Don't Look Down (2019) - full transcript

DON'T LOOK DOWN

Dead!

Thanks.

I'll have a drink.

I needed that.

The neighbor hates noise.

Relax, Nathan. It's...

I'm Louis.

I'm Nathan.

Whatever.

Veronika.



Lawrence.

And me?

- Mario.
- Rius!

Why Mario? I'm not a plumber.

It's Marius.

After all that, I'm hungry.

Good idea. I feel faint.

I have what we need.

Nathan, there are nuts
in the drawer there.

And olives in the fridge.

Can we help?

Slice this.

Use the table.

If I eat, I'll puke.



Don't stop. Slice.

I thought I could protect myself.

Even when you realized?

- Or felt it?
- Sensed it?

Sometimes I still believe.

But I'm happy to be here.

We'll turn the page.
I like meeting people.

We have something in common.

In common?

I'm not sure you can say that.

It means we knew about each other.

Not necessarily.
And we knew.

Not especially.

The perfect victim.

- You suspected it?
- Yes, but all the same.

Being unfaithful is standard.
It's no reason to...

Why did you think
you could protect yourself?

I don't know...
Too many differences.

Ideological differences and even...

I don't know,
artistic differences.

Different tastes,
different opinions.

It's stupid really.

Why have sex with near strangers?

We had sex with him?
You had sex?

What do you think?
I'm a girl not a nun.

And back then, he...

Only an asshole would go through that
without getting laid.

I must be an asshole.

I guess.

I regret it. I shouldn't have.

Lawrence is the only one of us
with any sense.

Ever noticed he never shows his teeth?

I mean, when he smiles, he does this...

He moves his lips
but you never see his teeth.

He's supposed to be smiling.

But if you don't know, or you cover
the top of his face, what do you see?

A frown. He's all tense.

The big toothy smile
that says you're happy and relaxed...

Never.

It's a tight-lipped smile.

A fake smile that hides something.

That's not a smile.

A smile leaves you exposed.
It says you're relaxed, opening up.

He holds back. He's tense.

I don't know how I fell for it.

- It shows.
- But he's not smiling there.

- That's what I said.
- He's not smiling.

No, he's not smiling.

Lawrence?

He's not smiling.

I know he's smiling

without smiling.
You can't see it because it's fake.

But in that photo he's smiling.
I know, I took the photo.

I know he was smiling
or pretending to smile.

Anyway, I guess I fell for it.

And yet,

a guy who looks at a Soulages
and all he sees is a black mark,

that creates a distance, right?

It protects you.

It should protect you.

- And he's right-wing.
- Right-wing?

He voted for Macron.

Yeah, right-wing.

What sort of right-wing?

As in de Villiers.

Motherfucker!

Don't say that.
It disrespects women.

You prefer cocksucker?

Admit it,
cocksucker is an insult that suits him.

That's homophobic.

- And not true in his case.
- As you know,

I can't weigh in on this.
Ask Nathan.

All I can say is he never minded
a little finger up the ass.

Or more!

It's horrible the way
he organized our suffering.

The way he worked it all out.

No, I'm wrong.

It couldn't have been calculated,
not at first.

Even for a sick mind like his,
it's impossible.

We saw a movie.

And afterwards, like always...

Not always, but it was often like that,

he said he had something to do.

I was disappointed.

I was often disappointed
but we all have things to do.

So I said, oh well.
And to put on a brave face.

That's the best way to put it:
a brave face...

I said I had things to do as well.

I had to go shopping for food,
do the housework. Total bullshit.

Then without even thinking about it,
he said

he wasn't busy after all
and he'd come shopping with me.

I admit I thought it was weird.

I suggested we do something else
since he was free.

But no,

he insisted.

Maybe it was stupid of me
but I agreed.

I told myself it was better than nothing

and it was cute that he'd come along.

Before I knew it, it was a habit.

Not every time, of course. But often,

really often, he'd come shopping with me.

I could see it was weird. He came back
to help me put things away, then left.

But it meant
spending some time with him

and it was better than nothing.

Can you believe it?
Better than nothing!

I was so hooked that I thought...

No, I didn't think, I felt it.

If I'd spelled it out,
I'd have said stop.

Stop right away, because

"better than nothing" is just so lame.

We kept doing that for a long while

and one day, at the check-out,
he wanted to pay.

I didn't get it.

He never ate at my place.
There was no reason for him to pay.

So of course, I refused.
And then...

I understood.

I played it all back in my head.

I saw him share looks of complicity
with other couples we came across,

as if we were just like them: a couple

out doing the shopping,
looking like a couple.

In the aisles,
he'd ask if I liked this or that.

He even told me what he liked.

We chose together.

