- I don't look too...
- No! On the contrary.

- You're wonderful.
- Yes, wonderfully nervous.

Augustine...

You'll be just fine, I know it.

These city children,
I wonder whether...

What?
They're still children.

Come on.

Daddy!

Where are you going?

To school.

- And me?
- You're not old enough yet.

- And it makes your head hurt.
- It doesn't make my head hurt.

Oh! No...

Go get washed.

- I have.
- What a liar!

- Show me your hands.
- I forgot them in my bedroom.

If you bring them to me,

they'd better be clean and white.

Otherwise, we won't go out
with Aunt Rose.

Same goes for your feet!

"For 8 people,
take 2 kilos of fish.

"Scorpion fish, red mullet, weever,

"John Dory, whiting.

"Put the onion and leek,

"both finely chopped,
into a saucepan

"suitable for stove-top use,

"together with two tablespoons

"of olive oil.

"Heat gently and stir."

The 1st of October 1900.

You may sit.

My dear children,

we have entered a fabulous century,

where miracles,
those resulting from science,

will be an everyday-occurrence,
and will bring happiness

to the poorest and the most humble.

Houses will have gas, electric light,

perhaps even the telephone.

Indeed!

With this telephone,
we shall be able to talk from here,

without needing to shout,
to people in Aix-en-Provence.

Cor blimey!

Yes, sir.

The twentieth century shall be great.
Progress is truly underway.

Soon machines shall do
the most arduous tasks.

It is likely the working day
will be reduced to ten hours.

That'd be good, that!

And workers will have
one day off every week.

And saved through education,
each man will have his place

in a world where all men
will be respected.

I shan't repeat these things.

Take out your books.
Dictation.

My brother Paul was now
a little lad of three.

He was pensive, he never cried,
and he played by himself.

Augustine was still pale and frail,
but also happy,

thanks to Joseph, her 2 boys,
and her brand-new sewing machine.

This newfangled marvel
enabled me to help her in her work.

With us,
Aunt Rose, Augustine's sister,

escaped the lonely existence
of a young old maid,

as Joseph teasingly called her.

- No, Paul!
- What is it?

A hair curler...

He swallows everything he finds.

Last time,
it was a long strip of bacon.

Marcel!

What's that?

The railway timetable.

What did I do to God
to deserve children like this?

Or rather, what you did not do.

Rose, please!

I know very well it's Joseph,
with his ideas.

But a registry office wedding...

Is not a real marriage.

Talking of marriage,
it's time you worried about yours,

my dear Rose.

"Live your life,

"Do not wait for tomorrow.

"From today, gather up

"The roses of life."

And for Alsace-Lorraine?

I'm not about to paint it red,
white and blue...

Mauve, the colour of mourning.

As I was nearly six,
I finally went to school,

to Miss Guimard's playschool.

Right. So...

A, e, i, o, u...

y!

When you know, you keep quiet!
Clever little monkey!

While the other kids recited
the alphabet,

I remained quiet, peaceful,
and cheerful.

I would tell myself stories,
I'd stroll in Borely Park,

at the end of
the Prado de Marseille.

Every Sunday,
Aunt Rose would come to lunch,

and then take me by tram

to that enchanted spot.

One glorious Sunday,

I was unpleasantly surprised

to find a gentleman

sitting on our bench.

From then on
- I wasn't about to complain -

our strolls in the park
became increasingly frequent.

My aunt told me

the gentleman in question

was the owner of Borely Park.

And that if we mentioned him,
he'd find out,

and ban us for good.

His generosity cost him nothing.

Yet I still felt grateful and proud

to have such a rich friend.

Eenie, meenie, minie, moe.

Go on, you be "it".

37 is really old!

Come off it! At the end of the year,
I'll be 30, I'm still young.

No! 37 is the prime of life.

And besides...
Rose isn't 18 any more.

I'm 26.

- And I like him!
- That's the main thing, obviously.

- What's his job at the Prefecture?
- Assistant head clerk.

- Which department?
- I don't know.

But he earns 220 francs a month.

Plus his private income.

He told me we could count on
350 francs per month.

Congratulations, my dear Rose!

- Is he handsome though?
- Ah no. He isn't handsome!

He is handsome!
He's good-looking!

Marcel!

Oh, Marcel!

Following these events,

the owner of Borely Park
came calling with Aunt Rose.

- My dear Joseph!
- My dear Jules!

They'd just got back
from a wonderful trip.

Yes! The owner kissed,

much to our astonishment,

my mother, then my father.

There's the little rascal...

He rolled his Rs,
like a stream rolling pebbles.

From now on,
you're to call me Uncle Jules,

because I'm Aunt Rose's husband.

My Uncle Jules became
a firm friend.

When I advised him to build a house

in his wonderful Borely Park,

he admitted in a light-hearted way
that he'd never owned it.

That day,
I discovered that grown-ups lied

as well as I did,
and I was no longer safe in their midst.

The Reverend...

- Joseph!
- Yes...

The Reverend of Panloup
went up in a balloon...

- Jules and Rose will be here soon.
- Really?

But his system was so long
that 300 metres up in the air...

Keep your joking for school...
Don't do it in front of Jules.

Come on, Augustine,
it's just a ditty about the feats,

the aeronautical feats
of the Reverend of Panloup...

Jules goes to Mass.
What's it to you?

- Every Sunday, I know.
- But you don't know everything.

He receives Communion
twice a month.

What?

A man who's a member
of our family!

A 37-year-old who has studied law!

- A civil servant of the Republic.
- Joseph!

You already refused to enter
the church on their wedding day...

Jules might get angry.

And I'd understand.

- But when...
- But!

He'll stop Rose from seeing us.

There we go!

The intolerance of these fanatics!

There we go!

Do I prevent him from eating his god
on Sundays?

Do I forbid you to see your sister

because she's married to a man,
an educated man,

who believes the universe's creator
comes down on Sundays

in 100,000 goblets?

