Hygiène sociale (2021) - full transcript

Social Hygiene

Antonin.

Your silence is heavy.

Stop dilly-dallying.

Solveig, my dear sister,

I am telling you:

humanity is losing all reason.

Oh no.

No,

don’t give me that.

Change the subject at once.

I’m sore everywhere.

Each one of my muscles.

Fatigue from morning till night.

Even lowering my ass onto

my discount mattress is painful.

Always the same refrain.

You’ll get no pity from me today.

Even you refuse to understand.

It’s within my rights

to feel deep moral fatigue

before the ugliness of the world.

This dandy character

that you have invented for yourself

to get attention

is both tiresome

and lacking in originality.

You are handsome, young,

strong and brilliant.

But even aunt Jeanne’s

cancer-ridden tomcat

is more lively than you.

You insult me, Solveig.

It’s the truth.

Alright, tell me.

I am worn out, my dear sister.

I don’t eat enough.

I have a few friends

but I have no work.

I went down to the port

to beg for a job.

No ship, ocean liner

or fishing boat will take me.

I’ll give you some money Antonin,

relax.

Give me an address.

The discount mattress I mentioned

to you doesn’t even exist!

I’m sleeping in a friend’s car.

Michel’s Volkswagen.

It’s small but warm.

I can’t believe it,

sleeping in a car!

Indeed, Solveig.

Such is my fate.

How do you fill your days?

Oh! I quit smoking.

Great.

What else?

With Michel, I have improved

my strategies and approaches.

Which ones?

We have worked out

a fail-proof system.

Nothing extravagant

and completely free of violence.

I detest violence.

Antonin,

what are you talking about?

We steal things.

Robbing travellers, passers-by,

tourists.

That is my day job.

It’s risk-free.

It’s all gentleness, genius

and rigour.

This, my sister, is what allows me

to nibble a bit of sausage,

go to the cinema on Fridays

and buy drinks for girls.

And it’s how I’m able to afford

this beautiful gilded scarf.

You asked me the question, Solveig,

and so I’m answering.

My brother, a thief, a thug.

Shame.

I am not a thug.

Michel is a gentleman.

He wouldn’t harm a fly.

He is a brilliant trickster.

Often, we spend all day

at the train station.

Everything is there.

The average traveller

is so easy to distract.

He buys a newspaper,

I knock over his umbrella.

He bends over to pick it up,

his raincoat opens a bit.

Michel grabs his wallet

while I shower him with apologies.

On Saturdays we go to the airport.

The incoming flight from Tokyo is a

gold mine for us.

All those cameras

and video equipment!

I don’t need

to draw you a picture.

Tokyo!

I am so ashamed.

Yesterday, a nice old fellow

on the platform told me

all about his trip

to Barcelona.

What do I care about Barcelona,

I ask you?

La Sagrada Familia!

Michel had lots of time

to pick through his briefcase.

Underneath papers and porno rags

was a beautiful Swiss watch.

A Breguet, with silicium hands.

A marvel.

See Solveig...

Your ears are shocked

and your morals are shaken,

but why?

I wake up in a car,

I do a bit of stretching,

I take a shower

at the municipal pool,

I groom myself,

and then I go off stealing.

In the evenings

I chat with Michel.

We play cards.

There is nothing more to know.

But my body is so sore

and I am so anxious.

With good reason.

If only Mother knew

how you spent your days.

Leave the dead in peace, Solveig.

Good people irritate me terribly.

Thieves may be despicable,

but they believe in a job well done.

You are as vicious as a snake.

You’ll end up in jail.

Oh no!

And I’ll end up bringing you fruit

baskets at Christmas.

Or maybe I won’t even go!

I’ll pretend to miss the bus.

You have a sense of humour!

I thought that was a lost cause.

Do you want some news from Papa?

Certainly not.

And Églantine,

what does she have to say about

the mess your life has become?

Églantine doesn’t care.

I think she has a boyfriend.

Her story about taking

a painting class on Wednesday nights

strikes me as very fishy.

Your wife is cheating on you?

Her good mood makes me suspicious.

And how do you feel about it?

Meh.

You really don’t care

about anything, my brother.

You’re on a roll today.

It brings me joy.

Do you know a good doctor?

Go see Franklin.

He’ll examine you with great feeling.

