My Dog Stupid (2019) - full transcript
Henri is a middle-aged writer in crisis. Just at a time when he assesses of his life, an enormous gray dog, impolite and smelly, sneaks into Henri's house.
My name is Henri Mohen.
25 years ago
I wrote a bestseller.
It broke all sales records
and won every literary prize.
Since then, I write shit.
3 novels killed by the critics
and scripts I'll deny any connection to
until the day I die.
It was raining cats and dogs.
I was in Paris,
where my agent was hawking a crappy film
I felt I'd already seen 1,000 times.
I thanked him
for his interest in me,
forgetting to say "fuck off"
so I could get home quickly.
We had a house on 5 acres of land,
close to both ocean and mountain,
which on a clear day
you could make out.
Pretty, isn't it?
I was dying to sell it all off
and leave the country
on the first Alitalia flight to Rome.
The Villa Medici,
best years of my life.
I wrote my first novel
in this inner sanctum of creativity.
Rome,
far from my wife Cécile,
long before my four children.
Come on, enough already.
Come on... Enough, I said!
Every day I dreamt of a new life
on the Piazza Navona.
Cécile had a lot going for her.
For 25 years she put up with me
and stayed gorgeous.
Her beauty secret?
A glass of white
and a new antidepressant
every day we stayed married.
She gave me 4 children,
1 daughter and 3 sons
that I'd happily trade
for a new Porsche.
Because now I knew
my depression, my backache,
my lack of libido
and my writer's block
was all their fault.
Because my 4 kids,
whatever the circumstances,
had the knack of screwing up
all my attempts at happiness.
I lingered on the coast.
Despite living here for 20 years,
I'd still get lost in rain and fog.
Fuck...
So, as usual,
I began the desperate routine
of looking for my house.
Fuck you, Rommel.
6 months ago, that fucking Doberman
slaughtered Marcello,
my favorite bull terrier.
Worse, he took pleasure in attacking me
whenever I dared go home.
I was still dreaming of Italy.
But on that stormy night
I still didn't know
that a big change was coming.
WEST OF ROME
MY DOG STUPID
- There's something here!
- What?
- Come.
- Why do you have that?
I said to come!
Why not call the fire department?
And die before they get here?
You drank too much again!
I don't drink. I get drunk.
See it?
Stop pointing that rifle at me!
A dog.
- Why is he here?
- How the hell should I know?
Come on, boy!
Poor dog!
How could you bring that here?
It wasn't me!
He has no collar. He's a stray!
I don't want it here!
We'll leave him alone.
He'll go when he feels like it.
He's dying.
I won't let him die in my garden!
- So what should I do?
- Call the SPCA.
They're closed till tomorrow.
- And?
- Cécile... it's just a dog.
We'll leave him.
He'll be gone tomorrow.
I'm sick of seeing you depressed
since your dog died.
For 6 months, you're like a zombie,
rude to everyone.
Are the kids back?
Just Raph.
Why not ask him to deal with it?
Don't be silly. He's a child.
A child?
He's 25!
If he's old enough
for tattoos and weed,
he can get rid of that fucking dog!
- Who is it?
- Me.
- Me?
- Not, you. Me, your father.
I gave you life and half your DNA.
CHAPTER I: Family
Open the fucking door!
And turn off this music.
- Sup?
- Go back to the casino?
Remember you owe me 200 euros.
Pay me back
and I can skip these Paris meetings
that harm my mental well-being.
Okay, Dad.
Mess!
What did you do today?
- Just chillaxed.
- What?
- I don't understand you.
- I saw Marie-Lise.
The stripper?
She's a dancer, not a stripper.
How about her? Dancer too?
Think about your mom and sister.
Mom always checks out my history.
Think I don't notice?
And my sister's room isn't near yours.
Enough.
Get rid of the dog in the garden.
What?
There's a dog in the garden.
Get rid of it.
You need me
to get rid of a dog?
I give you a roof,
weed, rubbers
and for once I ask a favor of you.
I'm too wasted.
Wasted again?
- It's for my back.
- Your back is fine!
- Because I smoke weed.
- Raph, deal with the dog.
You're such a coward.
You do it.
You're in charge of me.
I'm not the father.
You are.
You're stoned!
He's sucking himself.
I'd love to be a dog.
- You and your dogs!
- This isn't me!
I'll get him out.
He stinks. I like it.
Come on, buddy.
Come with me.
Come on...
Motherfucker! I'm not going near him!
- What now?
- Sick of your dogs!
It's not my dog.
Why doesn't anyone listen to me?
Leave the door open and he'll go.
He'll follow me.
Close the door behind me.
Come.
Come on...
Look what I made for you.
Come on...
Look how good this is.
It's so good...
Look, doggy.
Look how good this is.
Fuck...
You deal with it.
Tonight's dinner?
Hugues will know what to do.
We're not sending him
to Guantanamo.
- We're starving.
- Hey!
Order pizzas.
- Problem?
- The canine kind.
You got another dog?
- Pains.
- Hugues, can you put it outside?
Yes... affirmative.
Find me a big towel or an old coat.
I'll get him out.
- You don't have to.
- Don't worry, baby.
I saw worse in Syria.
This okay?
Fine.
My raincoat!
Let him.
Come on, doggy.
We have stuff to say, don't we?
Come, doggy.
There you go.
Do something!
What is he doing?
Fuck!
Help me, dammit!
Get him the fuck off of me!
You okay?
You were his bitch!
Shut up, Raph.
Mr. Mohen,
sorry to have to tell you,
but your dog...
is a fag.
Sorry to have to tell you,
and I understand...
it's a little...
but it's not my dog.
It happened to you.
It could have been Cécile.
It'd have been a nice change.
Give me your rifle.
I'll use his brain as paint.
I don't think so.
- Mom?
- Gaspard, a gay dog!
He just tried to fuck Hugues.
Shut up.
- He's into him.
- Where's Mom?
Shut up!
In her room.
Jesus!
What's this essay
you wrote for me?
- What now?
- Wanna know?
You betrayed me.
How could you write such shit?
I wanted it to look like you wrote it.
It looks like a retard did it.
- So he doesn't get suspicious.
- I got an F.
He thinks a dunce wrote it.
It may not be my best...
I have an idea, Gaspard.
Write your own essays.
Don't ask Mom.
She knows it by heart.
It takes a minute.
It wasn't that bad.
What do they want from me?
From you, nothing.
Gaspard is the student.
Dad, butt out.
I got Mazard
to give me another chance.
This time, try harder.
You have nothing else to do
but his homework?
I like doing it.
Makes me feel useful.
No shitty books to write?
Gaspard, there are limits.
- I'm scared.
- You can be.
What will you do?
Spank me?
I'll cut you off.
No school, no surfboards,
surf wax, hair wax, suntan cream.
Want the list?
Why can't we kill dogs?
You eat beef, chicken,
so why not kill a dog?
Have you no respect for living creatures?
The dog's gay!
Anti-gay, pro-army.
I surrender.
"Surrender"?
Who are you to surrender?
While you eat quinoa,
he protects the country.
He jerked off on Hugues!
What a pain!
Enough, let's go.
- Where are you going?
- Chinese.
Night, Mom!
Leaving?
- Me too.
- Where to?
- McDonald's.
- I'm coming.
- Come on.
- Not seeing your ho?
- You're the ho.
- Shut up.
- Your stripper again?
- Mom, butt out.
I'm going up. Homework.
- Night.
- Night, Mom.
Mom... you have homework too.
Enough, Gaspard.
- Raph?
- I'm coming!
Want anything?
For me, yes.
Spareribs and...
She's such a ballbuster!
And fried rice.
Dad!
See you.
See you.
- Charming.
- I said no more dogs here.
Figure it out.
Good night.
You're a smart cookie.
You succeeded
at what I always fail.
You've chased everyone away.
You got up late.
I went to bed late.
I tried writing a bit.
So, were you inspired
to write great stuff?
Of course not.
They cleaned up for once.
Did they all leave?
Noé is still asleep.
- How did you do it?
- Do what?
The dog is gone.
There was no reason for a scene.
He came and left.
I'll let you clean up.
I have to do Gaspard's essay.
Hey, Dad.
You okay?
You spent the night with him?
He didn't try anything?
He behaved?
In fact he's nice.
And totally stupid.
I'm sick of smart dogs.
Right, Stupid?
That's what we should call him.
Stupid.
Noé spent the night with someone.
What?
No, Henri.
I can't now. I'm in mid-essay.
Take him to the beach
and leave him there.
Plenty of homes to destroy!
It's not even noon.
Don't insist. We can't keep him.
Firm orders.
He'll take a walk on his own
and end of story.
What's up otherwise?
Nothing much.
School's going well?
Yes.
No class today?
No.
I love our intimate, father-son talks.
There's so much sharing.
- What should I say?
- What do you tell them?
- Prefer by text?
- What a pain.
Enough with the phone.
I can't stand it.
Know that I have high hopes for you.
You alone will make up
for all our family's failures.
- You don't mean that.
- Don't I?
That motherfucker Rommel.
He's always hard!
Listen to me.
He's a warrior.
You'll like having him here.
You should have seen
how he destroyed Rommel.
- Fuck Rommel!
- He took revenge for Marcello!
Have you lost it?
It was amazing.
From behind, without warning.
Amazing!
He slobbers!
He smells like piss!
You smell like piss!
The curtains too!
Everything smells like the piss
of all your dogs!
Rocco, Bosco, Marcello!
I'm keeping Stupid.