When Jules gets here,

I'll show him
how broad-minded I am.

I'll ridicule him with my liberalism.

And I shan't talk to him
about the Inquisition,

or the other poor wretches
the Church burned at the stake.

I shan't mention those poisoners,
the Borgia popes,

or Pope Joan!

And even if he tries to preach to me

about the puerile conceptions
of a religion as childish

as my grandmother's tales,
I shall reply politely,

and I'll simply laugh in my beard!

But he didn't have a beard,
and he certainly wasn't laughing.

Yes!

- I've brought a rum baba!
- Jules, what a good idea!

Augustine!

- Joseph!
- Rose...

- Joseph...
- Jules...

Uncle Jules?

- No sweeties!
- No!

- Rose?
- Yes?

Thank you.

- You work on Sundays?
- Yes. Nothing of any consequence.

It's true that you schoolmasters
have the holidays to rest in.

The summer holidays.

And we ought to replace
the Prefecture's civil servants,

exhausted by their long siestas

and all that paper pushing.
- Jules!

Joseph!

Yes!

So Jules, how was your morning?

Excellent.
I went to the 10 o'clock mass.

- Do you know Latin?
- Enough to pray, my dear Joseph.

I sometimes wonder,
my dear Jules,

whether mass isn't sung in Latin

to hide certain truths
from ignorant believers.

Like charlatans' magic formulae?

- You said it.
- Lunch is ready!

Golly! This is awfully good!
Congratulations to the cook.

Thank you.

Try this.
It comes from my native Roussillon.

- Not for me.
- A glass.

No. A glass of that wine
contains 5cl of pure alcohol.

If injected, it would be enough
to kill three large dogs.

Don't recite the things you learnt
at that teacher's training college.

It's more rigid than the seminary.
Don't refuse!

My religion forbids it.

Allow me to convert you.

Just a drop...

It's natural.

Even the children could drink it.

Alright, everyone keep still!

Three years passed.

Mr Arnaud, there.
Come on, Mr Arnaud!

Thank you. Excellent!
Smile. Don't move.

20kg of apples costs 100 francs,
how much does 2kg cost?

I mastered the rule of 3.

With an inexhaustible joy,
I learnt about Lake Titicaca.

- Titties-caca!
- Get out!

- Hibou, chou, genou...
- Hibou, chou, genou.

- And...
- Louis X or Louis the Quarreller.

And those awful rules
that govern past participles.

We didn't only learn in class.

Indeed, my neighbour, Mangiapan,
told us all about

a daring theory.

He claimed that children
came out of their mother's tummy.

The tummy button, silly!

You know, the other day,
my sister, the big one...

She's gone all funny,
she's seeing someone...

My brother Paul had grown.

At night, he would study
the philosophy of Krazy Kat.

With him, I'd have loved to check
Mangiapan's daring theory,

which I'd initially thought absurd,
but after inspecting my belly button,

I realized that
it really did look like a buttonhole,

with a kind of small button
in the centre.

It was possible to unbutton it,

and Mangiapan had been right.

I was determined to pierce
the great secret.

After market, one Thursday,
I made an important discovery:

Augustine had changed shape.

Her belly stuck out as she walked,
like the Christmas parcel man.

What has our Augustine got
under her apron?

Children, not so fast!

Two months later,

after celebrating Candlemas
for 3 whole days at Aunt Rose's,

by tossing pancakes,

we got home one evening
to find a cheerful Augustine,

albeit a pale and weak one,
lying in the big bed.

A little sister had been born.

For me,
this proved Mangiapan's theory.

I kissed my mother tenderly.

And thought of how she'd suffered
when she'd unbuttoned her belly.

The tiny creature

seemed rather strange at first.

Our Augustine breast-fed her,

which shocked me,

and terrified Paul.

She eats her 4 times a day!

Uncle Jules and Aunt Rose
lived in Rue des Minimes,

in a new flat
with all modern conveniences.

- And we cook...
- With gas, if you please!

With gas,
and always with olive oil!

What about the telephone,
my dear Jules?

The thing that rings you?

No!
That rude thing has no place here!

Madam, lunch is served.

Well, my dear Jules,
you're living in grand style.

- Have you become Prefect?
- God forbid!

I doubt your god meddles
in the careers of civil servants...

Come on, lunch is ready!

I'm absolutely starving.

It's normal.
You have to eat for two.

I was surprised to see
that dear Aunt Rose

was now swelling too,
and I instantly concluded

there'd soon be an unbuttoning.

For old women,
babies are a risky matter.

- My sister is only 28.
- It's a lot for a first child.

- Don't forget, her husband is 40.
- 39.

28 and 39 make 67.

That day, we were to visit
an old person's baby.

He'll be 67, he'll be all wrinkled
with a white beard.

Like Grandpa's?

Yes. But smaller and finer,
of course, a baby's beard.

It won't be pretty.

Maybe it'll be able to talk.

It'll tell us where it came from.

No. Look!

We were disappointed.

Although a little pale,
Aunt Rose seemed buttoned up.

She was holding a baby,

with no beard or moustache.

The baby seems very young.

What does he mean?

The baby doesn't look its age.

- Come here, tiddler!
- What for?

You'll see.

Joseph, what do you say this?

Nice hat!

Not the hat, the scorpion fish.

10 pounds, a real monster.

And you posed for the photo?

Yes. It's worth recording such a feat
for posterity.

You posed with a fish?

I can understand he was pleased
to catch such a specimen,

but being photographed with a fish
is terribly undignified!

Of all the vices,
vanity is by far the most ridiculous.

Do you know where I'm taking you?
To Ali Baba's cave.

I almost forgot your chairs.
What time is it?

- That'll be 50 francs.
- It's too dear!

Dear but beautiful.
That's a period piece!

Maybe so, but not our period.

You like modern things?

I'm not buying for a museum.
How about 35 francs for the lot?

