Hygiène sociale (2021) - full transcript
Antonin is a bit of a dandy. He has a way with words that could have made him a famous writer, but instead mostly serves to get him out of trouble.
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?
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?