Excuse me?
It's his name
and this is his home.
CHAPTER II: The writer
You put on a tie?
Pretty editor?
Bring your dog along.
I'm going to Paris.
Don't be silly!
I felt a dead spot on my lips,
where Cécile didn't kiss me goodbye.
But for 25 years,
that kiss was an intrinsic part
of our lives.
I remember the first time
she ended our ritual.
Just before running off
with a student at university
when she'd decided
to go back to literature.
She blamed me for leaving Paris,
for cloistering her
in an oceanfront paradise.
Hermit's refuge, writer's fantasy.
She was bored
but I could write.
At least I thought so at first.
I told her I was making enough
for her not to work,
that we'd have great lives
and conversation-filled nights.
Truth is,
I wanted to keep her close.
I thought she'd find fulfillment
in proofreading.
Realizing the deception,
she decided to go back to school.
I didn't think I'd mind her absence.
It almost killed me.
I got her back when that prick
dumped her for someone younger.
Since, that kiss was
a surefire promise between us.
Today, my cheek missed her kiss
like a monk
might miss a bead on a rosary.
No fucking way! It's just a dog!
Unbelievable! That's Paris for you!
Come on, Stupid.
Thanks for coming.
- And with your dog.
- My wife won't stay alone with him.
Do you mind?
Is he housetrained?
- How do you define "housetrained"?
- What's his name?
Stupid.
- Excuse me?
- His name is Stupid.
I have one too.
- Frédéric!
- Here I come...
Sorry.
Put them in my office.
Get some water for the dog.
- What's his name?
- Stupid.
That's right.
Thanks, Frédéric.
Come, Stupid.
Thank you, Frédéric.
From valedictorian
to bringing Fiji water.
The world has become competitive.
It's scary.
What are you doing?
Nothing for me to read?
It's been months.
- It took time.
- Finally.
No, I'm totally blocked.
Inspiration isn't easy
when parasites suck my brains
- and my bank account.
- It's about money?
The advance we gave you...
Laure, must I tell you
where I find inspiration?
The list of the mighty tasks
of my daily life?
Shopping... for the kids.
Gaspard's suntan lotion,
Raph's potato chips and rubbers!
Pauline's shampoo, the tofu.
Noé's tofu... Not bad...
Wait... the pharmacy.
My wife's antidepressants.
And if I get lucky,
if the universe sends me a message
that I must hurry to write down,
well, then...
we run out of toilet paper.
You're bored out of your gourd.
Want me to write?
Send me to Rome.
To have coffee
at the Piazza Navona.
With a woman... elegant...
blonde, her hair...
Eating melon,
spitting seeds at the pigeons.
- Write about it.
- Pigeons?
Shopping?
Boredom.
The charm of married life.
It sells.
CHAPTER III: Sunday lunch
Any wine left?
Of course.
Hugues, can you get some?
You know the way.
- I'll go.
- Thanks, baby.
Not eating?
It's your fault,
not your mom's.
My fault, really?
Here we go again.
"Mrs. Mohen,
"this is the best essay
written by a parent in 25 years.
"I'm thrilled to give you an A+.
"Congratulations. Cordially,
"Fabrice Mazard." Happy?
Cool, A+ rocks.
It's you who rock.
Why write something so good?
You asked me to.
Now I can forget Australia.
Screw your surf team.
This crap sounds better
plastered.
Totally.
Not for the surfer elite.
That hit the spot.
He's so chill.
- Hugues excites him.
- Enough, Raph.
I hear he butt-fucked you.
Shut your degenerate trap.
- What the hell?
- You're a pain.
His mouth wets itself!
Can't you tie him up?
Why?
He has the same rights as you.
Comparing us to dogs?
Certainly not.
Unfair to him.
He's more loyal and no ballbuster.
No fucking way! Beat it!
- Get him out.
- That's hurtful!
He's just a dog.
He understands and he's hurt.
- Noé!
- I'll walk him and make a call.
Come, Stupid.
- All good?
- Little girls room?
I'll show you.
- You're pathetic.
- Pathetic!
- He's into bimbos.
- Not bimbos, just nice ass.
You find her hot?
He got lost.
Unless they do toilet sex.
Little girls room.
Henri, do something.
Like what? Call the SPCA?
What the hell?
- Do something!
- Lay off!
We're leaving.
- Where to?
- I'm fed up. Let's go to the beach.
See you later.
Cool.
- Did you just screw her?
- What?
What the hell? You're a psycho!
Did I just fuck her?
Who do you think she is?
How can you think something like that?
I'm shocked. You're my mom.
Where did everyone go?
The beach.
Amazeballs! Let's go.
Save some dessert for us.
Raph!
- You're dirty.
- Raaaph!
I'm sick of cooking for everyone.
Couldn't your daughter help?
She lets her soldier command her.
"All good, baby?
Need anything, baby?"
And "Raaaph"!
We have 2 dogs in the house!
I so wanted to meet
the whore of his dreams!
Come on, stop complaining!
- We have great kids!
- Don't start.
You can badmouth them
and I can't?
And Gaspard... don't forget Gaspard.
A genius.
A good thinker, an extreme desire
to get by on his own.
He'll go far, trust me.
What I like most is his gratitude.
The way he thanks everyone
for everything.
Having a good laugh?
Gaspard!
Gaspard, wait!
- We didn't see you!
- Does that make it better?
It was a joke!
Don't be upset!
A joke?
Calling me a retard is a joke?
We never said that, Gaspard!
Listen to me!
Gaspard, wait!
It's a game.
We do it to all of you.
Did you do it with Noé?
Yes or no?
- Not his turn.
- What would you say?
- No idea.
- Because he's perfect!
Gaspard, please.
You make fun of me
like a retard.
As if you two are geniuses.
You eat Prozac day and night.
And all you do is write crap.
I wrote a good one!
25 years ago! I wasn't born!
Exactly. None of you were born!
Ask yourself why.
You screwed that up!
Dad!
Dad, come down here!
His latest victim
wants to see you.
Gaspard!
Your dog?
- Your name?
- Mr. Mohen.
Louis Daval.
I guess you know who I am.
I can't say I do.
- New here?
- Just 20 years.
How can I help you?
Your dog tried...
doing stuff to me.
It's his way of saying hi.
He humped my leg frenetically.
That's saying hi?
Degenerate dogs need leashes!
- It's only normal!
- Sorry, but...
For a man, it would be wrong,
but a dog doesn't know
what he's doing.
It's instinct.
Know what my instinct says?
To have him put down.
- What for?
- Sexual aggression.
Got proof?
Bruises, blood?
Were you bitten? Penetrated?
- You got nothing on him.
- You won't get away with this.
Call the cops!
Special Canine Masturbation Victims Unit.
You'll be their priority.
You're proud of your dog.
To tell you the truth,
I'm disappointed.
He usually has better taste.
Go on home.
And keep him locked up!
- I got your name, Mohen.
- I already forgot yours.
Come, Stupid.
Come...
We all agree.
Take him to the SPCA. He's dangerous.
You all agree.
You took a vote, a referendum?
What is democracy and dictatorship?
- Dad...
- A democracy, you vote then obey.
A dictatorship, voting is useless.
Spare yourself.
- You don't care what we think.
- Exactly.
I'm keeping the dog.
There's another solution.
- Which one?
- Castrate him.
I'd rather put him down.
Why do you care so much?
- I'll tell you.
- Go on.
Because I'm tired.
Of defeats and failures.
I'm 55. My best years are past.
Can you imagine having
no plans for the future?
No more victories?
He's a victory.
Every car I won't ride,
every girl I won't fuck.
No one wants him.
Like me.
I fight and lose each time.
He fights and wins!
He doesn't just fight dogs,
he fucks them too.
I love it and I'm keeping him!
That's your daughter!
I'm sick of your crap!
I'm fed up!
Not happy?
The door is wide open!
Yeah, I'm going.
One week tops.
You know how he is.
You know him.
- He doesn't mean it.
- Enough.
You've put up with him
for 25 years.
That's your problem.
At 24, I don't need it.
I didn't ask for a father like him.
- Stop.
- He stifles me!
Nothing we say or do
is good enough!
He even makes me doubt
how to spell my name!
I feel like a failure
next to him!
The great fucking shitty writer!
I've had enough. I'm tired.
I can't stand it anymore.
I always feel like he's judging me!
He plays to the gallery with his...
nasty remarks.
I can't stand the constant humiliation.
I love you.
He loves you too.
Dad, we're going.
Fine, honey.
Good luck.
We'll live with friends,
Marie and Christophe,
until we find our way.
Excellent.
Have fun.
And kiss Marie...
and... Christophe
on my behalf.
Goodbye!
- Call when you get there.
- Sure.
Mrs. Mohen...
thanks for all you've done.
Drive carefully.
I don't fucking believe it!
Up to the very end!
Here.
Take care of my girl.
No worries, sir.
Thanks for all you've done.
Come see Stupid once in a while.
He'd like that.
He'll miss you.
I'll tell you something
about fatherhood, Stupid.
It's coupled with a strange cruelty.
Your kids grow up
and you shrink.
Talking to your dog now?
At least he listens.
She forgot her father's picture.
Happy with yourself?
I think I'll move my office
in here.
It's roomier.
It's brighter...
I'll leave you to your cynicism.
Too bad for you.
4 minus 1 equals 3.
CHAPTER IV:
And you will be a man, my son
To help you stand it here.
Hear from Pauline?
Cécile was angry with me over Pauline.
What I said, didn't say.