- Impossible.
- Why?

I've a 50-franc debt to settle at 12.
What time is it?

11:45. If you'd owed 100 francs,
that'd have been your price!

Where else would I find them?

Mind you, if I owed 40 francs,
I would charge you that.

I'll come back tomorrow,
when you've paid.

Come on, tiddler.

You can't do that!
It's 11:45.

What can I say?
It isn't luck, it's fate.

You're young, fresh, very upright,
you have two good eyes.

As long as there are hunchbacks,

you've no right to complain.
50 francs...

Go on, Marcel,
go fetch the chairs.

Paul! Come over here!

What can I do, Daddy?

You're going to be very useful.

Tools are ever so mischievous.

When you look for one,
it knows and it hides.

- Are they scared of the hammer?
- Of course!

So hop onto this stool,
and watch them carefully.

It'll save us a lot of time.

- Daddy!
- Hand it over.

Get a move on!

Can you guess
why we're doing this?

Don't let them touch
those dirty things!

At that time,
germs were brand-new.

The great Pasteur
had just invented them.

Our mother saw them as tiny tigers

ready to gnaw our insides.

These dirty things,
as Mummy calls them,

are the beginnings
of a rustic set of furniture

that she'll never tire of admiring.

Rustic, that's nice.
But what does it mean?

From the countryside.

As your mother needs a bit
of countryside,

Uncle Jules and I have rented
a villa in the hills.

We shall spend the summer there.

Where is this villa?

On the edge of a desert of garrigue,

stretching from Aubagne to Aix.

A real desert.

Perhaps there'll be camels?

I haven't seen any.

And rhinoceros?

Perhaps.

My father talked,
Paul questioned him,

Augustine helped us,
and I repeated the magic words:

villa, hills...

Garrigue...

Cicadas, desert...

Marcel!

Daddy!

Augustine!

On the day of departure,
come 8 o'clock,

we had our holiday outfits on.
They were Augustine's handiwork.

Uncle Jules, the great organizer,
had arranged everything.

The two families
were to travel separately.

He had hired a removal van,

we had to content ourselves
with a peasant and his cart.

Sorry I'm late!

I was selling my apricots!

Ah, these city folks...

I practically had to pay them
to buy some!

- Mr Joseph?
- That's right!

Good morning!

Good morning, sir.

Right! Let's load up your stuff!
Come on, look lively!

As we agreed, take the tram.
And we'll meet at Quatre-Saisons.

- Do you know the way?
- I have my map.

Gee up!

If ever I'm late, wait in the bar...

We'll see about that.
We've got 9km to do.

It's a lot for the children.

Is it good?

Gee up!

Is that La Treille?

We've still a fair way to go!

Up there, the lady'll have to get off
and we'll have to push.

The wedges!

You have to hit him harder.
And on the belly.

No! I don't want you to!

We have to poke his eyes out!

Poke my eyes out, eh?
Who is this little savage?

We ought to shut him in the drawer.

No. I don't want to.

Lads who want
to poke folks' eyes out

end up getting shut in drawers.

He was joking, sir.

Even as a joke,
you shouldn't say such things.

To think I picked today,
to buy sunglasses at the market.

Put them on anyway.

When you've got no eyes,
and you put on dark glasses,

it's like staring
into a mole's behind.

Alright, I'll forgive you this time.

Shouting, pushing, putting
in the wedges, removing them,

beating the horse,
we finally reached the village.

In the middle of the square,

the fountain babbled to itself.

Is no one going to drink?

Come on! Nothing beats
the properties of this pure water.

It's thirst-quenching and free.

What about you, Augustine?

And so we left the village,
and the fairy-tale world began.

I felt a love swell within me,
which was to last forever.

A big black bird dotted the sky,
and all around us,

like a sea of music,

rose the buzzing, humming chorus
of the cicadas.

That one there is Red Head.

That's Round Head.

And that one is Taoume or Tube.

What does it mean?

Those are its names!

What is the origin of the words?

The origin?
That it has 2 names.

And?

You have 2 names, too.
And so do I.

That's Garlaban over there.
Aubagne is behind it, at its foot.

- I was born in Aubagne.
- You're from here then.

And I was born in Saint-Loup.
Does it mean I'm from here?

A little, but not really.

He's a silly idiot!

- What are you doing?
- You'll be more comfy.

- But we can't stop now.
- Why?

We'll soon catch up.

How small she seemed.

She looked fifteen years old.

Look, thyme!
We'll make some lovely jugged hare.

- It's better with wild savory.
- What's that?

It's like a sort of thyme and mint.

I'll show you some later.

There are herbs all over the place.

Marjoram, sage, rosemary, fennel...

Chop some wild savory finely,
and stuff it in the hare's belly

with a big piece of bacon.
Delicious!

We're here.

There's the Bastide Neuve.

There's our villa for the holidays.

And so began
the best days of my life.

Wonderful storm lantern.

When I saw it burning bright,

with the serene air
of a hotel lamp,

I forgot about my cheese soup,

and I decided to devote my life
to science.

Soup!
Man's greatest conquest!

It's my go!

Right. Eenie, meenie, minie, moe...

No! You'll cheat again!
It's my go.

- But it'll be my turn tomorrow.
- Tomorrow, it'll be you.

The scents of the garrigue

instantly flooded
the enlarged bedroom.

Do you know the land

Blooming with orange trees

- It's here...
- No. It's here

It's here...

Happiness flowed naturally here,
like a babbling brook.

Even washing became a game,
thanks to Father's invention.

He'd fitted a rubber hose to the tap.

This tap of progress was
an extraordinary luxury, a miracle,

because this was the land of thirst.

A large water tank stood
behind the house.

You simply had to turn on the tap

for clear, cool water to gush out.

Enough! When the tank's empty,
we'll have to go home.

No, Mummy!

That's enough! Go dry yourselves,
or you'll end up catching a cold.