There were even things
I bought that I didn't like,

that I bought because he liked them.

Every time, without noticing
or thinking about it.

He never came to eat at my place
and I knew he'd never come.

He gave me the illusion, that's it.

The illusion we were a couple
while we shopped.

The rest of the time,
I lived with these things for him.

He was never there.

It was like we'd broken up
and I was still living there

among the signs of a shared past.

And it hurt.

Because it did hurt.

And that...

I'm sure he knew and got off on it.

Louis, can we have something to eat?

I need to eat.
We can call out.

No, we can make pasta,
and even an apple tart.

An apple tart!
I like arranging the apples.

Suit you?

Everything suits me.

Let's start with the tart.
I takes longer.

Nathan?
Are you happy with pasta?

Poke it in.

Right through.

Now turn it.

- Not bad!
- Keep turning.

Then you pull it off.

Gently.

Amazing.

Cut it in half
and you get perfect slices.

I thought bakers
spent all day peeling and slicing.

It's a let-down.

My recipe has cream and parmesan.
Nobody's lactose-intolerant?

Veronika?

She said, "everything suits me."

"Everything suits me!"

If she told him that,
no wonder she got hurt.

You didn't?

I never asked for it.

You're stronger than us?

I never said that,
but I recovered better.

Why are you here?
Watching the silly girls?

Guys, relax!

I'm just saying.

I'm here... because he deserves it.

I'm not getting revenge or anything.

He's gluten-intolerant, isn't he?

No way, it's lactose.
It's torture! I love cheese.

I've seen him gulp down milkshakes,
and they make me sick.

It's dried fruit.

Not at all. It's seafood.

Sorry, it's funny.
How can anyone be so twisted?

Twisted?

- Crazy.
- Perverse.

Manipulating.

You're over-simplifying.
He's sick.

You're here to cure him?

No, but I'm not against revenge.

It's not his smile that's the problem.
I don't agree with Veronika.

In the photo she showed us,
he wasn't smiling. He just wasn't.

What photo?

Veronika thinks he's smiling.
But since he's not smiling,

then obviously...

Can I do anything else?

No, nothing.

But stay with me.
I like you near me.

Can you pour me a drink?

Can you do something for me, too?

Take a saucepan from the drawer.

Add about 20 grams of butter

and sugar and heat it up.

Fine.

It's the eyes.

It's true, the way he looks...

It's not the way he looks.

I mean his eyes, just the eyes.

The pupils, to be precise.

Come here.

Look.

No, really look. Look at my pupils.

You're not looking. Go on, be daring.

That's why you didn't see it with him.

See what?

See my pupils?

See them clearly?

Are they dilated?

I don't know how they were before.

No, they're not dilated.
You know why?

Because I guess I don't
get a kick out of looking at you.

A real kick.

When you like looking at someone,

your pupils dilate.

It's a reflex.

Like an erection of the eyes.

So, no dilation.

And now, if I squeeze harder?

My eyes? My pupils?

Dilated.

Yeah, exactly.

Because I was getting my kicks: QED.

It's scientific.

When you get your kicks,
your pupils dilate.

When it's dark, too.

You can tell the difference.
Not with him.

He looks at you: nothing.
No dilation.

How do you turn on the stove?

You're weird.

I never check out a guy's pupils.
It's creepy.

You should.

If you saw that,

why get hooked?

I didn't see it straight off.

When I understood, I looked harder.

I saw his pupils dilate
when I was hurting.

When I hurt,
when he made me suffer,

then he was like a cat.

Or like that snake.

Kaa, from The Jungle Book?

Less psychedelic than that.

Just boom.

A dilation.

Motherfucker! Cut it out!

What?
And don't say motherfucker.

Stop moving the slices.
It's unbearable!

They're just apples.

- It's a reflex.
- Fuck your reflexes!

Sorry, I'll stop.

Yeah, stop.

I told you I like doing it.

It pisses me off when you move them.

- I didn't know you cared.
- You should have felt it.

For 10 minutes I've wanted to kill you.

Okay, I'm done.

Until it bleeds.

With my nails first.

Slowly.

Like this.

The nipples, especially.

All around them.

Then inside the thighs
because it's so soft.

It starts bleeding a little.

And I bite, too. Gently at first.

The earlobe.

The fat under the chin.

I can taste blood.

Then I start on the penis.

Is he hard?

He's not allowed
and it hurts too much.

After a certain point you can't get hard.

I'm not so sure.

Look at me.

Dilated! Very dilated.

She's not lying about her fantasy.

Why would I lie? It turns me on
but it doesn't mean I'd do it.

I didn't but I could have.

Don't laugh.

It would be serving a meal naked
to strangers.

Too bad you know us all now.