Over everything.
My living and breathing
under the same roof
made her furious.
Instead of yelling at me
for going too far,
she used the worst weapon.
The most fearsome
and terrifying of all.
Silence.
Her silence excluded me
from everything.
Not the usual
passive-aggressive silence.
That's not a severe enough punishment.
Mine had to be much worse.
That ultimate punishment
was cordial silence.
The one that pushes you to the limit.
Polite silence.
Whatever my question,
her answer was a neutral smile,
no anger, no furor, nothing.
A cipher, void of blame,
void of everything, void of meaning,
I counted her neutral smiles,
lambs to be slaughtered,
and I was about to implode.
Until this little domestic drama
freed me from my silent prison
and the slaughterhouse.
- It's fine, Mom.
- Are you kidding?
I'll ask again:
who did this to you?
- Were you with her?
- What if I was?
Stop, that stings! I have to go.
You're not going anywhere!
Tell us what happened!
- Call the cops?
- I'm no rat.
Fucking wannabe gangsters...
"I'm no rat".
- Who are you calling?
- The cops.
What the hell?
As usual you do nothing?
What should I do?
He can't stay with that girl.
Your son likes ass.
Her ass is to die for.
- Does she get you hard?
- Cécile, please.
You don't talk me for days
and that's all you can ask?
- Don't be obscene.
- Me?
He gets beat up
and you chalk it up to ass?
Your nonchalance is obscene!
What are you doing?
Where are you going?
- What happened?
- I have nothing to say.
- Who did that to you?
- Who cares?
Raph, you can't go out like that.
I want to know who beat up my son!
You never give up.
Were there several of them?
Were they out for revenge?
You won't believe me.
Tell me!
It was Marie-Lise.
Marie-Lise did that?
And you let her?
What could I do?
You know me.
I am what I am.
You wish I were a bruiser,
the school bully,
a bull-terrier warrior,
but I can't fight, I never could,
I hate it.
You have to fight in life.
Never give in,
even to a woman.
Not a woman. My woman.
And...
the mother of my child.
What?
She's pregnant.
Six weeks.
She can still get an abortion.
No.
What do you mean?
I don't want her
to get an abortion.
That's why we fought.
She doesn't want it.
Maybe you should listen to her.
She's not that dumb.
I'm glad to hear you say it.
Do you know what you're doing?
This is a huge mistake!
- It's my decision.
- You'll regret it.
- Do you regret it?
- What?
Having kids.
You bet your ass I do.
I had it coming.
Listen, it's late.
I'm tired. You're tired.
Rest up
and we'll discuss this tomorrow.
I'm going back to her place.
You sure it's your child?
When will you tell your mom?
You've been together 30 years.
You know better.
Tell her I'll call her.
Ashamed of me?
No more than usual.
I'm never ashamed of you, Raphael.
I love you, Dad.
I love you too.
Here... it'll relax you.
I doubt it.
Take it.
I loved growing up here.
You're all bat-shit crazy,
constantly fighting,
but I loved every minute.
Thanks for everything.
"Thanks for everything".
Thanks for giving him life,
though he wasn't given the choice.
Thanks for forcing him
into a world of violence,
hate and cynicism.
Thanks for his school,
where cruelty is taught.
Thanks for his false confidence
in a future
that may one day kill him.
Instead of a father,
thanks for this failure
who writes bullshit books.
Thanks for everything.
4 minus 2 equals 2.
Want some?
- Smoking weed now?
- Want to join me?
Getting wasted alone is no fun.
Better to share the experience.
Smoke with your son. Or your dog.
Come on.
When is the last time we laughed,
just you and me?
I have no idea how to answer that.
Want to walk hand in hand
in a joyful land
where we can forget all our troubles?
It's therapeutic.
Relaxes the body,
clears the soul, purifies the mind,
all that crap. Namasté.
Come on.
I feel nothing.
Wait, you just puffed.
Still nothing.
I'd forgotten how nice it was.
Don't stop!
Remember
when we'd get wasted?
Badmouthing people in cafés for hours.
It was another era.
Back when you met me at the station?
That's over. There's Uber now.
- The end of a world.
- Yes, it is.
Pigeons have taken the place of sparrows.
End of a world.
And white dog turds
that no one picked up.
They're gone.
Stockings that run.
They don't run anymore.
My favorite memory.
What?
When the minister gave me
that book prize.
Your stocking had a run.
How can you remember that
but not your mom's birthday?
Sexiest thing I've ever seen.
Really?
You love me?
As much as your mistress?
What mistress?
Rome.
I can't compete with a city.
Could I compete
with that dumb student?
You were falling asleep.
Family life...
You'd have preferred
a life alone?
What a dream.
Go to sleep whenever I want.
Eating whatever, whenever.
My little frozen TV dinners.
What an ass.
Not having to share my cold, empty bed
every night.
Growing old and dying alone.
What a wonderful life.
How about you?
I can't conceive of my life
without our kids.
The kids, whatever...
Weekends at Disneyland.
Amusement parks,
waterparks, birthdays.
lousy cakes, lousy magicians,
other kids.
Christmas... Toy stores.
Gifts all over, noise, batteries!
Battery-operated toys!
The Kings Cake!
Who gets the charm?
We tried so hard not to hurt
anyone's feelings.
"Who's the King?"
It's Daddy.
"Who's the Queen?"
It's Mommy!
And the school plays.
And when the kids auditioned!
And gifts
for Father's and Mother's Day?
I've kept them all.
You're crazy!
I miss it.
Let's have another baby.
Henri, please.
You want a baby?
A pudgy little baby?
- That smells like warm milk.
- That hurts.
You really want a baby?
Then you'll have one.
Raph and Marie-Lise
are expecting.
Huh?
Raph and Marie-Lise
are expecting.
You mean that whore...
that total bimbo...
that bitch
is carrying the baby
of my son Raphael,
our grandchild?
I can't believe that.
Can you imagine the baby?
Born with a tattoo
and G-string up his butt!
Future Nobel prize.
In Chemistry?
With what his dad smoked.
At least he'll be an easy kid
to take care of.
If bored, take him to McDonalds
and have him count fries!
I think I smoked too much.
I'm hungry.
Starving!
You'll be a grandmother.
Granny Cécile.
Stop, that's awful.
How should he call you?
Granny?
Grandmother Cécile?
Stop!
You find me old?
Do you find me old?
Come on,
don't say something nasty.
Don't stress me out.
Do you find me old?
- I feel ugly.
- You are ugly.
Realize how lucky you are?
My reason for loving you
is much deeper.
Asshole.
Are we alone?
- I love you, Cécile.
- You're wasted.
I've loved you for 25 years.
Me too.
For 25 years.
What is it?
Gaspard is being expelled.
- You'll get groceries?
- And you?
To see that Mazard face to face.
I'd insult you by explaining...
Insults don't destabilize me.
His essays weren't his.
Let him stay in school,
so he can
play school sports.
Going to Australia
is his dream.
You can ask whatever you want.
- Really?
- But rules are rules.
I'm sorry.
I truly am.
I'd love to have helped you...
Can I ask you something?
Whatever you want.
You knew that doing his work
wasn't really helping.
So why?
He's my son.
But your essay on Musset
was extraordinary.
No student could have done
such a sharp analysis.
- Flattering me?
- Not at all.
It was the subject of my PhD,
which I never finished.
Can I ask why?
Why? Four husbands and a child...
I mean four children
and a husband writer.
That's not why I came.
This may seem strange
and out of left field,
my colleagues and I
have weekly literary conferences.
Someone dropped out.
It's unlikely
we'll replace him
before next year.
I thought that maybe...
That maybe
you'd like to join our group?
Your take on wavering identity
in Romanticism
is utterly fascinating.
It's not my call.
- Whose is it then?
- Yours, Professor.
If Gaspard can write his essay again...
We haven't seen much of you.
I've been with friends.
- How about your book?
- My book?
Don't give up, Dad.
I'm not.
I'm broke. I have no choice.
It's all I know how to do anyway.
We'll be supporting Gaspard forever.
Lay off him.
- You can sell your car.
- My car?
Why would I sell it?
It's proof I did one thing good.
I'll be buried with it.
Isn't that the guy Stupid humped?
Put him on a leash.
Stupid!
Come here!
Did he rape anyone today?
He only has eyes for you!
I'm surprised
you wrote that book.
- Tyrant.
- That's right.
20 years ago!
But what since?
Dad... no.
Dad!
What...
- What got into you?
- Listen...
It's all my fault.
I was too tough.
Punishments, insults,
homework 24/7.
The truth is, with an angry father
and a mother,
an alcoholic on Prozac...
It's not true?
He's asking for help.
Stop covering for me!
I'm neither depressed nor unstable.
I belong to groups
the cops don't like.
What groups?
A group of ecologists.
- An activist cellule.
- Ultra-violent.
What are you mixed up in?
He's an intelligent boy,
a student with top-notch grades.
I saved his report cards.
I can show you.
- Why would he break the law?
- I told you.
To raise consciousness.
He owns it, instead of hiding
behind a youthful error.
By destroying cornfields
and refusing police orders?
Cornfields?
GMO-fields.
They kill the earth
and future generations!
I know it may seem like a done deal,
since Noé was caught red-handed,
but don't worry.
Judges can be conciliatory
when the defendant is a good student.
Ready?
Let's go.
All rise.
Good luck.
Court is in session.
You may be seated.
CHAPTER V: Peace
I'm alone at the house.
Peace at last.
Well, almost.