I usually have to beg Marcel
to get washed.

- Do they obey you?
- They pretend to, at least.

Especially Marcel.
He can be such a fibber.

This is where I'd like to live!

As smooth as a peach...

Slob!
Have you no shame!

I just wanted to be at ease.
You ought to do likewise.

Here, like that.

I shall look like a...

With one button less,
you'll be dancing at the Alcazar!

Uncle Jules bestowed
the title of maid

on a lost-looking peasant

who'd come to do the washing,

which gave her the opportunity
to wash her hands.

We were forbidden to leave
the garden,

whose gate was reputed
to be impassable.

But we soon proved the contrary.

And so our great adventure began.

Halt! Thief!

Who said you could steal
my parpaillouns?

Parpaillouns?

They aren't yours!

They are too, they're all mine!
The proof is,

my name is Mond des Parpaillouns,
Edmond of the Butterflies.

If it was Edmond of the Droppings,
would they be yours?

- Who's this cheeky chap?
- My brother.

My big brother.

The two of you aren't worth nowt.
Butterfly thieves!

You're a bad seed,
you'll end up in the penal colony.

That's where my brother was born.

It doesn't surprise me.

What are you doing here, anyway?

Nothing.
We just went up the hill.

- What for?
- To see.

To see what was behind it.

Man's wretchedness!
Ever since man became man,

he's been obsessed
about what lies behind things.

And so he makes war, children,
trips, becomes a priest...

All that in order to see
what lies behind.

Sir, do the cicadas belong to you?

No, they don't.
You can have them.

Does that mean I can catch them?

- With your butterfly net?
- Of course!

You'll need plenty of luck!

You can tell you're city folk!

Right, I'll teach you a trick.
Come closer.

That's it.
Cicadas are wary fellows.

As soon as they sense you,
they stop their singing.

Then you can't catch them.

The trick is to wait
till they get used to you,

till they start singing again.

The ninnies are singing again!

Don't those cicadas ever stop?

Do they bother you?

I thought they were silent
at night, it's strange.

They probably mistook the lantern
for the sun!

But what is strange though,
is that they're so loud.

It's as if...

- Mond! Are you playing or not?
- Get a move on!

We're waiting for you.

- Hello.
- Hello, gentlemen.

Are you coming or not?

I'll play any minute now.

We're waiting!

Hey!
Come on, for God's sake!

Alright, I'm not deaf!

- About time!
- Come on, let's play!

Bowls demands concentration.
You can't do anything else.

I'll show you!

Do you hear?

The cuckoo? So?
Are you playing or not?

Not that. It's Baptistin!

Who's Baptistin?

Baptistin is my look-out.

If that cuckoo is Baptistin...
I bid you all goodbye!

Excuse me, gentlemen,
have you seen a...

No!

- We're looking for a poacher...
- No!

Thank you so much, gentlemen,
for your precious help.

- Don't mention it!
- It's always a pleasure!

Goodbye.

Is there game in the hills?

Game? No.

But there's plenty
of partridge and hare.

Provided you can catch them!

You could team up with Francois,
to finish the game.

No. I'm bound to lose!

- It ain't fair.
- Go on, Daddy!

- I'm willing to try.
- You see!

You can't refuse.

Do you throw or roll?

- As you like.
- "As you like..."

I've no more balls.
You'll have to throw.

Careful!
You can't learn this in books, sir!

Unbelievable!

Mind out!

- Now you'll have to...
- I saw, I know!

- They've adopted you.
- If I hadn't won...

Must be the candle I lit for you.

If it gives you pleasure!

Good morning.

Joseph, may I introduce you
to the village priest.

It was the first time I'd seen Father
face to face with the enemy.

- Hello, sir.
- Delighted to meet you, sir.

I hear you're looking for
tomato plants.

No.

- I have some in my garden.
- No thank you.

- You've found some?
- No.

But I've decided to do without.
Good day to you, sir.

Marcel, come on!

"He explained his name
would be Friday,

"because it was a Friday... "

Marcel, come see!
Uncle Jules is cooking!

It smells awful!

Uncle Jules?
What's that?

- Will we eat it cold?
- We won't be eating it at all.

- Why are you cooking then?
- So you'll ask questions!

Here's what I was cooking:
they're fat balls.

- What are they for?
- Cartridges.

- Are you going hunting?
- Yes.

- With Uncle Jules?
- Of course.

- Do you have a rifle?
- Of course.

- Will you kill elephants?
- Come on, it's bedtime!

And rhinoceros?

And giraffes?

My elder brother's wedding present.

It's Spanish.
How about yours?

Father showed us a big yellow case
that he'd bought at the junk shop.

My father gave it to me.

Having turned this old gun
into a family heirloom,

he pulled an enormous rifle out
of the pitiful box.

- Good Lord, it's a harquebus!
- But it's accurate though.

It may well be.

Stay where you are,
don't move!

Two pounds too heavy,
but it feels just right in the hand.

Let's prepare the ammunition.

What will we find?

You have to pack the balls down.

- Firstly, little birds.
- Tiny little birds?

A nice little brochette
of figpecker, Augustine.

In any case,
I forbid you to kill canaries.

No canaries or parrots,
I promise!

As for wheatears or ortolans...

Ortolans are delicious.

This is the gauge for measuring.

It's graduated
with grams and decigrams.

Yes. What about thrushes?
Will you let us kill thrushes?

Yes!

But...

But there's much better.

In the ravines of Taoume
lives the king of game... Guess!

Elephants?

Paul!

Will you go to bed!
Go on!

Elephants, I don't believe so.

But I'm not absolutely certain!

So, Joseph...
Enough of this joking.

The rarest sort of game?

Partridge?

The most beautiful?

Red partridge?

The most wary?

- Hare.
- Hare?

Come on, Joseph!
What's the hunter's dream game?

Pheasant!

Well, Joseph?

I don't know.

Look!

I'm honking.