Of course I'd wear a hood.

You'd be ashamed?

It's about anonymity.
So I'd be no more than a body.

- Can the guests touch you?
- No.

You can hang napkins on your hard-on.

Have you ever seen a butler
with a hard-on?

The aim is to stay dignified
whatever happens.

You're naked
but they all act like it's normal.

I walk around naked, serving them.

They ignore the flunkey.

You like being humiliated?

I see you coming.

I never liked the way he humiliated me.

It's different.

In my fantasy, it's straight humiliation.
I chose and accepted it.

It's not insidious and sneaky.

What's the opposite of humiliation?

Veneration?

- Flattery?
- Respect?

Plain old love in his case?

Yeah, love.

I wonder if I believed in his love.

I must have
to be strung along like that.

He just used me.

I liked him using me.

He does it well.

How can you make someone accept that?

I almost admire him.

If I were more like him,
life would be easier.

That's my story.
I'm not ashamed anymore.

It's no more ridiculous than yours.

My story's not ridiculous.

Take a step back.

The illusion of the perfect couple
going shopping is ridiculous.

He turns ridiculous
into an instrument of torture.

Just tell us.
Drop the bullshit.

It's not unlike my fantasy.

He used me to pick up another guy.

Who?

Martin.

I was the bait.

I was stupid and I didn't get it.

We went out a lot.

He was reserved,
not affectionate, you know?

Maybe not.

We all knew someone different.

In a bar, if I wanted to kiss him
or just show some affection,

he'd push me away.

Just like he didn't want it
to happen in public.

I never kiss a guy in public.

Even in a sex club?

That's not exactly public.

But in a bar, for example, never.

I love stroking my man's ass
in the street.

So what if I'm an exhibitionist?

Kissing is one thing,

but holding hands,

a little cuddle or giving a gift...

Okay, I'm sentimental.

You use nicknames?
Sweetie, cutie pie?

Not so corny.
I don't see the problem.

What did you call him?

Kitty.

Sometimes Tiger.

Kitty!

You're kidding?

You're kidding.

Seriously?

No way.

I bet it's true.

It's true.

So Kitty...

didn't like public affection.
But we had sex.

We got it.

And in bed,
he didn't hold back on affection.

Later, I thought sex

was how he exercised power over me.

But in public,
I always felt I was with a stranger.

Except when Martin was there.

I didn't realize at first.
Some nights,

for no reason,
he was outgoing, even over-the-top.

And then one night, he let it show.

He was tense. We went from bar to bar.
He hated them all.

Then we arrived at The Duplex
and he changed completely.

He was in a good mood.
I could kiss him.

I don't know.
We went over to Martin

and I got it.

It was all for Martin.
He was trying to pick up Martin.

It was clear as day.

I said it couldn't be.
It was too obvious.

But that was it.

I don't get the strategy.

I'm cute.

When he let me, I was tender.
I wanted him.

Martin saw someone wanted him.

Desire feeds desire.

Martin saw he was desirable
and slept with hot guys.

I can buy that.

So you saw you had to break away?

No, that's what's so pathetic.

I didn't pull out.
I acted like I didn't know.

I started hunting out Martin,

so he'd be nice to me.

So you're the perverse one.

How can you say that?
You don't get it.

It's beautiful.
It's such a sad story.

Self-sacrifice in the name of love.
It's romantic, not perverse.

I appreciate it, Louis.

But it's just lame and pathetic.

I let it slide because I'm a coward

and I wanted him to love me.

I knew he didn't but I didn't care.

I bet his pupils dilated
and he smiled for real.

I never checked.

At least he never slept with Martin,
as far as I know.

You're more affected than you say.

Even if it's true, I don't care.

I hate self-pity.

But you're telling us.

I'm playing the game.
It does me good.

Did you sleep with Martin?

Why would I do that?

To piss him off.

I'm not that perverse.

I would have.

That depends on Martin.

Worth a try.

Not me. Even if I love that name.

On the subject of sex, Nathan,
we need you to weigh in.

Is he a cocksucker or not?

Who?

I don't use insults like that,
even for him.

Not as a metaphor.

Both ways, right?

I don't know.

You never slept with him?

No.

Then what are you doing here?

What do you mean?
You need to have sex to be in love?

Sorry,

but you're caricature queens.
It's all about ass!

For me, it's cock.

Just what a queen would say.

Unlike you,

I'm not cock-obsessed.

Is that really so lame?

Not judging guys by their cocks?

Sex or no sex, I went through hell.

Don't you get it?

Why are you so worked up?

I'm sure we all understand.

Tell us, we'll see.

Not now.

Your fantasy.

It's a play.

At the Odeon theater

in a huge hall full of people.