All day
Cécile prepares night conferences.
She exists
and goes easier on me.
Pauline sends laconic text messages
from Paris.
"Please send 1,000 euros. :-)"
Very expensive smiley.
Raphael sent us
the first ultrasound.
Cécile says
he looks like his mother.
I see Gaspard less.
We barely speak.
He spends his days
eating sea foam.
He seems happy.
Noé writes daily,
calls every weekend,
His voice is weak, pathetic.
- How's my dog?
- Fine. Don't worry about your dog.
Listen, Noé,
you didn't disappoint me.
While most teens do drugs,
drink and jerk off,
you fought for a cause you believe in,
and I'm proud.
Now you must be strong
and do your time.
Everything will be fine.
The next months
won't be easy,
but you're strong, smart,
you'll make it.
This is a bump in the road.
Hospitals, prisons and hookers
school you in life.
You're getting your Masters.
They'll call you "sir"
when you get out.
Your life awaits you.
We'll be waiting for you too.
Farewell, Noé.
Go, son.
Everything will be fine.
4 minus 3 equals 1.
You gotta move your ass, Stupid.
I miss him too.
We can't just give up.
Let's go to the beach.
Come on!
Get you some hot males.
Spaniels, Labradors...
Want to see Hugues in Paris?
You'd like that.
Or Rommel?
- Review your notes?
- Don't start.
Finish your little index cards?
What exactly did you do today?
Just because
you have a social circle
that loves your literary flourishes,
don't moralize me.
- I'm the writer.
- Really?
What do you write?
Oh, you can't.
- Children, debts...
- Exactly.
Blame whoever you want,
but it's you who screwed up.
You had it all, and lost it.
You know why?
Because you're lazy, arrogant,
self-centered.
And an overall asshole.
Finished?
I think I've had enough.
I did everything for you.
I ceded to your desires.
Your dream-house scared me so much,
I couldn't sleep!
I tried to make you laugh,
cook appealing recipes,
and still stay desirable.
Help me, Henri.
What can I do
to stop you from wallowing
in nostalgia and regret?
Know what the worst thing is?
You're so self-centered,
you don't even realize
that you missed out
on your kids.
And on me.
"For Musset,
past and present form a political query:
"how to react to disappointment?
"Lorenzaccio expresses a mood
common to youth of the times,
"an impression of vacuity,
"that politics is of no use to youth."
Thank you.
That was brilliant.
I loved the part about the void.
Is all well?
I wouldn't know where to begin.
Can I buy you a drink?
That's exactly what I need.
No wedding ring?
You're not married?
I'm stopping tranquilizers.
What's the connection to marriage?
I'm divorced.
I have a weakness for sleeping pills.
- Does it make you unhappy?
- Being divorced?
I wonder...
I'm not sure.
I don't think so.
I wonder too.
What woman would I be
if I went back 25 years?
What paths would I have taken?
Maybe I'd have had
dozens of lovers.
Maybe I'd have dyed my hair blonde?
Maybe I'd have written a book.
I'm totally depressing you.
Sure you want to stop tranquilizers?
When you laugh,
it's like you're 20.
What?
Nothing.
Go on... What did I say?
I was never told
anything so tacky.
- Another drink?
- I'd love one.
Where were you?
We waited all night.
I don't know... in a pub.
Are you plastered?
Yeah, that must be it.
I'm plastered.
So come back home.
Actually, no.
I'm not coming home.
Excuse me?
I'm not coming home.
I'll stay a bit longer
with Fabrice... Mazard.
Come on, stop.
Don't be stupid.
Come home.
It's unbelievable.
You spend your life with someone,
you eat, sleep, fuck...
you live together,
you love...
you talk, you want the best
for him and...
and all of a sudden,
suddenly it's over.
And it seems so obvious.
Cécile, you can't...
Listen to me.
Don't worry...
Everything will be fine.
I know we fought,
I was my stupid self, but...
I'm sorry.
I don't feel like talking.
Sorry.
CHAPTER VI:
When a writer is born into a family,
the whole family is ruined.
If you can stay seated in silence
after getting bad news,
if, when fortunes are reversed,
you remain calm,
if you can happily eat
what's in your plate,
run all day and sleep at night
without liquor or pills,
if you can find satisfaction
wherever you are,
you're probably a dog.
Stupid, sit.
Do I have an appointment?
Henri Mohen.
It's about Gaspard.
Gaspard?
He'll be going to Australia
this summer.
Not to be rude,
but I've discussed this with Mrs. Mohen.
While fucking her.
What?
You discussed it
while fucking her?
I'm sure you have reasons,
rules, traditions.
I don't care.
He's going, period.
Whatever differences we may have...
This concerns my son, not us.
- The rules...
- Did Cécile mention Stupid?
Vaguely.
His boner is the size of my arm.
He's 100% gay
and never gets enough.
The only thing standing
between him and you
is me.
Is that a threat?
No, a threat would be:
you better help Gaspard.
Or the disciplinary board will learn
you hired a student's mother
to screw her.
It'll be published
in the school paper
so any other school you apply to
will know
you're a perverted bastard.
That would be a threat.
Stupid, sit!
Listen, tell Cécile
you didn't have the heart
to destroy
her beloved son's happiness.
That out of love... for her...
you bent the rules a little.
I know her.
It's what she expects from you.
No more beer?
- I asked if there's beer.
- No idea. Why scream?
No idea? You finished them?
- I don't count.
- Can't you keep track?
Don't yell at me
because Mom left.
It was me
who needed some time alone.
You can't even bring her home.
Call her.
I called. 1,000 times.
Call again!
It's awful at her sister's.
Spare me the doggy eyes.
Go buy beer.
Don't be rude.
Finish rewriting your essay?
- Nagging me too?
- Own your misdeeds!
Or don't cheat
in the first place.
You still don't get it.
Get what?
University.
- I can't manage.
- You don't try.
You're a smart boy!
Not as smart as Noé.
- Meaning?
- You told me so enough.
Leave Noé out of it.
He's in a jail
for dangerous sociopaths!
Is that smart?
Want to know for the others?
Raphael is being tormented
by a brainless stripper.
Pauline can't pay her bills.
Call that smart?
Raphael is having a baby
with the woman he loves.
Pauline was never so happy.
Noé can be a great politician.
And me...
What's in store for me?
You think I'm shit
because I want to surf.
- I don't think that.
- Don't deny it!
I know you think it.
It's all I know how to do, Dad.
I'm terrified.
Alfred de Musset?
We'll let that asshole get us down?
A depressed boozehound
who whined about women.
Let's work on the essay together.
Who's the writer in this house?
Come...
CHAPTER VII:
All roads lead to Rome.
I got an A.
See?
It wasn't that complicated.
I was never so inspired.
I mastered the subject.
Thanks.
Thank yourself.
Efforts are always rewarded.
Check your passport.
You have a flight coming up.
Mazard was pretty cool.
Cool.
I like him actually.
Glad to hear it.
Are they with you?
I'm off.
Yeah, get moving.
Thanks again.
Later.
There you go.
4 minus 4...
equals 0.
Stupid!
Yeah, it's me.
You said stop calling,
give you some space,
but what do I do
with your shoe?
It can stay alone. It tried, but...
It's not easy.
It's the sentimental type.
It works as a pair.
I can throw it away, but...
don't complain to me
if you walk weird.
If you limp, it's your fault.
Will you call me back?
To tell me what to do.
I mean...
with the shoe.
Stupid!
Time to buckle down and write.
No more escaping it.
To write, we must love.
To love, we must understand.
I understand nothing now.
If I did,
I'd learn to love humanity.
My worldview would be gentler.
I'd open myself to beauty,
invading me
like an electric shock
from my fingertips
to the keyboard.
What are you doing here?
I shouldn't have called so much.
The shoe belonged to Marie-Lise.
He doesn't go shopping with you?
- He was great for Gaspard.
- So I heard.
I lost Stupid.
He must have fallen in love too.
Remember what Noé said
before going to prison?
Take care of Mom and Stupid.
I fucked that up.
Drinking champagne now?
Celebrating something?
Being single.
There's lots of world cuisine
in the frozen section.
They call it "Savory Voyages".
Royal couscous, Thai chicken,
yakitori, mochi.
I never traveled so much.
You're beautiful.
I went through a period...
of deep introspection, since you left.
I wanted to say...
what I discovered
didn't make me too happy.
Bad husband, lousy father.
I was a disaster.
I understand why you left.
I really do.
You served your time
and you deserve
whatever makes you happy.
Even if it's without me,
it's what I wish for you.
But I want you to know...
I'm proud of our time together,
and of all our children.
Every single one.
They're handsome, complicated,
full of passion and principles.
They don't get it from me,
but from you.
Even if we don't grow old together,
as I arrogantly assumed we would,
I wanted to say I love you.
Thank you for all the years
you gave to me and the kids.
Fabrice was offered a job in Paris.
We're leaving Sunday.
You must be happy to go back.
You've wanted to for ages.
Each time we went,
you hated it so.
I can't stand it.
The grayness...
rude Parisians, expensive coffee,
constant traffic.
Have fun.
I think I should go.
Good luck.
You too.
4 minus 5
equals minus 1.
You found my dog?
Stupid?
It's my dog's name.
Can I have your address?
Of course there's a reward.
Just tell me how much.
How much?
Sometimes I'd smoke a cigar at night.
I'd look from Stupid to the stars,
and I felt a connection.
I liked that dog.
As a kid, I'd sit still with my dog
to look at the stars.