Well? Rare, beautiful, wary?

No, I don't know!

The rock partridge!

What's that?

See, this game is so rare,
even Joseph has never heard of it.

The rock partridge is a royal bird,
ladies and gents.

And it's more royal than partridge,
because it's huge and rutilant.

The rock partridge is almost
a capercaillie.

Uncle had talked knowledgeably
all evening,

while my father,
a school-certificate examiner,

a great bowls player,
had listened to him attentively,

with the air of an ignoramus,
like a pupil.

I was ashamed and humiliated.

What's up with Uncle Jules?
Is he scared stiff?

Let's check the shot.

Watch out!

Aim.

Father aimed.

If he missed the door,
it would be utter humiliation.

The bullet had hit the door.
I swelled with immense pride.

And I expected Uncle Jules
to express his admiration.

That isn't a gun, it's a sieve.

- He got it dead centre.
- Not a bad shot, but...

a partridge has nothing in common
with the door of a WC!

Now try the buckshot.

Here.

Put your hands over your ears.
Powder is no laughing matter.

You're going to hear a thunderclap.

And you,
hold your butt tight!

Go on! One, two...

- They didn't go through.
- If we had bullets...

It's a good job they didn't,
because through the door

we heard a feeble voice.

It said, somewhat uncertainly...

May I come out now?

It was the maid.

The dog...

The young partridge...

One step back,
the partridge flies overhead...

Raise, aim...

Whatever are they doing?

The partridge is 10cm away...

Bang! Bang! Boom! Boom!

- There. Have you got it?
- Yes.

- I meant your daddy.
- It doesn't seem easy.

Go on, Daddy.

So I hide behind the bush...

I raise my gun to my shoulder.
Is that it?

- No. Come here.
- It doesn't seem easy.

The dog...

The partridge...

The gun.
One step back, raise...

10 centimetres.
Bang! Bang!

I hide behind the bush...

- I raise my gun...
- Aim, don't fire.

The partridge is 10cm away...

Bang! Bang!

My father prepared for the hunt
with such humble application,

that I doubted his almightiness
for the first time ever.

He'd make me hide behind a bush,

I was told to keep my eyes shut.
There I'd wait, all ears,

attentive to the slightest crack.

Did you hear me?

So as not to upset him, I'd say...

No, Daddy.

And my anxiety simply grew,

for my father, a city child,

a prisoner of schools,
had never killed bird or beast.

I don't really like the idea
of Daddy going hunting.

Why?

Uncle Jules is always talking
and telling Daddy what to do!

That's so Daddy will learn.
He's doing it out of friendship.

No, he enjoys being better.
Daddy always beats him at bowls.

- But he's going to lose hunting.
- Jam?

It's silly to play games
you don't know how to play.

I never play football,
because my calves are too small.

But I do play marbles,
because I'm sure to win.

But, you silly goose,
hunting isn't a competition!

It's a stroll with a gun.

- And if Daddy kills some game...
- He'd better not!

Marcel!

It'd disgust me,
I'd stop loving him!

Marcel...

My word,
aren't they handsome!

It isn't a jacket,
it's 30 pockets sewn together!

Oh, my God! The bottles!

12km in the hills is quite a hike.

- I'll carry the lunch.
- What lunch?

Ours.

Wherever to?

The hunt.

- Marcel!
- I don't have a rifle.

So I'm carrying the lunch.
If it's in the game bag,

there won't be room for the game.
And when I walk,

I don't make a sound.
And you don't have a dog.

You'll never find the partridges.
But I'm small,

I can slip through the undergrowth.
And also...

Daddy... Daddy.

Come here.

Did you hear
what Uncle Jules just said?

We're going to be doing 12km.
Your legs are too little.

But I'm light,
I don't have a big bottom like Uncle!

It means I never get tired.

I don't take kindly to people
criticising my bottom.

If you don't take me with you,
I'll fall ill.

I already feel sick.

Marcel!

Marcel, calm down.

You talked about it too much!

Then Uncle Jules proved himself
to be kind and generous...

Without meaning to meddle,
in my opinion,

Marcel deserves to come hunting.

Jules!

He shall carry our lunch,
as he has offered to do.

He'll walk 10 paces behind us.
Alright, Joseph?

If you agree, so do I.

Uncle Jules!

- Calm down!
- Only...

- What?
- We mustn't tell Paul...

You intend to lie to your brother?

- No. But I won't say anything.
- What if he mentions it?

Then I'll lie to him.

It's for his own good.

He's right.
You've said something important.

It's alright to lie to children
when it's for their own good.

Don't forget that.

- I'm not hungry tonight.
- Paul!

I'm really sleepy.

I can be sick too!

Uncle Jules had mentioned
the legendary appetite of the hunter,

so I wolfed down my chop
and had seconds of potatoes.

What's got into you?

I'm working up strength
for tomorrow.

Why?

For the hunt.

It isn't tomorrow.
Tomorrow is Sunday.

Do you think killing animals
is allowed on the Lord's Day?

You're a family of heathens.

So this child believes the season

starts on a Sunday.
- Jules, don't take advantage.

When is it, then?

Monday, the day after tomorrow.

Daddy?

Tomorrow, there'll be apricot pie
with whipped cream.

Mummy, can I read for a bit?

They won't take you.

Where?

Hunting.

I never asked to go.

You're nothing but a big liar!

I heard everything you said,
and you cried.

And you promised to tell me lies.

And Uncle Jules is
an even bigger liar than you.

Why?

The hunting season starts tomorrow,
I know it does.

Mummy made tomato omelette,
and she wrapped it up

with a big sausage, raw chops,

some bread and wine.
Goodnight!

Was it possible?

Of course, there was the awful liar
from Borely Park...

But was Daddy the accomplice
to a plot against his boy?

And Mummy?

I was excluded from their party.

I would go along,
whether they liked it or not.

Paul, are you asleep?

I couldn't fall asleep,
or they would leave without me.