Franklin examines you with feeling?

Don’t be vulgar.

But yes, he is a master.

And Michel is doing well?

You ask about me as a way

of getting at Michel.

You're as agile as a kitten.

I’m single!

Michel has a hygiene problem.

I’m the one who sleeps in his car

and he’s the one

who rejects every bar of soap.

He stinks.

I have to talk to him about it,

or we will soon be detected.

Will you say hello to him for me?

You live dangerously!

Fine.

Antonin.

I imagine that you want money?

I wouldn’t dare.

Now you know

that I'm a scam artist.

Why don’t you give me the number

of the doctor who examines so well?

Maybe he’ll find a cancer or two.

No one needs your black humour.

I don’t like cynical people.

Cynicism doesn’t run in our family.

And let’s speak no more

about your loathsome activities.

Be a burglar if you want,

but don’t speak to me about it

again, alright?

Fine.

Beautiful day, isn’t it?

You don’t even care

about your sister.

Did you find yourself a man

at the office?

I don’t look for romance at work,

Antonin.

Why go to work then?

To work.

To feel useful.

To fulfil myself.

Last week, I was wandering around

the train station.

A little boy asked me

if he could polish my shoes

in exchange

for a few bucks.

I never imagined myself

getting my shoes polished by a kid.

I said yes and I watched him work.

His efforts were so precise,

his little hands danced

over the leather.

I started to cry.

The tears flowed out of me

and wouldn’t stop.

I gave him a big tip.

I asked his name.

Samir, he was called.

I said to him, "Samir,

"you work hard, you feel useful,

you fulfil yourself."

And he smiled at me.

You are crude, Antonin.

I’m wasting my time with you.

You want Franklin’s number?

19 19 18 901.

19 19 18 901.

Thanks, I have a good memory.

And you, Solveig. How are you?

I had a cup of tea this morning

in a spot you would have loved,

my dear wife.

There were four immense

chandeliers.

I asked the waiter

to tell me about them.

Italian crystal Mortons,

worth $3000 each.

Chandeliers interest you now?

Why not?

There was beautiful blue carpet

with a fleur-de-lys motif.

A gigantic Klimt reproduction

on the wall.

I think it was Klimt.

Behind the bar was a fat woman

with too much makeup

who didn’t smile much.

Above her head,

a dozen typewriters on a shelf.

And the cake display,

my dear Églantine,

if only you could have seen it...

Antonin?

What?

Do we have so little

to say to each other?

You didn't marry me for my love

of chandeliers and sweets.

All right.

Two weeks without a word from you,

Antonin.

We don’t see each other anymore.

Time is a rabid dog.

You must speak to me seriously.

We live freely, of course,

but we need some structure, Antonin.

Have I become your part-time wife?

I’ve heard rumours of you sleeping

in a Volkswagen.

Yes, that rumour is stubborn.

You don’t wish to see me anymore?

Our conjugal bed is too small?

Are you seeing someone?

Tell me, don't you like me anymore?

The Department of Rumours suggests

that you have a boyfriend.

What’s the name of your

Wednesday night painting class?

You’re changing the subject.

I still love you,

the same way I love

a good cup of hot milk.

His name is Clovis.

I have Clovis

and you've told me about Cassiopée.

We’re both

busted.

I have not consummated

with Cassiopée.

She resists me.

And with Clovis-Syphilis,

is it serious?

Yes.

He is handsome, ambitious,

courteous, brilliant.

He’s an architect.

Scoundrel!

And here I was thinking about you

in the café this morning.

Liar. You’re not jealous.

I love you, my husband.

Clovis entertains me

and makes love to me, that’s all.

I prefer you and your stories.

And the fact that you’re living

in a car strikes me as romantic.

You are bigger than him.

You smell nice.

You speak German

and you're a good cook.

I could be a happy woman.

I’ll offer you flowers

and a precious stone.

We’ll make peace.

Asshole.

What you just said there

is very nice. I’m touched.

But you admit you are cheating

on me. I have to process this.

I’ll speak to Michel about it

and stay a while longer in his car.

The nights will bring wisdom.

I know you still love me, Antonin.

I tell you, our civilization

will leave no trace of it.

Will you introduce me

to Clovis-Syphilis?

I know you. You’ll get bored.