Italian-style.
Or it could be a circus.

They undress me, in front of everyone.

Then they tie me up, on a wheel.

Everyone can see my dick showing.

Then they hit me.

They whip me.

It's in the play so it's normal,
just part of the show.

No one knows
they're hitting me for real,

at least at first.

Slowly, people realize.

They don't say anything.
It's a show.

You can't tell fiction from real life.

I know they won't dare stop
the torture scene.

Even if it goes too far.

You don't disrupt a performance.

There's cheese in the fridge.

Don't forget the tart.

Mine's lame in comparison.

I'm in a sex club

and I take on everyone.

Even the old and ugly ones.

That's not lame, it's sweet.

It's nice.

When we're old,
we'll help fulfill your fantasy.

Yeah but it's just a fantasy.

It makes me sick.

When you imagine it, you get hard?

Yeah.

Not sick?

Yes.

But only when you imagine it cold.

Biting someone's earlobe is gross

except in my fantasy.

No, it really makes me sick.

You can't be grossed out
by your own fantasy.

Sure you can.

You get hard and feel sick?

You get hard with a hood on.

Fantasies are ridiculous or violent
seen from the outside.

When you're inside, it's really hot.

What do you know?
You're really a cannibal?

No, but other things.

Like what?

I don't know. I can imagine...

Drinking piss or eating shit.

It's gross from the outside.

A facial ejaculation's the same.

You're unhinged.

We said we wouldn't judge.

I'm not. It's an observation.

"Unhinged" is judgmental.

Now what?

I get spanked?

Forget it, I don't care.

I'll get the cheese.
I hope it stinks.

You know, Nathan,

I don't think you know what a fantasy is.

You need to work on it.

You suffered more than any of us.

You can spank me.

Sounds fun
but it's not why we're here.

Another time.

Marius.

- What are you doing?
- I'm listening.

That stinks.

I can't hear anything anyway.

What are they up to?

- We said...
- Fuck you and your rules!

We made them together.

- I'll talk.
- We don't want to know.

You haven't been in.
What would you tell?

What I want to do.
Is it against the rules?

I don't know.

I really don't know.

Maybe that's what's happening.

Louis doesn't know either.

He's sitting there,
waiting for inspiration.

Or he never meant to.
He's just pretending.

He locked himself in there
but he's faking.

Maybe I'd do the same.

I'd go in, I'd wait
and take my turn sitting down.

He'd look at me, too.

I'd see a question in his eyes.

Or even fear.
Maybe he'd be scared.

Or he'd be so sure of his power,
he'd look at me.

He'd wait for me to leave.

I'd want to do something,

to hit him or tear off some skin.

But I wouldn't.

Maybe that would hurt him the most.

Maybe we'll all do nothing.

It's not the rules.
There's just nothing to tell.

Maybe it's another sick game.

What if he set this up?

So far, this hasn't exactly set me free.

You haven't been in.

What do you think?

It's not in his eyes.

At least that's not where
it shows the most.

It's in his body.
In the way he holds himself.

There's a sort of stiffness.

Always holding himself
straighter than you.

Like he's in the military.

The chin, too. Always held up.

I don't know...

I can feel it.
I'm trying to visualize it.

And the eyebrow raised a little.

When I remember us together,

I always felt I was next to a giant.

He's no bigger than me, is he?

No, he's not.
But he seems bigger.

- He spoke too loud...
- He whispered.

With me, he whispered.
I had to lean in.

He yells. Nathan's right. Marius?

He yells.

With me, I swear, he whispered.

Different strategy.
But you see what I mean?

Okay maybe.
If I try, I can almost see him.

I can't hear you.

What did you say?

Nothing.
You came. That's all I wanted.

QED again.
Dilated pupils, whispering... it works.

How about some dessert?

What about Louis?

There are five of us. Do five slices.

Five?

It's too complicated. I'll cut six...

- No, that leaves a slice.
- For the poor man.

The dead man.

Put the knife down, Louis.

No way.

We're not leaving a slice,
like we're expecting a guest.

You're mental.

I'll cut up the sixth slice.

We'll give it away
to some cute neighbor.

Stop, you'll hurt yourself!

It's bad luck.

We can cut it into 5, 10 or 15 but not 6!

He gets nothing!

We need him out of our lives.
Don't invite him back in.

Five slices.
Too bad if they're unequal.

There's an app for this.

I was at my niece's third birthday.

Slice size was life or death.

So we found an app.
You enter the number of slices,

aim at the cake and follow the lines.
Want me to find it?

Forget it. I'll do it.
It's basic trigonometry.

You take the value of the cosine
based on the angle.

Cut it into 5 and each angle is 72°

because 360 divided by 5 is 72.