Don't fall asleep...
Keep your eyes open...

Don't fall asleep...

Marcel...

Marcel, are you asleep?

Listen,
they're going without you.

"Injured boar, up a tree you soar!"

I'm going.

And Mummy?

"My darling mummy,

"they decided to take me after all.
Don't you worry.

"Save me some whipped cream.
Two thousand kisses."

I realized the hunt had begun.
I followed Jules's advice

about how to avoid the charge
of an injured boar.

Seeing nothing,
I feared it was attacking Daddy.

I prayed to God, if He existed,
to send it in Uncle's direction.

He believed in Heaven
and would thus die more willingly.

I got it!

A handsome blackbird!

I took counsel with myself.

If I continued along the crest,

I could see without being seen.

What is it?

A woodcock.
Put it in your game bag.

And regain your position.

Go on!

Reload!

Uncle Jules had just confirmed

the exactness of his tales.
It was high time

Joseph thought about catching up.

It was a partridge!

A whole covey! I decided to beat them
towards the hunters.

Go on!

I already told you!
After each shot, reload immediately.

Always reload when you've fired,
for God's sake!

And the partridge?

I was devastated by our failure.

It was tragically comic.

Well, see if the barrel is blocked!

Was Father going to go home
empty-handed,

while Uncle Jules's bag bulged
with partridges and hares?

Ah no! It would not be!

I'd send so many birds his way
that he'd eventually kill one.

What should I do?
Ought I to simply go home?

And abandon Joseph,

with his ridiculous rifle
and his glasses,

to take on the king of hunters alone?

They had gone around the peak,

so I would meet them
if I walked straight ahead.

To reach them, I was prepared
to tackle these lonely heights.

Daddy...

I had to face the facts:
I was utterly lost.

I thought of Tom Thumb,

the brilliant inventor
of the pre-made trail.

It was too late to imitate him.

I listened to the hill for ages,
but heard nothing but silence.

Hey! Don't touch folk's snares,
they're sacred!

- I wanted to look at the bird.
- It's a bedouine.

- Are you a snare thief?
- No.

- What's in your bag?
- Nothing.

- What are you doing here?
- Walking.

- On your own?
- Yes.

- No. With my father and my uncle.
- Where are they?

- Over there.
- Admit you're lost.

No! Well, yes, a bit.

- You're with the hunters.
- Have you seen them?

- A beret and a cap.
- Yes!

They're over there,
equipped as if they were off to war.

They're here for the opening.

The idiots!

When I go hunting,
I never ask permission.

No-one says anything?

Like who?

Everyone does it round here.

The open season?
That's a thing for city folks!

Go on, go find them.
They're a long way off though.

That's OK.
I'm not tired.

You're sure?

- If not, I can take you back.
- No. I can manage.

As you like. So long.

- Hey!
- What?

My name's Marcel.

And you?

Lili. Lili des Bellons.

I thought that this vulture or condor

could see my father and my uncle
grilling their chops.

Because the sun was at its height.

I went in the direction
Lili had shown me,

but I noticed to my horror

that the bird was now circling
right over my head.

My savage cry did not intimidate
this devourer of human flesh.

Fearing he'd put my eyes out,
I looked around

for a refuge.

Daddy!

The shepherd's hut reminded me
of my situation.

I'm lost, but for now, at least,
no-one is worrying about me.

The hunters think I'm at home,
and Augustine that I'm with them.

But when they get home,
it'll be a disaster!

Mummy might even faint.

In any case,
she'll certainly weep.

And so they'll start looking for me.

They'll alert the peasants,
the gendarmes.

At nightfall,
I might see the expedition's torches.

- I'd shout with all my might.
- Help!

But they wouldn't hear me.

And the rescuers would walk away,
without ever seeing me,

just like the boat off
Robinson Crusoe's island.

Dying or sleeping,
what was the difference?

Daddy! Uncle Jules!

I soon spotted what seemed to be
the edge of a small valley.

Perhaps it was the one
from this morning.

I leapt for joy,
when all of a sudden...

I thought it was my blood,
and was about to cry

when I noticed the birds
were covered with blood.

They were partridges alright,
but they were surprisingly heavy.

My heart leapt in my chest.

Royal partridges!

As if you'd get a right-and-left!
They were heading my way!

- I saw feathers fly!
- Oh, so did I!

They were carrying the partridges
away at 60kmph!

They must be having a right laugh!

He killed them!

He killed them!
He killed them both!

And clenching the 4 golden wings,
my bloody little fists

raised my father's glory up
to the sky,

as the sun set opposite me.

"Rock... Rock partridge!

"A sort of red partridge
to be found in pine forests."

Is that all?
What about their habits, origins...

What are you doing?

- I'm going to pluck them.
- Silly goose!

They're not poultry,
they're game birds!

It would be a crime
to eat them so soon.

- They look ready to me.
- No, believe me.

You should never miss
an opportunity to educate yourself.

I'm sure Marcel wants to know
about their origins.

We shall ask the committee
to give us their expert opinion.

In the village, they're bound to know
more than most naturalists.

Do you need your gun?

You never know!
Let's go, tiddler.

Holy Mary!

Who sold you those?

They only cost me two gunshots!

A right-and-left?

- Two rock partridges!
- That's right!

Beginner's luck!

- Where d'you bag them?
- In the Vallon de Lancelot.

I'm amazed you found them!

Even when dead in mid-air,
those things fly another 600 metres.

The boy was up on the ridge,
he saw them fall.

Well done, sonny!

When you don't have a dog,
you need children!

Who sold you those?

They only cost me two gunshots!

One weighs 1260 grams...

And the other, 1530 grams.

Oh, royal partridges!

- Was Saint Hubert with you?
- Him and my 12 bore.

You've got an old male
and a two-year-old hen there.

They're not Caccabis Rufa.

They're Caccabis Saxatilis.

And in good old French?