Within five minutes you’ll feel

like you’ve wasted two days.

But if you want, yes.

I’ve changed my mind.

Keep your Clovis in your own

sheets, my dear wife.

Did he make love to you in our bed?

No.

When you’re gone, I will weep.

I see.

Are you still robbing

honest people?

Yes. It relaxes me.

We were thinking about robbing

a bank in a few weeks.

A new challenge.

You’re trying to shock me.

We won’t hurt anyone.

We’ll use fake guns.

We’ll shout.

We’ll frighten the employees.

But he who risks nothing

has nothing.

With this money I’ll buy you

some furs for the winter.

I may be spendthrift

but after this exploit,

I’ll have enough to buy you

everything you deserve.

Empty promises!

Believe what you wish, Églantine.

You find criminals terribly sexy.

When I was poor,

women would warm to me.

Then I changed.

I stole jewelry.

No one warms to a rich man.

But he can buy his respect.

A woman’s respect must be earned.

You understand nothing.

I am lazy,

and much less handsome now,

so yes, I am willing to purchase it.

Being poor

is no longer fashionable.

Your relationship with money

is unhealthy, darling.

I’ve started to like

feeling the weight of money

in my trouser pocket.

You knew me

when I was a filthy little wastrel.

Today I’m trying to be a somebody.

By robbing a bank?

Yes. Like a hero.

I find you tedious, Antonin.

Every day I’m thankful

for the random good luck

of not having your children.

It’s not too late to have kids,

Églantine.

I’d rather self-immolate

at Place St-Anne.

Charming!

I didn’t like being a kid

when I was one.

I was always conscious of the fact

that playing with dolls

made me childish.

Same thing for children’s books,

children’s games.

Doing little boy things while

yearning to become an adult.

It was terrible and stupid.

But stupid and useless things

are often the most beautiful.

Now I hate doing adult things.

You are immature and proud of it.

You are desirable,

you have a sharp mind

and many other qualities

but you understand nothing of men.

That's just the way it is.

Would you like to go to the sea

with me today?

To do what?

Antonin, the question is simple

and I forbid you to complicate it.

Do you want to accompany your wife

to the sea,

now, without debating it?

My head hurts. And my back.

Do you want to come to the sea?

We’ll have a nap.

You’ll lie on your stomach

and I’ll rub my breasts

on your back.

I’ll breathe heavily on your neck

and your erection will leave a mark

in the sand.

You’re staring at me, Antonin.

I am uncomfortable.

Pardon me, Cassiopée.

My heart leaps in your presence.

Control yourself. Nothing good came

from your spectacle last time.

I am still shaken.

Two sensible people

should normally be able to speak

to each other, don’t you think?

Be reasonable.

Are you alright, my friend?

Now I am.

You are so beautiful.

In a hoarse voice,

I would say things into your ear.

I would use acceptable language.

I promise.

Such talk is for nights

of drinking, Antonin.

Mornings are for the rational mind.

You’re not making the task

easy for me.

I find small-talk with you nearly

impossible.

With my wife I can do it,

with my prudish sister as well.

With the postman, the milkman,

the boy who works in the café,

but with you, it feels vulgar.

What are you doing Tuesday night?

To once again go strolling

along the river bank?

The answer is no.

Why is that?

Just because.

I don’t want to get back together

with you for the moment.

I have intimate matters to settle

with someone else.

Perhaps another time, alright?

I did notice you advertising

your involvement with someone else.

It breaks my heart,

but what can I do?

What are you talking about?

I advertise nothing.

Your Facebook would beg to differ,

my darling.

Can it be possible that

I am the one who is responsible,

entirely responsible,

for everything that happens?

Everything!

Yes, everything.

As if things or events start to...

As if

the second I open my mouth

or set foot somewhere,

everything falls apart,

everything crumbles.

I would love to know the true

nature of your pain, Antonin.

But I see only your complaisance

and cynicism.

But perhaps you are also very sick

to speak in such a way.

I am being punished for something,

Cassiopée.

It is frankly improbable

that a man, wretched as he may be,

would be unable to convince a girl

like you to give herself to him,

even if it’s just for a night.

Well, that’s how it is.

And who could this man be,

with whom you purport

to have “matters to settle”?

That’s my business.

I studied advanced mathematics.