Stupid was childhood incarnate,
fetching my catechism.
Who is God? Is God everywhere?
Does God see us?
"Why did God create us?"
Honestly, it's not bad, is it?
You came alone?
Too bad.
I don't like my new assistant.
Your novel is...
wonderful.
No lies. You tell the truth
about mediocrity, bravura...
It's spot on.
Except for the ending.
You want to end it like that?
- How else?
- Keep telling the truth.
The truth?
The truth is depressing.
Every night I stare at the mountains
on the horizon,
above the empty, dead house.
I look up at the sky
to see the 747 heading west.
Chicago, New York...
Maybe Rome.
Every night
I stare at the huge roof,
the swing for the kids,
Pauline's mobile in front of my office,
Pauline's former room...
The branches of the big tree
with Raphael's treehouse in it.
Gaspard's studio,
his boards and wetsuits.
Above, the tattered string
of Noé's basketball hoop.
And every night,
every night,
when I realize I traded my family
for a gay, sex-addicted dog,
my heart shatters
and I start to cry.
Write what you just told me.
The title?
"West of Rome"?
Nothing else?
"My Dog Stupid".
He left it at the office.
I hesitated before giving it to you.
But I needed to know if you'd come along
knowing all the facts.
Did you read it?
No.
Yes.
I read it. That's why I...
couldn't give it to you right away.
But I had to show you.
I don't want to leave with a lie.
He loves you, I think.
Last call for flight 3267
to Paris-Orly.
Fuck Paris.
I'd rather go to Rome.
MY DOG STUPID
25 years ago
I wrote a bestseller.
It broke all sales records
and won every literary prize.
Since then, I write shit.
3 novels killed by the critics
and scripts I'll deny any connection to
until the day I die.
It was raining cats and dogs.
I was in Paris,
where my agent was hawking a crappy film
I felt I'd already seen 1,000 times.
I thanked him
for his interest in me,
forgetting to say "fuck off"
so I could get home quickly.
We had a house on 5 acres of land,
close to both ocean and mountain,
which on a clear day
you could make out.
Pretty, isn't it?
I was dying to sell it all off
and leave the country
on the first Alitalia flight to Rome.
The Villa Medici,
best years of my life.
I wrote my first novel
in this inner sanctum of creativity.
Rome,
far from my wife Cécile,
long before my four children.
Come on, enough already.
Come on... Enough, I said!
Every day I dreamt of a new life
on the Piazza Navona.
Cécile had a lot going for her.
For 25 years she put up with me
and stayed gorgeous.
Her beauty secret?
A glass of white
and a new antidepressant
every day we stayed married.
She gave me 4 children,
1 daughter and 3 sons
that I'd happily trade
for a new Porsche.
Because now I knew
my depression, my backache,
my lack of libido
and my writer's block
was all their fault.
Because my 4 kids,
whatever the circumstances,
had the knack of screwing up
all my attempts at happiness.
I lingered on the coast.
Despite living here for 20 years,
I'd still get lost in rain and fog.
Fuck...
So, as usual,
I began the desperate routine
of looking for my house.
Fuck you, Rommel.
6 months ago, that fucking Doberman
slaughtered Marcello,
my favorite bull terrier.
Worse, he took pleasure in attacking me
whenever I dared go home.
I was still dreaming of Italy.
But on that stormy night
I still didn't know
that a big change was coming.
WEST OF ROME
MY DOG STUPID
- There's something here!
- What?
- Come.
- Why do you have that?
I said to come!
Why not call the fire department?
And die before they get here?
You drank too much again!
I don't drink. I get drunk.
See it?
Stop pointing that rifle at me!
A dog.
- Why is he here?
- How the hell should I know?
Come on, boy!
Poor dog!
How could you bring that here?
It wasn't me!
He has no collar. He's a stray!
I don't want it here!
We'll leave him alone.
He'll go when he feels like it.
He's dying.
I won't let him die in my garden!
- So what should I do?
- Call the SPCA.
They're closed till tomorrow.
- And?
- Cécile... it's just a dog.
We'll leave him.
He'll be gone tomorrow.
I'm sick of seeing you depressed
since your dog died.
For 6 months, you're like a zombie,
rude to everyone.
Are the kids back?
Just Raph.
Why not ask him to deal with it?
Don't be silly. He's a child.
A child?
He's 25!
If he's old enough
for tattoos and weed,
he can get rid of that fucking dog!
- Who is it?
- Me.
- Me?
- Not, you. Me, your father.
I gave you life and half your DNA.
CHAPTER I: Family
Open the fucking door!
And turn off this music.
- Sup?
- Go back to the casino?
Remember you owe me 200 euros.
Pay me back
and I can skip these Paris meetings
that harm my mental well-being.
Okay, Dad.
Mess!
What did you do today?
- Just chillaxed.
- What?
- I don't understand you.
- I saw Marie-Lise.
The stripper?
She's a dancer, not a stripper.
How about her? Dancer too?
Think about your mom and sister.
Mom always checks out my history.
Think I don't notice?
And my sister's room isn't near yours.
Enough.
Get rid of the dog in the garden.
What?
There's a dog in the garden.
Get rid of it.
You need me
to get rid of a dog?
I give you a roof,
weed, rubbers
and for once I ask a favor of you.
I'm too wasted.
Wasted again?
- It's for my back.
- Your back is fine!
- Because I smoke weed.
- Raph, deal with the dog.
You're such a coward.
You do it.
You're in charge of me.
I'm not the father.
You are.
You're stoned!
He's sucking himself.
I'd love to be a dog.
- You and your dogs!
- This isn't me!
I'll get him out.
He stinks. I like it.
Come on, buddy.
Come with me.
Come on...
Motherfucker! I'm not going near him!
- What now?
- Sick of your dogs!
It's not my dog.
Why doesn't anyone listen to me?
Leave the door open and he'll go.
He'll follow me.
Close the door behind me.
Come.
Come on...
Look what I made for you.
Come on...
Look how good this is.
It's so good...
Look, doggy.
Look how good this is.
Fuck...
You deal with it.
Tonight's dinner?
Hugues will know what to do.
We're not sending him
to Guantanamo.
- We're starving.
- Hey!
Order pizzas.
- Problem?
- The canine kind.
You got another dog?
- Pains.
- Hugues, can you put it outside?
Yes... affirmative.
Find me a big towel or an old coat.
I'll get him out.
- You don't have to.
- Don't worry, baby.
I saw worse in Syria.
This okay?
Fine.
My raincoat!
Let him.
Come on, doggy.
We have stuff to say, don't we?
Come, doggy.
There you go.
Do something!
What is he doing?
Fuck!
Help me, dammit!
Get him the fuck off of me!
You okay?
You were his bitch!
Shut up, Raph.
Mr. Mohen,
sorry to have to tell you,
but your dog...
is a fag.
Sorry to have to tell you,
and I understand...
it's a little...
but it's not my dog.
It happened to you.
It could have been Cécile.
It'd have been a nice change.
Give me your rifle.
I'll use his brain as paint.
I don't think so.
- Mom?
- Gaspard, a gay dog!
He just tried to fuck Hugues.
Shut up.
- He's into him.
- Where's Mom?
Shut up!
In her room.
Jesus!
What's this essay
you wrote for me?
- What now?
- Wanna know?
You betrayed me.
How could you write such shit?
I wanted it to look like you wrote it.
It looks like a retard did it.
- So he doesn't get suspicious.
- I got an F.
He thinks a dunce wrote it.
It may not be my best...
I have an idea, Gaspard.
Write your own essays.
Don't ask Mom.
She knows it by heart.
It takes a minute.
It wasn't that bad.
What do they want from me?
From you, nothing.
Gaspard is the student.
Dad, butt out.
I got Mazard
to give me another chance.
This time, try harder.
You have nothing else to do
but his homework?
I like doing it.
Makes me feel useful.
No shitty books to write?
Gaspard, there are limits.
- I'm scared.
- You can be.
What will you do?
Spank me?
I'll cut you off.
No school, no surfboards,
surf wax, hair wax, suntan cream.
Want the list?
Why can't we kill dogs?
You eat beef, chicken,
so why not kill a dog?
Have you no respect for living creatures?
The dog's gay!
Anti-gay, pro-army.
I surrender.
"Surrender"?
Who are you to surrender?
While you eat quinoa,
he protects the country.
He jerked off on Hugues!
What a pain!
Enough, let's go.
- Where are you going?
- Chinese.
Night, Mom!
Leaving?
- Me too.
- Where to?
- McDonald's.
- I'm coming.
- Come on.
- Not seeing your ho?
- You're the ho.
- Shut up.
- Your stripper again?
- Mom, butt out.
I'm going up. Homework.
- Night.
- Night, Mom.
Mom... you have homework too.
Enough, Gaspard.
- Raph?
- I'm coming!
Want anything?
For me, yes.
Spareribs and...
She's such a ballbuster!
And fried rice.
Dad!
See you.
See you.
- Charming.
- I said no more dogs here.
Figure it out.
Good night.
You're a smart cookie.
You succeeded
at what I always fail.
You've chased everyone away.
You got up late.
I went to bed late.
I tried writing a bit.
So, were you inspired
to write great stuff?
Of course not.
They cleaned up for once.
Did they all leave?
Noé is still asleep.
- How did you do it?
- Do what?
The dog is gone.
There was no reason for a scene.
He came and left.
I'll let you clean up.
I have to do Gaspard's essay.
Hey, Dad.
You okay?
You spent the night with him?