Sorry. The rock partridge,
or the Greek partridge.

I see your parish extends
to winged creatures.

Angels have wings too, sir.

The priest explained that
its Provencal name meant "lock",

and that it got its name
from its peculiar squeaking cry.

You know all about partridges now!
Are you satisfied?

Yes, Daddy.
I reckon we can eat them now.

I should like to have a souvenir
of your admirable feat, sir.

A stroke of luck doesn't merit
such a great honour.

Of course it does!
Pose for the camera.

At that instant, I thought

of Mr Arnaud who'd posed
with his scorpion fish.

Being photographed with a fish,
my father had said,

is terribly undignified!

Vanity...

Don't move...

One, two, three... Excellent!

Dinner's ready!

It's delicious.

Listen, a skylark.

Are you sure it isn't a figpecker?

- No. It's Lili.
- Lili?

We have company.

You know him!

I know you too.

You're the 12 bore.
You bagged the rock partridges.

- Would you like a cutlet?
- No. I've brought my own grub.

- Oh! You're a real poacher!
- No. I'm from Les Bellons.

What does that mean?

It means the hill is the property
of the people round here.

So it means we aren't poachers!

This area seems to be short

of springs.
You know everything,

apart from the well,
do you know any others?

I know seven.

Seven? Where are they?

It's forbidden to say.

Why?

You mustn't reveal them to anyone.

Even me?

I'd like to, but it's forbidden,
even within families.

My granddad knew about one,
but he never told anyone.

How do you know, then?

When we used to plough the field
over in Passe-Temps,

every day at noon,
just before lunch,

Granddad would say,
"Don't look where I'm going."

And off he'd go.

You didn't look?

Not likely! He'd have killed us!

He would come back with icy water.

But you never saw anything?

Apparently, on his death bed,
he tried to share the secret.

He called my father and said...

"The spring, the spring..."
And then he died!

He'd waited too long.
Now it's a lost spring.

What a silly waste!

Maybe it's a source of water
for all the birds though.

I'm hurrying.
The storm's on its way.

The storm? It won't rain.
This is perfect hunting weather.

If he were to drink all the rain,
he'd be pissing till Christmas!

So long!

So long.

- Marcel, are you coming?
- No. Go without me.

I'll see you back at the house.

That's a darnagaz.
The city folk call it a crossbill,

but we don't,
because it's a stupid bird.

- What's that?
- Aludes.

Listen, the storm.
Come on!

We just have time.

Perhaps we should head back.

No. I know a place we can shelter,
where we'll see everything.

For a townie,
you manage pretty well.

Let the storm begin!

It's beautiful...

But it's stupid!

Bend down
and pick up some big stones.

Turn round very slowly.

- Is it a vampire?
- No. It's the grand duke.

The great owl, we call it.

If it attacks us,
watch out for your eyes.

Let's go.
It's better to be wet than blind.

- We're lost!
- No. Not if you stay with me.

Here, give me your hand.

Your house is over there.

- Where?
- Over there!

Don't you worry, missus.
My Lili will bring him home.

Here they are!

See they're not lost!

My God!

They're soaking wet!

As if they'd fallen in the sea!

Take a towel!

Children aren't afraid of water!

They're as red as rosehips.

Rosehips!

It's died down.
Come on, Lili, hurry up!

May I keep the outfit, madame?

Shame on you!

You'll have to ask Marcel.

You can have it, Lili.

Thank you.

Lili knew everything.
All about the weather, the springs.

He'd reveal them
in exchange for oaths:

Cross my heart and hope to die.

He knew of gullies where
there were mushrooms, wild lettuce,

umbrella pines, sloes, arbutus.

He even knew of a few vines,

ripening in the solitude,
whose fruit was sour but delicious.

A dry branch of clematis,
cut into pieces,

could be smoked like a cigar.

In exchange for so many secrets,
I told him about the city.

The big department stores,
the Christmas toy displays...

The torchlight processions
on Bastille Day...

And Magic City,
where I'd ridden the rollercoaster.

I imitated its rattling wheels,

the lady passengers' shrill cries,
and Lili cried with me.

Look, a jackdaw.
It's for you.

Thank you.

We should catch a few thrushes.

Because it's autumn today.

- It's autumn?
- What of it?

As one day had faded into another,
in this region of Provence,

time seemed to have stood still.
The summer hadn't aged a jot.

Autumn...

Make the most of this evening.
We'll be packing tomorrow.

- What are you saying?
- The holidays are over.

Over? When?

- Mummy!
- What's the matter?

We're off the day after tomorrow.
It's Friday.

It was Friday!
And we're off Sunday morning.

Marcel! Come now,
you know school starts Monday.

It's going to be
a very important year for you.

You're to take the scholarship exam
to get into the lycee, in July.

Where you'll learn Latin.

I'm sure it'll fascinate you.

The holidays were over.
I didn't want them to see me cry.

- The first to open the shutters!
- You do it.

Do you know we're leaving?
There'll be no more hunting.

No more cicadas.

They're all dead anyhow.

Are you happy
the holidays are over?

Yes. And at home,
I've got my box of soldiers.

So why were you crying last night?

I don't know.

They can go, I'm staying here!

What'll you do?

Simple, I'll pack my bags tonight,

and I'll go hide in the cave,
the one we hid in.

The great owl's cave?
You'd do that?

- You don't know me!
- I'd like you to stay.

But how will you live in the hills?

- I'll be a hermit.
- Termite?

No. Hermit. They're people
who retire from the world to think.

How do they eat?

Some of them never eat at all.

I'll look for wild asparagus,
snails, mushrooms.

Why I'll even plant chickpeas!

- Do you know how to cook them?
- I'll learn.

Say, if you're up there,
I'll make twice as many snares.

I'll bring half of them home,
and we'll sell the rest.

- And snails at the market.
- And fennel.

The herbalist pays 3 sous a kilo.