I’m good-looking, I sometimes

have a bit of money,

I have good taste, a good mind.

I’m the catch of the century.

And yet, you women...

What about us women?

Oh, I don’t know anymore.

I’d sleep for 100 years,

Cassiopée.

Be patient!

Is it him?

No.

So he is spying

on our conversation?

He’s a friend.

I’d like to see you one-on-one,

but you are so unpredictable.

I fear your reactions, Antonin.

When love calls,

love is unpredictable.

I feel badly to have scared you,

Cassiopée.

Your friend is looking at the sky

quite a lot.

Dying people tend to look

at the sky, have you noticed?

Rubbish.

You are cold today.

You women are only pretty,

likeable and cheerful

around those you think

are successful.

More rubbish.

You run away from poverty, laziness

and insufficiency.

I understand you.

And that’s the image I give off.

Right now I am lacking

in money, love, consideration

and entertainment.

It ruins my mood!

You don’t go out anymore?

I went to the opening

of the new hippodrome.

And the following night,

I dreamt about a woman

with the head of a horse.

An evil woman

with a voice so terrible

it could shatter your eardrums.

I’m now frightened

of public spaces.

I fear she may lurk

behind every turn.

I have only walked

in a straight line ever since.

I feel like everyone

is staring at me.

You see how you speak, Antonin?

I would like to meet with you

one-on-one for a coffee.

I imagine myself in front

of a glass display with you,

laughing as we choose a tartelette.

But hearing you...

It’s how I am made.

Annoying, awkward, flea-bitten

and rude.

I’ve invented neither the wheel

nor powder.

You forgot leprous.

I love you more than you think.

You have to get a hold

of yourself.

You are proud and full of ideas.

Are you still writing?

Still planning to direct a film?

Neither today, nor tomorrow.

Shit Antonin!

You’re not a slug!

Be a man!

With my work in the flower shop,

I have a lot of time

to daydream.

As I await horticulturalists

and romantics,

I sometimes fall asleep.

I imagine a film script, a novel,

a simple fairy story for children.

Then reality catches up to me

and my ideas vanish.

But it’s different for you,

isn’t it, Antonin?

You get your ideas on paper

so easily.

You’re not wrong.

What are you working on?

I wouldn’t dare talk about it.

Please.

It’s a bit anecdotal,

for the moment.

You intrigue me. I insist.

What is it?

It’s the story of an unemployed man

who tries to open a bag of coffee

and drops his pair of scissors

behind the stove.

Ok.

He tries to move the stove,

but it’s impossible.

He reaches between the wall

and the stove

but his arm is too big.

He decides to go people-watching

on the steps of the church

at Place du Marché.

Children play and run

through the alleys

and into the skirts

of their mothers.

The man notices

that one of the kids

has very small arms.

They could easily reach

behind his stove

and snatch his pair of scissors.

Okay.

The man must quickly

develop a friendship with this kid

in order for his plan to work.

To get the scissors

from behind the stove?

Exactly!

I see.

I like fraternity,

but I want to explore human

solitude;

the troubles of daily life,

you know?

I know that with a little ambition,

all is not darkness.

I am in love with you, Cassiopée.

Nothing else has any importance.

Let’s make a pact, Antonin.

I will see you again.

Between now and then,

you will pull yourself together

and get your life

back on track. Alright?

Women lead the world.

How is Églantine?

Don’t speak about my wife.

You will write your script.

You will take a break

from the misery

in which you are wallowing.

Between now and then,

I will resolve my own problems.

Next time, I will come alone

and be cheerful.

You speak like a banker

addressing a kid

setting up a savings account.

My heart has plenty of time

to darken between now and then.

Love needs time.

I feel desire for you.

I know I’m making you wait.

But such is life.

Your coldness overwhelms me.

Plenty of men might slap

that angel face of yours.

Men are boorish.

But not you.

Fine.

I’m going to the cinema.

I’ll sit in the first row.

That way I’ll see the movie

before anyone else.

You’re funny.

Alright my friend.

But I must tell you

that I do not like this spy,

about whom I have no information.

I challenge him to a duel.

Let’s go!

It’s so sexy.

Sir?

If you wish.

My name is Rose.

I work for the Ministry of Revenue.

Impossible.

What do you mean?