He didn't try anything?
He behaved?
In fact he's nice.
And totally stupid.
I'm sick of smart dogs.
Right, Stupid?
That's what we should call him.
Stupid.
Noé spent the night with someone.
What?
No, Henri.
I can't now. I'm in mid-essay.
Take him to the beach
and leave him there.
Plenty of homes to destroy!
It's not even noon.
Don't insist. We can't keep him.
Firm orders.
He'll take a walk on his own
and end of story.
What's up otherwise?
Nothing much.
School's going well?
Yes.
No class today?
No.
I love our intimate, father-son talks.
There's so much sharing.
- What should I say?
- What do you tell them?
- Prefer by text?
- What a pain.
Enough with the phone.
I can't stand it.
Know that I have high hopes for you.
You alone will make up
for all our family's failures.
- You don't mean that.
- Don't I?
That motherfucker Rommel.
He's always hard!
Listen to me.
He's a warrior.
You'll like having him here.
You should have seen
how he destroyed Rommel.
- Fuck Rommel!
- He took revenge for Marcello!
Have you lost it?
It was amazing.
From behind, without warning.
Amazing!
He slobbers!
He smells like piss!
You smell like piss!
The curtains too!
Everything smells like the piss
of all your dogs!
Rocco, Bosco, Marcello!
I'm keeping Stupid.
Excuse me?
It's his name
and this is his home.
CHAPTER II: The writer
You put on a tie?
Pretty editor?
Bring your dog along.
I'm going to Paris.
Don't be silly!
I felt a dead spot on my lips,
where Cécile didn't kiss me goodbye.
But for 25 years,
that kiss was an intrinsic part
of our lives.
I remember the first time
she ended our ritual.
Just before running off
with a student at university
when she'd decided
to go back to literature.
She blamed me for leaving Paris,
for cloistering her
in an oceanfront paradise.
Hermit's refuge, writer's fantasy.
She was bored
but I could write.
At least I thought so at first.
I told her I was making enough
for her not to work,
that we'd have great lives
and conversation-filled nights.
Truth is,
I wanted to keep her close.
I thought she'd find fulfillment
in proofreading.
Realizing the deception,
she decided to go back to school.
I didn't think I'd mind her absence.
It almost killed me.
I got her back when that prick
dumped her for someone younger.
Since, that kiss was
a surefire promise between us.
Today, my cheek missed her kiss
like a monk
might miss a bead on a rosary.
No fucking way! It's just a dog!
Unbelievable! That's Paris for you!
Come on, Stupid.
Thanks for coming.
- And with your dog.
- My wife won't stay alone with him.
Do you mind?
Is he housetrained?
- How do you define "housetrained"?
- What's his name?
Stupid.
- Excuse me?
- His name is Stupid.
I have one too.
- Frédéric!
- Here I come...
Sorry.
Put them in my office.
Get some water for the dog.
- What's his name?
- Stupid.
That's right.
Thanks, Frédéric.
Come, Stupid.
Thank you, Frédéric.
From valedictorian
to bringing Fiji water.
The world has become competitive.
It's scary.
What are you doing?
Nothing for me to read?
It's been months.
- It took time.
- Finally.
No, I'm totally blocked.
Inspiration isn't easy
when parasites suck my brains
- and my bank account.
- It's about money?
The advance we gave you...
Laure, must I tell you
where I find inspiration?
The list of the mighty tasks
of my daily life?
Shopping... for the kids.
Gaspard's suntan lotion,
Raph's potato chips and rubbers!
Pauline's shampoo, the tofu.
Noé's tofu... Not bad...
Wait... the pharmacy.
My wife's antidepressants.
And if I get lucky,
if the universe sends me a message
that I must hurry to write down,
well, then...
we run out of toilet paper.
You're bored out of your gourd.
Want me to write?
Send me to Rome.
To have coffee
at the Piazza Navona.
With a woman... elegant...
blonde, her hair...
Eating melon,
spitting seeds at the pigeons.
- Write about it.
- Pigeons?
Shopping?
Boredom.
The charm of married life.
It sells.
CHAPTER III: Sunday lunch
Any wine left?
Of course.
Hugues, can you get some?
You know the way.
- I'll go.
- Thanks, baby.
Not eating?
It's your fault,
not your mom's.
My fault, really?
Here we go again.
"Mrs. Mohen,
"this is the best essay
written by a parent in 25 years.
"I'm thrilled to give you an A+.
"Congratulations. Cordially,
"Fabrice Mazard." Happy?
Cool, A+ rocks.
It's you who rock.
Why write something so good?
You asked me to.
Now I can forget Australia.
Screw your surf team.
This crap sounds better
plastered.
Totally.
Not for the surfer elite.
That hit the spot.
He's so chill.
- Hugues excites him.
- Enough, Raph.
I hear he butt-fucked you.
Shut your degenerate trap.
- What the hell?
- You're a pain.
His mouth wets itself!
Can't you tie him up?
Why?
He has the same rights as you.
Comparing us to dogs?
Certainly not.
Unfair to him.
He's more loyal and no ballbuster.
No fucking way! Beat it!
- Get him out.
- That's hurtful!
He's just a dog.
He understands and he's hurt.
- Noé!
- I'll walk him and make a call.
Come, Stupid.
- All good?
- Little girls room?
I'll show you.
- You're pathetic.
- Pathetic!
- He's into bimbos.
- Not bimbos, just nice ass.
You find her hot?
He got lost.
Unless they do toilet sex.
Little girls room.
Henri, do something.
Like what? Call the SPCA?
What the hell?
- Do something!
- Lay off!
We're leaving.
- Where to?
- I'm fed up. Let's go to the beach.
See you later.
Cool.
- Did you just screw her?
- What?
What the hell? You're a psycho!
Did I just fuck her?
Who do you think she is?
How can you think something like that?
I'm shocked. You're my mom.
Where did everyone go?
The beach.
Amazeballs! Let's go.
Save some dessert for us.
Raph!
- You're dirty.
- Raaaph!
I'm sick of cooking for everyone.
Couldn't your daughter help?
She lets her soldier command her.
"All good, baby?
Need anything, baby?"
And "Raaaph"!
We have 2 dogs in the house!
I so wanted to meet
the whore of his dreams!
Come on, stop complaining!
- We have great kids!
- Don't start.
You can badmouth them
and I can't?
And Gaspard... don't forget Gaspard.
A genius.
A good thinker, an extreme desire
to get by on his own.
He'll go far, trust me.
What I like most is his gratitude.
The way he thanks everyone
for everything.
Having a good laugh?
Gaspard!
Gaspard, wait!
- We didn't see you!
- Does that make it better?
It was a joke!
Don't be upset!
A joke?
Calling me a retard is a joke?
We never said that, Gaspard!
Listen to me!
Gaspard, wait!
It's a game.
We do it to all of you.
Did you do it with Noé?
Yes or no?
- Not his turn.
- What would you say?
- No idea.
- Because he's perfect!
Gaspard, please.
You make fun of me
like a retard.
As if you two are geniuses.
You eat Prozac day and night.
And all you do is write crap.
I wrote a good one!
25 years ago! I wasn't born!
Exactly. None of you were born!
Ask yourself why.
You screwed that up!
Dad!
Dad, come down here!
His latest victim
wants to see you.
Gaspard!
Your dog?
- Your name?
- Mr. Mohen.
Louis Daval.
I guess you know who I am.
I can't say I do.
- New here?
- Just 20 years.
How can I help you?
Your dog tried...
doing stuff to me.
It's his way of saying hi.
He humped my leg frenetically.
That's saying hi?
Degenerate dogs need leashes!
- It's only normal!
- Sorry, but...
For a man, it would be wrong,
but a dog doesn't know
what he's doing.
It's instinct.
Know what my instinct says?
To have him put down.
- What for?
- Sexual aggression.
Got proof?
Bruises, blood?
Were you bitten? Penetrated?
- You got nothing on him.
- You won't get away with this.
Call the cops!
Special Canine Masturbation Victims Unit.
You'll be their priority.
You're proud of your dog.
To tell you the truth,
I'm disappointed.
He usually has better taste.
Go on home.
And keep him locked up!
- I got your name, Mohen.
- I already forgot yours.
Come, Stupid.
Come...
We all agree.
Take him to the SPCA. He's dangerous.
You all agree.
You took a vote, a referendum?
What is democracy and dictatorship?
- Dad...
- A democracy, you vote then obey.
A dictatorship, voting is useless.
Spare yourself.
- You don't care what we think.
- Exactly.
I'm keeping the dog.
There's another solution.
- Which one?
- Castrate him.
I'd rather put him down.
Why do you care so much?
- I'll tell you.
- Go on.
Because I'm tired.
Of defeats and failures.
I'm 55. My best years are past.
Can you imagine having
no plans for the future?
No more victories?
He's a victory.
Every car I won't ride,
every girl I won't fuck.
No one wants him.
Like me.
I fight and lose each time.
He fights and wins!
He doesn't just fight dogs,
he fucks them too.
I love it and I'm keeping him!
That's your daughter!
I'm sick of your crap!
I'm fed up!
Not happy?
The door is wide open!
Yeah, I'm going.
One week tops.
You know how he is.
You know him.
- He doesn't mean it.
- Enough.
You've put up with him
for 25 years.
That's your problem.
At 24, I don't need it.
I didn't ask for a father like him.
- Stop.
- He stifles me!
Nothing we say or do
is good enough!
He even makes me doubt
how to spell my name!
I feel like a failure
next to him!