With all the money,
we'll buy some rabbit snares.

A hare will fetch at least 5 francs.

Golly, at this rate,
I'll become a millionaire!

- What's the point of that?
- You have loads of money.

So what!
You can't eat 10 chops per meal.

As my granddad used to say,
you'll only have one arsehole...

This was to be my last evening,
my last moments with my family.

I was about to feel sad,

when...
- It may be a vice,

but I can't wait to get back
to my kids, my blackboard.

What did the rock partridges mean
to this maniac?

I could see he was nailing down
the holidays' coffin,

that nothing could change that.

Daddy...

What I've missed the most here

is gas.

Honestly, I've been longing to leave
because of the gas.

Aunt Rose...

What I've missed most
is comfortable water-closets.

Without ants, without spiders,
but equipped with a flush.

So that's what the big-bottomed
wine drinker thought!

I felt utter indignation,
but I noted with immense pride

that Mother did not insult
my beloved hills.

I decided only she would have
a farewell kiss.

"My dear daddy, my dear mummy,

"Do not worry.

"I have found my vocation:
to be a hermit.

"For my schooling, it's too late,
because I've given up the idea.

"My happiness lies in adventure.

"There's no danger, I've taken
two Rhone Factory aspirins.

"Don't panick.

"Paul will be a bit jealous.

"Never mind, kiss him from me.

"Dear Daddy,
take care of Mummy's health.

"I shall think of her every night.
I kiss you both tenderly,

"especially my beloved mummy.

"Your son Marcel,
the hermitt of the hills.

"PS: Don't look for me,
you won't find me."

I didn't think you'd do it.

I'd made my mind up.

You're the greatest!

I did my best to look great,
without adding anything.

- What's that?
- A night sound.

Mind you,
it's always a bit scary.

- What's that?
- A fox.

Warning his vixen that he's beating
a few animals towards her.

- What is it?
- You're definitely the greatest.

You're one of a kind.
You're the hermit of the hills.

This stunned admiration
suddenly seemed rather worrying.

And I had to make a real effort
to remain great.

I was about to succeed, when...

- We've forgotten something.
- What?

And I can't believe
that we've forgotten it.

I should've thought of it,
and you too.

What are you talking about?

The great owl.

- The grand duke?
- Yes.

The one from last time.

I bet you 12 snares,
his female lives there with him.

We were nearing the cave, and
I was overwhelmed by the news.

However great we are,
sometimes, fate betrays us.

At night,
an owl is worse than an eagle.

- When there's 2 of them...
- There's 2 of us too.

Two great owls...
I saw them flying overhead.

I was all the more great

since I decided to beat a retreat
when the time came.

Here's the spring.
This is where you'll come to drink.

It never dries up.

It provides 10 litres a day.

I suddenly found the inspiration
I had been looking for.

You're joking!

Not at all. Maybe even 15.

What'll I do
with 15 litres of water?

- You won't drink it all?
- What about washing?

A handful's enough for that.

But I need to soap myself
from head to toe!

Why? Are you sick?

No, I'm from the city, I'm full
of germs, I have to watch out.

- What are germs?
- A sort of minuscule flea.

If I don't soap myself every day,
they'll eat me,

and you'll find me dead
in the cave.

- That'd be bad.
- It's your fault!

Without your promise of water,
I'd never have attempted this!

I didn't know.
I don't have any germs.

I don't even know the word
in patois.

My fear of the great owls
gave way to dread:

Father had found the letter,
and had told Mother about it.

The light's on.

They must be dressing.

Perhaps they haven't noticed.

Go on, climb up, Marcel!

Go on, get a move on, Marcel!
Hurry!

Generous old Uncle Jules
had insisted on hiring a carriage.

There was no question
of walking down with our luggage.

Marcel!
Come and have your breakfast.

- No. I'm not hungry.
- Marcel...

- Mummy, I...
- Go on, eat.

You have to eat something.
We've a long journey ahead of us.

Come on, Marcel, you're not a baby.

Life is just about having fun.

You know, I'd love to stay here
and live on the hillside, too.

Even in a cave.

That's right.
Even all alone, like a hermit.

The reference to hermits struck me,

but it was a natural idea,
since I had had it myself.

You'll have to work hard
on your spelling this year.

He writes "panic" with a K.

And I bet you can't spell "hermit".

I felt myself turning red,
but I chased my anxiety away.

After all,
I'd found the letter in its place.

So you'll have to work very hard.

But if you're serious,
if you make progress,

then we'll come back here
on holiday.

Do you mean it?

- That'll depend on you.
- Mummy...

- So you're returning to your city?
- We'll write.

Yes. But why didn't
we meet each other sooner?

And why is the best
always at the end?

Marcel, come on!

- Make sure you lock the door.
- There's not much worth stealing.

Come on, tiddler, in the carriage!
So long, young Lili!

Make sure you get your certificate,
an educated peasant is worth 3!

So long, Marcel.

So long.

Gee up!

I was being taken away
from my home,

and drops of rain rolled down
my face like tears.

Wait!

Wait, sir!

- A souvenir of your holiday.
- Why thank you!

- Goodbye, Father!
- May God be with you!

Well I never!

- It's lovely!
- It looks so much like you!

It's a fine print.

It's silver citrate paper,
it darkens in the light.

That's right!
The lighting is excellent.

But the way the light's falling,
my nose looks long.

No, I don't think so.

The focusing is perfect.
That priest knows his stuff!

Since we have 3 prints,
I'll send one of them to Grandpa

so he can see how Marcel
has grown.

He was very proud of his feat.

He'd send one photo to Grandpa

and show the other
to the entire school, like Mr Arnaud.

I had surprised my dear superman
in a blatant act of humanity,

and I felt I loved him
all the more for it.

And clenching the 4 golden wings,
my bloody little fists

raised my father's glory up
to the sky,

as the sun set opposite me.

Subtitles by Susannah Rooke
for TELETOTA