It's a pseudonym!

To be named “Rose”

and work in such a Ministry!

With trustworthy people,

with reasonable people,

we communicate by the post,

by e-mail

or by telephone.

O You the All Merciful!

Your file has been worrisome to

even the toughest amongst our ranks.

Ah, those guys.

What do you have to say about

your many years of unpaid taxes?

I would say that misery follows me.

I have neither an address,

nor any friends.

I sleep in doorways.

I barely manage to eat a mouthful

of bread each night.

My information suggests otherwise.

You live the life

of a troublemaker.

Do not try to butter me up.

Nothing could be more false.

I am poor and am preparing

for yet more poverty.

There is only a fine line

separating my life

from that of a stray dog.

Where do you get your information?

I’m not with the police.

But they will find you soon enough.

We must come to an arrangement,

my dear sir.

You live at 39 rue de la Commune?

Rose, my dear Rose,

I am terrified of prison.

In prison, men have more tattoos

than teeth.

It reeks of blood and sperm.

Surely, it’s not a place for me.

Look at me.

How much do I owe the State?

Stop obfuscating.

The hour is late

and the problem is serious.

Why do you resist your civic duty?

It’s people like you

who mock law and order.

I live for order and morality,

my dear Rose.

You would be unable to repeat this

sentence without laughing.

If I may,

how did you discover your passion

for rectitude and righteousness?

From my father.

He was a miner.

And a tyrant.

He beat my sister and I,

every Friday night after dinner.

Then he apologized,

explained to us the importance

and the benefits

of beating one’s children

and then read us

a Brothers Grimm fairy tale.

I loved him deeply

and his death broke me

into a thousand pieces.

My mother died before him.

A horrific cancer.

He fell into a terrible depression

and started beating us again,

harder and more often.

Before, he used objects.

After my mother’s death,

he only used his hands.

This story you have just told me,

is it the truest truth?

No, it’s a ruse.

My father is still alive

and gentle as a lamb.

He is my boss at the Ministry.

A sad story can usually soften up

a crook like you.

Often, they pay their taxes

on the spot.

Clever.

I will disappoint you

but I’m not against the system.

I think there's a certain elegance

in paying one’s taxes.

My problem is very simple:

I have no money.

I never have money.

You’re not homeless.

You live on Rue de la Commune.

Alas, yes.

With an old mistress who

demands no rent.

You have commercial activities.

We know you do.

I’m in Import-Export.

Diabolical!

All villains work

in Import-Export.

I detest this answer.

It’s an answer I get from

all the Arabs, Indians and Chinese.

And you are racist!

Necessarily.

“I am racist necessarily.”

What an abomination!

You are withering,

my dear old rose.

Watch your mouth.

I can withstand ugliness,

but racism is a cancer.

It hurts my heart.

That will change nothing about

your circumstances, my dear sir.

Either you pay or you go to prison.

I would like to beat you

with objects or with my hands.

I have the key to your prison cell

at the end of my pen.

We must come to an arrangement.

Fucking hell.

I am a spendthrift

and today I am paying for it.

I need a wife to manage

my transient fortunes.

A countess or a princess.

Or at least a baroness.

You will find no princess in jail.

And you’re wasting my time.

I must admit your outfit

is very pretty.

And do I catch a whiff

of your perfume?

It’s the blood and sperm

closing in on you, buddy.

I have lived rather poorly.

But I will die well.

And certainly not in prison.

Alright. Tomorrow,

at this same time,

I will have a considerable sum

for you.

Come with the gendarmes

if you don’t believe me.

If I’m lying, I will walk straight

into your dungeon.

When I think about it,

I actually like paying taxes.

Finally some common sense.

I imagined a city that was morbid

but fascinating.

Of course,

we obediently paid our taxes

but, more importantly,

we figured out how to resolve

a serious problem.

You see, there were more than

11,000 stray dogs in the city

and a bureaucrat emerged

with an ingenious solution.

The civic leaders started to pay

a salary to children.

Over the course of one month,

kids took to the streets

and spiked dog snacks

with strychnine.

The animals dropped dead

and the children learned

about discipline

and the pride of a job well done.

After that, the canine population

was easier to manage.

We sterilized stray dogs,

clipping a microchip in their ears

to keep track.

Imagine the results!