The great fucking shitty writer!
I've had enough. I'm tired.
I can't stand it anymore.
I always feel like he's judging me!
He plays to the gallery with his...
nasty remarks.
I can't stand the constant humiliation.
I love you.
He loves you too.
Dad, we're going.
Fine, honey.
Good luck.
We'll live with friends,
Marie and Christophe,
until we find our way.
Excellent.
Have fun.
And kiss Marie...
and... Christophe
on my behalf.
Goodbye!
- Call when you get there.
- Sure.
Mrs. Mohen...
thanks for all you've done.
Drive carefully.
I don't fucking believe it!
Up to the very end!
Here.
Take care of my girl.
No worries, sir.
Thanks for all you've done.
Come see Stupid once in a while.
He'd like that.
He'll miss you.
I'll tell you something
about fatherhood, Stupid.
It's coupled with a strange cruelty.
Your kids grow up
and you shrink.
Talking to your dog now?
At least he listens.
She forgot her father's picture.
Happy with yourself?
I think I'll move my office
in here.
It's roomier.
It's brighter...
I'll leave you to your cynicism.
Too bad for you.
4 minus 1 equals 3.
CHAPTER IV:
And you will be a man, my son
To help you stand it here.
Hear from Pauline?
Cécile was angry with me over Pauline.
What I said, didn't say.
Over everything.
My living and breathing
under the same roof
made her furious.
Instead of yelling at me
for going too far,
she used the worst weapon.
The most fearsome
and terrifying of all.
Silence.
Her silence excluded me
from everything.
Not the usual
passive-aggressive silence.
That's not a severe enough punishment.
Mine had to be much worse.
That ultimate punishment
was cordial silence.
The one that pushes you to the limit.
Polite silence.
Whatever my question,
her answer was a neutral smile,
no anger, no furor, nothing.
A cipher, void of blame,
void of everything, void of meaning,
I counted her neutral smiles,
lambs to be slaughtered,
and I was about to implode.
Until this little domestic drama
freed me from my silent prison
and the slaughterhouse.
- It's fine, Mom.
- Are you kidding?
I'll ask again:
who did this to you?
- Were you with her?
- What if I was?
Stop, that stings! I have to go.
You're not going anywhere!
Tell us what happened!
- Call the cops?
- I'm no rat.
Fucking wannabe gangsters...
"I'm no rat".
- Who are you calling?
- The cops.
What the hell?
As usual you do nothing?
What should I do?
He can't stay with that girl.
Your son likes ass.
Her ass is to die for.
- Does she get you hard?
- Cécile, please.
You don't talk me for days
and that's all you can ask?
- Don't be obscene.
- Me?
He gets beat up
and you chalk it up to ass?
Your nonchalance is obscene!
What are you doing?
Where are you going?
- What happened?
- I have nothing to say.
- Who did that to you?
- Who cares?
Raph, you can't go out like that.
I want to know who beat up my son!
You never give up.
Were there several of them?
Were they out for revenge?
You won't believe me.
Tell me!
It was Marie-Lise.
Marie-Lise did that?
And you let her?
What could I do?
You know me.
I am what I am.
You wish I were a bruiser,
the school bully,
a bull-terrier warrior,
but I can't fight, I never could,
I hate it.
You have to fight in life.
Never give in,
even to a woman.
Not a woman. My woman.
And...
the mother of my child.
What?
She's pregnant.
Six weeks.
She can still get an abortion.
No.
What do you mean?
I don't want her
to get an abortion.
That's why we fought.
She doesn't want it.
Maybe you should listen to her.
She's not that dumb.
I'm glad to hear you say it.
Do you know what you're doing?
This is a huge mistake!
- It's my decision.
- You'll regret it.
- Do you regret it?
- What?
Having kids.
You bet your ass I do.
I had it coming.
Listen, it's late.
I'm tired. You're tired.
Rest up
and we'll discuss this tomorrow.
I'm going back to her place.
You sure it's your child?
When will you tell your mom?
You've been together 30 years.
You know better.
Tell her I'll call her.
Ashamed of me?
No more than usual.
I'm never ashamed of you, Raphael.
I love you, Dad.
I love you too.
Here... it'll relax you.
I doubt it.
Take it.
I loved growing up here.
You're all bat-shit crazy,
constantly fighting,
but I loved every minute.
Thanks for everything.
"Thanks for everything".
Thanks for giving him life,
though he wasn't given the choice.
Thanks for forcing him
into a world of violence,
hate and cynicism.
Thanks for his school,
where cruelty is taught.
Thanks for his false confidence
in a future
that may one day kill him.
Instead of a father,
thanks for this failure
who writes bullshit books.
Thanks for everything.
4 minus 2 equals 2.
Want some?
- Smoking weed now?
- Want to join me?
Getting wasted alone is no fun.
Better to share the experience.
Smoke with your son. Or your dog.
Come on.
When is the last time we laughed,
just you and me?
I have no idea how to answer that.
Want to walk hand in hand
in a joyful land
where we can forget all our troubles?
It's therapeutic.
Relaxes the body,
clears the soul, purifies the mind,
all that crap. Namasté.
Come on.
I feel nothing.
Wait, you just puffed.
Still nothing.
I'd forgotten how nice it was.
Don't stop!
Remember
when we'd get wasted?
Badmouthing people in cafés for hours.
It was another era.
Back when you met me at the station?
That's over. There's Uber now.
- The end of a world.
- Yes, it is.
Pigeons have taken the place of sparrows.
End of a world.
And white dog turds
that no one picked up.
They're gone.
Stockings that run.
They don't run anymore.
My favorite memory.
What?
When the minister gave me
that book prize.
Your stocking had a run.
How can you remember that
but not your mom's birthday?
Sexiest thing I've ever seen.
Really?
You love me?
As much as your mistress?
What mistress?
Rome.
I can't compete with a city.
Could I compete
with that dumb student?
You were falling asleep.
Family life...
You'd have preferred
a life alone?
What a dream.
Go to sleep whenever I want.
Eating whatever, whenever.
My little frozen TV dinners.
What an ass.
Not having to share my cold, empty bed
every night.
Growing old and dying alone.
What a wonderful life.
How about you?
I can't conceive of my life
without our kids.
The kids, whatever...
Weekends at Disneyland.
Amusement parks,
waterparks, birthdays.
lousy cakes, lousy magicians,
other kids.
Christmas... Toy stores.
Gifts all over, noise, batteries!
Battery-operated toys!
The Kings Cake!
Who gets the charm?
We tried so hard not to hurt
anyone's feelings.
"Who's the King?"
It's Daddy.
"Who's the Queen?"
It's Mommy!
And the school plays.
And when the kids auditioned!
And gifts
for Father's and Mother's Day?
I've kept them all.
You're crazy!
I miss it.
Let's have another baby.
Henri, please.
You want a baby?
A pudgy little baby?
- That smells like warm milk.
- That hurts.
You really want a baby?
Then you'll have one.
Raph and Marie-Lise
are expecting.
Huh?
Raph and Marie-Lise
are expecting.
You mean that whore...
that total bimbo...
that bitch
is carrying the baby
of my son Raphael,
our grandchild?
I can't believe that.
Can you imagine the baby?
Born with a tattoo
and G-string up his butt!
Future Nobel prize.
In Chemistry?
With what his dad smoked.
At least he'll be an easy kid
to take care of.
If bored, take him to McDonalds
and have him count fries!
I think I smoked too much.
I'm hungry.
Starving!
You'll be a grandmother.
Granny Cécile.
Stop, that's awful.
How should he call you?
Granny?
Grandmother Cécile?
Stop!
You find me old?
Do you find me old?
Come on,
don't say something nasty.
Don't stress me out.
Do you find me old?
- I feel ugly.
- You are ugly.
Realize how lucky you are?
My reason for loving you
is much deeper.
Asshole.
Are we alone?
- I love you, Cécile.
- You're wasted.
I've loved you for 25 years.
Me too.
For 25 years.
What is it?
Gaspard is being expelled.
- You'll get groceries?
- And you?
To see that Mazard face to face.
I'd insult you by explaining...
Insults don't destabilize me.
His essays weren't his.
Let him stay in school,
so he can
play school sports.
Going to Australia
is his dream.
You can ask whatever you want.
- Really?
- But rules are rules.
I'm sorry.
I truly am.
I'd love to have helped you...
Can I ask you something?
Whatever you want.
You knew that doing his work
wasn't really helping.
So why?
He's my son.
But your essay on Musset
was extraordinary.
No student could have done
such a sharp analysis.
- Flattering me?
- Not at all.
It was the subject of my PhD,
which I never finished.
Can I ask why?
Why? Four husbands and a child...
I mean four children
and a husband writer.
That's not why I came.
This may seem strange
and out of left field,
my colleagues and I
have weekly literary conferences.
Someone dropped out.
It's unlikely
we'll replace him
before next year.
I thought that maybe...
That maybe
you'd like to join our group?
Your take on wavering identity
in Romanticism
is utterly fascinating.
It's not my call.
- Whose is it then?
- Yours, Professor.
If Gaspard can write his essay again...
We haven't seen much of you.
I've been with friends.
- How about your book?
- My book?
Don't give up, Dad.
I'm not.
I'm broke. I have no choice.
It's all I know how to do anyway.
We'll be supporting Gaspard forever.
Lay off him.
- You can sell your car.
- My car?
Why would I sell it?
It's proof I did one thing good.
I'll be buried with it.
Isn't that the guy Stupid humped?