So the cosine of 72

is about 0.3.

This line is my X-axis.

The cosine is the orthogonal projection
from a point on that axis.

The cosine is 0.3
so it's one third of this line.

So from there,

I turn it.

And do the same for the other slices.

Easy.

What if you cut it into 7?

An angle between 51 and 52°

so the cosine is about 0.6,
more or less.

And 11?

An angle of almost 33°

for a cosine of...

about 0.84

or 0.85 but I'd need to concentrate.

You're a super nerd?

Or a math teacher?

It's in my blood.
A sub-continental thing.

We're good at math.

You don't want to tell us.

- Happy, Nathan?
- Relieved.

And impressed.

Tart, anyone?

Veronika?

I'm not superstitious.

I believe sometimes we do things,
then give them a meaning.

Unconsciously.

We can't imagine things mean nothing,

so we invent meaning.

If we'd cut 6 slices...

I don't know.

His thing with me was The Impact,

or The Bunker,

or wherever people fuck.

The sauna, too.

I took so long to work it out.

We only made love there.

Never in a bed,
or where fucking means something.

Like a commitment.

At night, whenever he felt like it,
we'd end up in a sex club.

I went along with it because

I wanted him.

I think he could fuck me there

because I was like anyone else,
like a stranger.

It wasn't a game we set up together.
It was just for him.

I got caught up in it.

I loved him more and more.

It just got worse.
I saw nothing else was happening.

I kept wanting to break up.

I kept coming back,
because when I fucked him,

it was just so good.

Yeah, sure!

He got off on showing
I was only for him.

He pushed away guys
who wanted to join us.

He wasn't that nice about it.

I was embarrassed.

And flattered, too.

Then nothing.

He always said he hated sex clubs,

he never went there.

Do you go?

It's not my thing.

Exactly.

He said what you wanted to hear.
So you'd trust him.

He is us.

Thanks anyway.

He's a chameleon with no personality.

He changes to suit his victim.

He's us and nothing else.

He's our weakness, our pain.

He's our fragility.
Without us, he's nothing.

Thanks for that revelation, Nathan.

I'm going to drown it in alcohol.

I hate to imagine myself in that room.

There's nothing in that room.

Unless we go in.

Crazy motherfucker.

Sorry, Louis.

Now I'm just like him.

I'm not sincere anymore.

I want to get laid.

I get laid.

But I can't commit.

I hurt people.

Do you like hurting people?

If you don't like it, you're not him.

You're just his victim.

I must like it.
Or why would I do it?

I thought tonight

would be like lifting a spell,

an exorcism.
I don't feel free yet.

We needed a ritual.

We made rules. Same thing.

We could drink a lot.

I think it's my turn.
Unless Lawrence...

Before, he tried to hear
what was going on in there.

So?

I was just saying.

- Did he try with me?
- No.

- Did you?
- No.

Too bad.

I'd have liked to know
what you imagined.

Or at least know what I did.

Body in pieces

Left where they fall

Who crucified you

Up on this wall?

What do you hold

There in your hand

What use to you

This velvet band?

Body in pieces

Left where they fall

Who crucified you
Up on this wall?

Your cup is full
If wine should spill

Beware my wrath
I'll wish you ill

Body in pieces
Left where they fall

Who crucified you
Up on this wall?

To punish the deeds

Done by my man

I know what to do
With this velvet band

This is embarrassing.

Louder, so we don't hear.

But the neighbor will complain,
unless he's not there.

Let's say he's not there.

On the balcony,
if we close the door, we won't hear.

Not much.

It's hard not to imagine them,

what he's doing.

I try not to.

It's been bothering me
since you mentioned it.

I don't really imagine anything.

It's weird.

You've all been in except me,

but I haven't pictured a thing.

Nothing.

No images, no expectations.

Maybe I won't go in.

Nobody's forcing you.

Of course not
but there's pressure all the same.

It's like bungee jumping with friends.

You don't want to
but you go along with it.

Nobody wants to but they do it
because everyone else has.

It's about oppression.
You agree to it but it's real.

- Did you want to?
- Not to jump but to go in, yes.

I didn't think about it. I just did it.

I followed a sign.

- You really are superstitious?
- Not at all.

Something told me to do it.

That's even worse. You hear voices.

I can't tell you anything!

If we can't talk, why be here?

No one's making you tell the truth.

Even at the confessional,
you don't tell the truth. You talk.

I told the truth.
It's important to tell the truth.

If you lied, that sucks.

All I said is there's no difference
between true and false.

What I say is true.

No, that's not right.
Truth and lies exist.

We've all suffered from his lies.

I'm with Nathan on this.

I tried to be as truthful as possible.