I apply the law.

I am not a fascist.

Tomorrow, same time?

This joust is disastrous.

You are a foot-soldier

of the state,

a racist shrew.

Pencil pusher!

Are you finished?

Tomorrow! Same time.

But somewhere else.

You’ll know how to find me.

You are an irresponsible idiot.

I’m not afraid to show off

my uniqueness.

I accept myself for who I am.

I live a life of adventures.

You're jealous.

You need to have children, Antonin.

They will help you

organize your life.

I’ll have children as soon as

I’m certain they’ll respect me.

When I’m 50, 60 or 70 years old.

Otherwise it’s not worth it.

Imagine thinking your father

is a failure.

Our cousin Janelle had twins,

did you know?

A boy

and a girl.

Good for Janelle.

She is such an eccentric.

Did she call them Clitorine

and Masturbin?

Our meetings weigh on my spirit,

sister.

You can't keep telling me

how to live my life.

Tell me about yourself instead

and try not to be

too boring about it.

I met a man.

I’ll be damned.

Very handsome and strong,

but a weirdo.

I’ll be damned.

I was sitting alone in a restaurant.

He came over.

I have never seen such eyes.

A mix of green

and the very deepest blue.

Greying at the temples,

in his early 50s, very elegant.

He says,

“Can I tell you about

the All Merciful?”

An Allah freak, an enlightened one,

a multiplicator of bread!

You really will speak

to just anybody.

Hold on!

It’s impossible to refuse having

a mint tea with this kind of person.

A tourist.

An Icelander, can you imagine?

No.

In 1988,

he was a competitive weightlifter

in the Seoul Olympics.

He didn’t rank.

Then he returned to Iceland.

He got married,

found work as a mechanic.

A man without too much of a story,

you see?

Yes I see.

Icelandic Christian weightlifter,

that's already pretty good.

Are you aware of the phenomenon

known as spontaneous human

combustion?

Solveig, I suddenly have a great

urge to go do something else.

Listen to me.

My Icelander told me

of the very first recorded case

of spontaneous combustion

in the 15th century.

In Milan,

a Polish knight

is said to have drunk

a litre or two of strong wine

and then began vomiting fire.

Within seconds, his entire body

was consumed in flames.

Over a cup of tea,

he described to me

a dozen such cases

of spontaneous combustion,

one by one.

His eyes flashing,

he never let me

get a word in edgewise.

Only God can provoke such

phenomena, he says.

And?

He is terrified.

He feels a dormant fire within him

and thinks he’s next in line.

I hope you slept with him.

Without hesitation!

You only live once.

Carpe Diem!

What do you do in life, Aurore?

I study theology

and I work at McDonald’s

on weekends.

You’re interested in religions?

Yes.

Are you religious?

In my own way.

How’s that?

Something hovers over me.

I know it.

But it has nothing to do with God.

It’s more like a force

I can trust in,

in which I can take comfort.

It sounds quite a lot like what

might be called ‘believing in God.’

It’s different in my opinion.

What is your dream job?

I can feel the mockery

in your question.

And you, what does a person

like you believe in?

A person like me?

You don’t even know me.

A person like you who likes

to make fun of the fate of others.

I believe in myself.

I believe I can find the key

to the enigmas of life by myself.

No one has ever given me

proof that God exists

and so I believe in me.

You have a high opinion

of yourself.

If Death should arrive to take you

away,

will you challenge her

to a game of chess for your fate?

The Seventh Seal.

Ingmar Bergman,

1957.

You are not only pretty,

you are also a cinephile.

And here you are,

standing in my path.

Are you Death?

Or the Love I am no longer seeking?

I will disappoint you.

I am one of your victims.

My victim?

I’m afraid so.

Three nights ago, you smashed

the window of my Mini Cooper

and made off with my laptop

computer

and my boyfriend’s leather jacket.

It looks nice on you, by the way.

I’m busted.

You would even break into a car

with a Baby on Board sticker!

Such nerve!

There was neither baby nor child

in the vehicle.

I don’t have any kids.

Those stickers typically repel

bad guys.

You have no scruples.

I can give you back your things

but I refuse to feel shame.

I never see the face of my victims.

Today I have seen yours,

but I remain without remorse.

I was right to follow you

for the past three days.