I'm not as cut-and-dried as you.

I think you're pretentious.

Who can say he was ever really truthful?

You say "I love you." Do you mean it?

You never felt saying it makes it true?

It happens to me.

I know when I'm in love.
I'm sentimental.

I know, too.
But saying it can make you fall in love.

All I'm saying is
your idea of truth sucks.

It's just a belief.

An act of faith.

Let's not go there.

We're on the 28th floor.
It's dangerous.

I like this feeling of vertigo.
Do you get used to it?

No, if I look down, I still feel scared.

Not scared.
It makes me feel carefree.

It's less dramatic at night.

Don't lean over too far.

You're scared of heights?

It freaks me out
seeing you all like that.

It's this emptiness I loved.

Right from the first time I saw it.

The view, the Eiffel Tower, Sacré Coeur,
it dazzles people.

I liked the emptiness.

The sky and nothing else.

And when you look down,
there's depth.

In bed at night,
I feel like I'm up in a tree.

Does it move?

Not at all.

It sounds stupid, I know,
but it's real.

I feel lighter, like I'm floating.

It's hard to admit
but I like seeing the neighbors.

In fact, I love watching them at home.

Old people have curtains
but not the young.

They don't care if you see them.

The apartment opposite
must cost a bomb,

so they come and go.

Now, there are some students in there.

Like reality TV.

Only on mute.

So I can imagine
they're really smart or romantic.

Have you ever imagined one day,

at the window opposite,

a gorgeous man will lean out,

look you in the eye
and sweep you off your feet?

You're on the lookout.

No, I'm just looking.

I'm no voyeur. I'm not like you.

It's only natural.

I'm not like you.
What's the problem?

No problem.

Don't!

We're stuck here
until Marius lets us back in.

All together.

He has a thing about space.

Have you noticed?

He can't stand clutter around him.

When he sits at a table,
he clears everything away.

At a cafe, it was the same.
He always moves ashtrays away.

I thought it was the smell.

But it's their presence he can't stand.

I don't know.

He has to be
master of his environment.

At my place, too.

He's been here?

Of course.

My place, too.

That's not the issue.
I don't like the idea.

Why not?

I would have preferred
an unfamiliar place.

For him, I mean.

It's a bit late for that.

I didn't think about it before.
It's what you said about his space.

It's only symbolic.

He symbolically clears a space.
It doesn't mean anything.

You can't imagine
all the things he moved here.

Everything was upside down.

Okay, I'm neurotic, but that's not it.

It's like

he knew how to make my apartment
foreign to me.

See what I mean?

It's unsettling.

Like changing hotel rooms every day,
only sneakier.

The toilet door doesn't change place,

but something's different.

You lose your bearings.

It turned into his place.
It wasn't mine.

It's about his space.
It's like with Veronika.

He takes over your space
and eats you.

Hey, don't freak out!

He's no devil.
He's perverse but he's just a guy.

A guy who reeled us all in, even now.

So we can cast him off.

Let's cast him off the balcony,
once and for all.

Okay, let's vote.

It was a joke. I'm kidding.

You're all worked up so I made a joke.

I thought it was a good idea.

I agree. It makes sense
and he deserves no better.

But it's wrong,

like throwing a baby in the trash.

This is all a big waste of time.

I liked being in the room.

Don't tell.

I'm not, it's just a feeling.

What's this?

Why are you locked out?

You're weird.

What can I do? I'm not ready.

No pressure.

I'm not blind.
You've stopped talking.

To end this, I have to go in.

I won't jump because you want me to.

I need to believe.

Jump where?
Believe what?

That there's a point to it.

We said going in the room
is like the challenge of bungee jumping.

We can't tell,
so it's hard to convince him.

We can say if we felt better
when we came out.

Right now, I can't say.

It's a bit like getting high
or bungee jumping.

I don't know. I'm not suicidal.

I know something clicked
but I need time

to understand and to talk about it.

I don't want to know.
It was way too...

What? It was way too...

You spied on me?

We should have.

That was different.
The silence was oppressive.

I wasn't really listening.

- You make me sick.
- Come on, Marius.

Why were we all on the balcony?

So we wouldn't hear your...

So we wouldn't hear.

My what?
You were listening.

We went outside so we wouldn't hear.

In here, we heard way too much.

What did you hear?

Stop beating around the bush.
If everyone knows, just say it!

Don't tell.

That's different.

We heard you laugh.

It was loud and embarrassing.

You heard me laugh?

Me?

What are you on?
Why would I laugh?

Exactly. It made no sense.

You laughing.

You're crazy
or you're winding me up.

Nobody laughed in there.

There was nothing funny in there.

You're all insane!

You laughed. We heard you.