You are interesting.

Pity you are a small-time crook.

Let’s lighten the mood.

I will return your computer

and this lovely garment.

I simply ask you

not to go to the police, ok?

What about my car window?

Shit!

I have no money.

Can we come to an arrangement?

Why are people so mean?

That question seems rather extreme

for a leather jacket

and a broken windshield.

Do you know where men come from?

Tell me.

In Ancient Greece,

Zeus decided one day

to get rid of men.

He was fed up with their malice.

For nine days and nine nights,

torrents of rain destroyed

everything in their path.

Only Deucalion and Pyrrha

survived the wrath of Zeus.

By throwing rocks behind them,

Deucalion and Pyrrha

repopulated the earth.

It is said that these new men were

more courageous from then on,

but also more boorish.

What a nice story.

Well noted.

Yes.

It’s a story that confirms

that a man can smash a windshield

and run off with a laptop

without the slightest regret.

I could fall in love with you,

mademoiselle.

Let’s come to an arrangement.

You are a rogue.

I have difficulty believing

that your days are brightened

by robbing honest people.

I like to kill time, yes.

I also assassinate all my nights.

Impossible to kill time without

insulting eternity, isn’t it?

Do you have a lot of these catch

phrases?

How do you fill

the cosmic emptiness

of your life, Antonin?

You're trying to know me!

I like music, I like dance

and I have an interest

in criminals.

I am a filmmaker.

I’m looking for myself.

It’s difficult.

Interesting.

What have you directed?

Nothing at all.

I have a very romantic

and idealized vision of cinema.

Cinema creates a bridge between

what is real

and what the world could be.

Nice.

I can’t find the bridge.

It’s as simple as that.

Is imagining a film

the same as making one?

I'd like to believe that's the case.

The real occupies you too much,

dear Antonin.

Reassure me that you are at least

writing something.

Yes, yes.

I’m writing the story

of an unemployed man

who tries to open a bag of coffee

and drops his pair of scissors

behind his stove.

Ah?

Yes.

That’s it?

I’ve had a lot of troubles.

Firstly with fiduciary matters

but also with my wife,

with law

and with taxes.

I am fleeing my creditors.

The stars have aligned to slow down

my artistic efforts.

In the end dear Antonin,

you are merely

a wretched pickpocket?

Aurore, be blessed

by the smile you put on my lips.

Here.

Take your boyfriend’s jacket.

What’s his name, by the way?

Johnny.

Of course.

You love him?

More than anything.

Does he want to bust my face?

Yes, he does.

From now on, I am in your debt.

I have so many debts,

it’s almost like having friends.

Casanova!

Églantine.

Bird of Misfortune.

What are you doing here?

Darling,

what sin am I committing?

Cassiopée will be here

any minute now.

I would like my life

to follow its course,

without upsets,

without painful episodes

like this one.

I won’t shed a tear.

You’re not worth it.

And if I caught you in the arms

of Clovis-Syphilis?

I don’t see him anymore.

Really?

I’ll tell you nothing more.

Men are like mushrooms.

The more handsome they are,

the more poison they contain.

I discovered that someone else

has the same name as me.

I’m told that

he even looks like me.

I think I see myself everywhere.

I see hallucinations of myself

in crowds.

Even on the cloudiest surfaces

I manage to see my reflection.

I now have to deal with two of me.

That is no mystery.

You're narcissistic.

Do you still love me?

I’m waiting for your competitor.

You’ve caught me in the act.

How can I answer that question?

The ridicule would kill me.

You are 100 times dead.

I love you as a zombie.

Goodbye.

Adieu.

Hello Antonin.

Cassiopée!

You were speaking to your wife.

Confronting and contradicting

one’s wife is such an extreme sport.

You are sad.

No! You are here.

Where did you meet Églantine?

Tell me the story.

At the zoo.

By the hyena cage.

The rest is a long, quiet river.

It's been proven that married men

live longer.

Who said that I wish to grow old?

Did the unemployed man

get his scissors

out from behind the stove?

I love your mind.

I’ve been thinking a lot.

I’m in love with another man

by the name of Miroslav Petorski.

His gentleness is infinite.

There.

Now you know everything.

I will now take my leave from you,

Antonin.

But what would be the thoughts

of a calf

who looks at fireworks?