It was you and no one else.

Cut it out. I didn't laugh!

You're bluffing.
You want to know what happened.

It won't work. I didn't laugh.

You can't say that!

I won't tell you what happened.

I didn't laugh!

Calm down.
Let's say we take it back.

We didn't hear anything.

Admit this is bullshit!

You're lying.
I didn't laugh! I didn't!

It's not bullshit.
We're not going to lie.

Nathan, can't you shut up?

Why would I have laughed?

We don't know.

You're not lying?

I didn't. I don't remember laughing.

That's ridiculous, obscene...

It's not obscene.

You laughed. No one understands why
but there must be a reason.

Deep down, you needed to laugh.
No one's criticizing.

Unless...

he was laughing at us.

- Both of them.
- Drop it, Nathan!

Shit, motherfucker.

And even cocksucker.
Cut it out!

It's not between us.

If the night ends in a bloodbath,

that's such a cliché.

No orgies either, okay?

We do what we have to do
and basta, finito, it's over.

Now I really feel awkward.

Drop it!
We'll wait as long as it takes.

That doesn't change.

If you don't want to, game over.

Now, stop bitching.

If Marius was laughing at us,
so what?

We said it was up to us.

Whatever works.

Including laughing at all of us.

Still loving him or poisoning yourself
with him till it kills you!

Shit!

Still loving him
is maybe not great therapy.

It's not therapy at all.

What I mean is,
what happens in there

is our business, it's private.

Give me a shot.

I fantasize about strangulation.

Who?

No one. I get strangled.

That's a standard sex game.

Only mine's horrible.

With a tourniquet,
like the old Spanish death sentence.

Not your friendly strangulation.

You die in public.

It turns you on?

Yes.

That's why I call it a fantasy.

Change the subject.
I'm not into it.

Not into fantasies?

Not telling mine
or hearing other people's.

For me, fantasies are private.

They're yours.
No one else should know.

That's the good part.

It can be so weird that someone you know
becomes a stranger.

We are strangers.
I don't see the point.

It's the opposite.
It reveals something.

We get to know each other.

It's back-to-front.

Why not?

I don't necessarily want to know you.

Or for you to know me.

You're allowed.

He's allowed.
It's not what we're here for.

No, but it passes the time.

No, it's important.

It's important for me.

I need to know you a little.

Knowing those things helps me move on.

I don't care what you do for a living,

what you like, your political opinions.
I'm not interested.

Not really.

But that's important.

I feel less alone.
Less alone with him, I mean.

I'm starting to see it's not just me.

Not just because I'm a girl.

Because I'm weird,
full of crazy dreams or too needy.

You know, I felt sorry for him.

I thought if he was like that with me,
he was unhappy.

He wasn't able to be himself.

But nothing's changed.

With you, after me, one after the other,

or all at the same time,

he stayed the same.

Too bad there's no more tart.
I'm hungry.

It's all I have.

Thanks.

He always ate from my plate.

He'd taste what I ordered
and like it more.

The number of times we had to swap.

I didn't see him
literally taking what's mine.

He ate my food,
sucked marrow from my bones.

He's a cannibal.

He'd always redo anything I did.

Like you with the apples.

It shows you're insane,

a psychopath.

You invade someone's territory,
eat him up.

Then make him feel small,

pathetic and dependent.

Dependent.

I don't mean to judge you,

but just before, that's why I lost it.

I didn't understand.

Now I do.

It was like being with him.
You're just like him.

This has to stop
or we'll all end up like him.

Want some?

Yeah, why not?

Four squares left.
That makes one each.

Thanks.

Sorry, Marius, about the apples.

I always do that.

It's exhausting because...

I'm always tense.
When I don't fix things, I can't relax.

He never did it to me,

since I do it myself.

I didn't see what it did to you.

His thing with me
was putting us on display.

He always wanted us to go out.

Not to bars or sex clubs.

We went to the theater, the opera.

Places where you meet
friends and acquaintances.

Not just fags,
sometimes his colleagues.

One night, at the Odeon,

we met his boss with his wife.

He introduced me.

He said, "This is my partner."

I shook hands with his boss.
Almost kissed the wife's cheek.

The next step was
them having us for dinner.

What are you supposed to think?

It was always like that.

But only at the theater.

I saw I'd accepted a role
I shouldn't have played.

I was in love.

I can't remember a single show we saw.

I would have agreed to see any old crap.

For me, it all happened
in the lobbies and bars.

I was so happy to go to the theater.

I wanted to go just for that.

For the illusion I was his boyfriend.

How can desire make you so stupid?

It's insane when you step back.

He's not just anyone.

He's sick.

He's perverse.

He twists love around.

Love shouldn't be like that.

Got any more chocolate?

Sorry, we cleared out supplies.

There's only rice and sardines.

Maybe not sardines.

It's like in that song.

The crossing's long.
There's nothing to eat except the sailor.

Whoever pulls the short straw

Whoever pulls the short straw

Will be the one we eat

Will be the one we eat

Ship ahoy

Ship ahoy
Young sailor

Sailor sailing on the seas

Ship ahoy
Young sailor

Sailor sailing on the seas

Fate chose the youngest

Fate chose the youngest

The sailor who started to cry

The sailor who started to cry

Ship ahoy

Okay, I get it.

Time for some bungee jumping.

Of course they're fried.
It tastes better.

You clean out the insides,
cut off the head,

fry them, sterilize them
and put them in a can.

It says 2017 on the can.

Ignore it.
Good canned fish lasts 10 years.

It gets better with age.

If the can doesn't swell up, it's fine.

These are my reserve sardines,
turned regularly.

Like champagne?

Don't you do that?

I hardly dare eat them.

It's the same
as drinking vintage wine.

I have more maturing in the cellar
but they won't be as good.

- Are we saving some for Lawrence?
- Of course.

It was a good year.

- I might be sick again.
- Eat the rice, give me the sardines.

Have you finished?

Sometimes, I think...

it's not him.

Love makes you perverse.

When you're in love,

you're vulnerable.

That's not it.

You have expectations.

When you love someone, really.

When you're full of desire.

So much it hurts.

It's torture.

He's perverse because...

when he wants you back, it's good.

You get hooked on him.

But when he doesn't,
it hurts

and it increases your desire.

To us, he always seems perverse,

manipulating,

like he did it on purpose.

He gives, he takes away.
We get caught up in it.

When he doesn't give out,

you wonder if he cares.
You want to break up.

Then he comes back.

Like he could tell.

Maybe he could.

It's like he knew he couldn't push it.

But...

if we're honest,
we know we do that too.

Some days, we're really in love.

Others, not so much.

Like us, he must be torn
between certainty and fear.

We manipulate him,

like he manipulates us.

It's a two-way thing.

That's what desire is.

It manipulates us.

Only he does it on purpose.
It's calculated.

How can we be sure?

He's not in love.

He's capable of desire.

He wants our pain, not us.

I don't know.

I want to be sure.

I don't want to get off
on making those I love suffer.

That's all our fantasies are:

suffering and humiliation.

What do you expect?

Gays have been mistreated
for centuries.

It leaves marks.

I want love to be calm,

peaceful,

without a care.

That's called marriage.

It takes years to get there.

Like sardines:
10 years of turning it over.

When you get that far,

of course you find it boring.

You break up and start over.

That's all theory.

None of us has had a long relationship.

We have parents.

Books.

Talks with our shrinks.

Not me.

Don't look at me like that.
I didn't last 3 months.

It was boring.

It's okay. It's nearly over.

No, it will never end.

I'll go from one disaster to the next,
one deviant to the next. I know it.

We know lots of happy couples.

No, I don't know any.

Think hard. I'm sure you do.

No, I don't.

I'm sure they're all faking it.

If that's how you look at it...

I want to be with someone
and not be scared.

Not ever.

It's good, not being scared.

We left you some sardines.
It's your share.

He's the first man
I ever fell in love with.

It seemed so obvious.

He was there.

I wanted him
more than I've ever wanted anyone.

It was so strong,
nothing stopped me.

Not fear, not shame.

I could see it was pure.

On my side, it was pure.

I swear it was pure.
It still is.

I believed in that purity.

I believed in his, too.

I abandoned myself to it.

To that pure desire.

The more he moved away,
the more pure I thought it was.

Pure is an uncool word.

But it's the best I can do.

That's what it was to me.

Because before...

I think...
it was different.

He made me suffer with purity.

I liked that suffering.

I say that,

but I'm not sure it means anything.

I can't tell you
about a particular time or event.

I don't know when I understood.

No.

It's not that I understood.

Something changed inside me.

That's it.
That's more like it.

A change deep inside me.

One day I realized
that the pain was meaningless.

It wasn't grounded in anything.

He was there, opposite me,

and I could see he was empty.

And I was reflected in him.

Nothing more.

I live there.

In that building
above the tracks at Gare du Nord.

I live over in the 15th.

You can see the building.

I'm out west, too.

You can't see my place.
It's over the hill.

Rue des Martyrs.

Pretty fancy.

Sixth floor, no elevator.
And you?

On the wrong side of the freeway,

with a temperamental elevator.

- Did you...
- I did what we said.

We don't need him anymore.

No.

Then let's wait.

Subtitles: Heidi Wood

Subtitling TITRAFILM