Put him on a leash.
Stupid!
Come here!
Did he rape anyone today?
He only has eyes for you!
I'm surprised
you wrote that book.
- Tyrant.
- That's right.
20 years ago!
But what since?
Dad... no.
Dad!
What...
- What got into you?
- Listen...
It's all my fault.
I was too tough.
Punishments, insults,
homework 24/7.
The truth is, with an angry father
and a mother,
an alcoholic on Prozac...
It's not true?
He's asking for help.
Stop covering for me!
I'm neither depressed nor unstable.
I belong to groups
the cops don't like.
What groups?
A group of ecologists.
- An activist cellule.
- Ultra-violent.
What are you mixed up in?
He's an intelligent boy,
a student with top-notch grades.
I saved his report cards.
I can show you.
- Why would he break the law?
- I told you.
To raise consciousness.
He owns it, instead of hiding
behind a youthful error.
By destroying cornfields
and refusing police orders?
Cornfields?
GMO-fields.
They kill the earth
and future generations!
I know it may seem like a done deal,
since Noé was caught red-handed,
but don't worry.
Judges can be conciliatory
when the defendant is a good student.
Ready?
Let's go.
All rise.
Good luck.
Court is in session.
You may be seated.
CHAPTER V: Peace
I'm alone at the house.
Peace at last.
Well, almost.
All day
Cécile prepares night conferences.
She exists
and goes easier on me.
Pauline sends laconic text messages
from Paris.
"Please send 1,000 euros. :-)"
Very expensive smiley.
Raphael sent us
the first ultrasound.
Cécile says
he looks like his mother.
I see Gaspard less.
We barely speak.
He spends his days
eating sea foam.
He seems happy.
Noé writes daily,
calls every weekend,
His voice is weak, pathetic.
- How's my dog?
- Fine. Don't worry about your dog.
Listen, Noé,
you didn't disappoint me.
While most teens do drugs,
drink and jerk off,
you fought for a cause you believe in,
and I'm proud.
Now you must be strong
and do your time.
Everything will be fine.
The next months
won't be easy,
but you're strong, smart,
you'll make it.
This is a bump in the road.
Hospitals, prisons and hookers
school you in life.
You're getting your Masters.
They'll call you "sir"
when you get out.
Your life awaits you.
We'll be waiting for you too.
Farewell, Noé.
Go, son.
Everything will be fine.
4 minus 3 equals 1.
You gotta move your ass, Stupid.
I miss him too.
We can't just give up.
Let's go to the beach.
Come on!
Get you some hot males.
Spaniels, Labradors...
Want to see Hugues in Paris?
You'd like that.
Or Rommel?
- Review your notes?
- Don't start.
Finish your little index cards?
What exactly did you do today?
Just because
you have a social circle
that loves your literary flourishes,
don't moralize me.
- I'm the writer.
- Really?
What do you write?
Oh, you can't.
- Children, debts...
- Exactly.
Blame whoever you want,
but it's you who screwed up.
You had it all, and lost it.
You know why?
Because you're lazy, arrogant,
self-centered.
And an overall asshole.
Finished?
I think I've had enough.
I did everything for you.
I ceded to your desires.
Your dream-house scared me so much,
I couldn't sleep!
I tried to make you laugh,
cook appealing recipes,
and still stay desirable.
Help me, Henri.
What can I do
to stop you from wallowing
in nostalgia and regret?
Know what the worst thing is?
You're so self-centered,
you don't even realize
that you missed out
on your kids.
And on me.
"For Musset,
past and present form a political query:
"how to react to disappointment?
"Lorenzaccio expresses a mood
common to youth of the times,
"an impression of vacuity,
"that politics is of no use to youth."
Thank you.
That was brilliant.
I loved the part about the void.
Is all well?
I wouldn't know where to begin.
Can I buy you a drink?
That's exactly what I need.
No wedding ring?
You're not married?
I'm stopping tranquilizers.
What's the connection to marriage?
I'm divorced.
I have a weakness for sleeping pills.
- Does it make you unhappy?
- Being divorced?
I wonder...
I'm not sure.
I don't think so.
I wonder too.
What woman would I be
if I went back 25 years?
What paths would I have taken?
Maybe I'd have had
dozens of lovers.
Maybe I'd have dyed my hair blonde?
Maybe I'd have written a book.
I'm totally depressing you.
Sure you want to stop tranquilizers?
When you laugh,
it's like you're 20.
What?
Nothing.
Go on... What did I say?
I was never told
anything so tacky.
- Another drink?
- I'd love one.
Where were you?
We waited all night.
I don't know... in a pub.
Are you plastered?
Yeah, that must be it.
I'm plastered.
So come back home.
Actually, no.
I'm not coming home.
Excuse me?
I'm not coming home.
I'll stay a bit longer
with Fabrice... Mazard.
Come on, stop.
Don't be stupid.
Come home.
It's unbelievable.
You spend your life with someone,
you eat, sleep, fuck...
you live together,
you love...
you talk, you want the best
for him and...
and all of a sudden,
suddenly it's over.
And it seems so obvious.
Cécile, you can't...
Listen to me.
Don't worry...
Everything will be fine.
I know we fought,
I was my stupid self, but...
I'm sorry.
I don't feel like talking.
Sorry.
CHAPTER VI:
When a writer is born into a family,
the whole family is ruined.
If you can stay seated in silence
after getting bad news,
if, when fortunes are reversed,
you remain calm,
if you can happily eat
what's in your plate,
run all day and sleep at night
without liquor or pills,
if you can find satisfaction
wherever you are,
you're probably a dog.
Stupid, sit.
Do I have an appointment?
Henri Mohen.
It's about Gaspard.
Gaspard?
He'll be going to Australia
this summer.
Not to be rude,
but I've discussed this with Mrs. Mohen.
While fucking her.
What?
You discussed it
while fucking her?
I'm sure you have reasons,
rules, traditions.
I don't care.
He's going, period.
Whatever differences we may have...
This concerns my son, not us.
- The rules...
- Did Cécile mention Stupid?
Vaguely.
His boner is the size of my arm.
He's 100% gay
and never gets enough.
The only thing standing
between him and you
is me.
Is that a threat?
No, a threat would be:
you better help Gaspard.
Or the disciplinary board will learn
you hired a student's mother
to screw her.
It'll be published
in the school paper
so any other school you apply to
will know
you're a perverted bastard.
That would be a threat.
Stupid, sit!
Listen, tell Cécile
you didn't have the heart
to destroy
her beloved son's happiness.
That out of love... for her...
you bent the rules a little.
I know her.
It's what she expects from you.
No more beer?
- I asked if there's beer.
- No idea. Why scream?
No idea? You finished them?
- I don't count.
- Can't you keep track?
Don't yell at me
because Mom left.
It was me
who needed some time alone.
You can't even bring her home.
Call her.
I called. 1,000 times.
Call again!
It's awful at her sister's.
Spare me the doggy eyes.
Go buy beer.
Don't be rude.
Finish rewriting your essay?
- Nagging me too?
- Own your misdeeds!
Or don't cheat
in the first place.
You still don't get it.
Get what?
University.
- I can't manage.
- You don't try.
You're a smart boy!
Not as smart as Noé.
- Meaning?
- You told me so enough.
Leave Noé out of it.
He's in a jail
for dangerous sociopaths!
Is that smart?
Want to know for the others?
Raphael is being tormented
by a brainless stripper.
Pauline can't pay her bills.
Call that smart?
Raphael is having a baby
with the woman he loves.
Pauline was never so happy.
Noé can be a great politician.
And me...
What's in store for me?
You think I'm shit
because I want to surf.
- I don't think that.
- Don't deny it!
I know you think it.
It's all I know how to do, Dad.
I'm terrified.
Alfred de Musset?
We'll let that asshole get us down?
A depressed boozehound
who whined about women.
Let's work on the essay together.
Who's the writer in this house?
Come...
CHAPTER VII:
All roads lead to Rome.
I got an A.
See?
It wasn't that complicated.
I was never so inspired.
I mastered the subject.
Thanks.
Thank yourself.
Efforts are always rewarded.
Check your passport.
You have a flight coming up.
Mazard was pretty cool.
Cool.
I like him actually.
Glad to hear it.
Are they with you?
I'm off.
Yeah, get moving.
Thanks again.
Later.
There you go.
4 minus 4...
equals 0.
Stupid!
Yeah, it's me.
You said stop calling,
give you some space,
but what do I do
with your shoe?
It can stay alone. It tried, but...
It's not easy.
It's the sentimental type.
It works as a pair.
I can throw it away, but...
don't complain to me
if you walk weird.
If you limp, it's your fault.
Will you call me back?
To tell me what to do.
I mean...
with the shoe.
Stupid!
Time to buckle down and write.
No more escaping it.
To write, we must love.
To love, we must understand.
I understand nothing now.
If I did,
I'd learn to love humanity.
My worldview would be gentler.
I'd open myself to beauty,
invading me
like an electric shock
from my fingertips
to the keyboard.
What are you doing here?
I shouldn't have called so much.
The shoe belonged to Marie-Lise.
He doesn't go shopping with you?
- He was great for Gaspard.
- So I heard.
I lost Stupid.
He must have fallen in love too.
Remember what Noé said
before going to prison?
Take care of Mom and Stupid.
I fucked that up.
Drinking champagne now?
Celebrating something?
Being single.
There's lots of world cuisine
in the frozen section.
They call it "Savory Voyages".
Royal couscous, Thai chicken,
yakitori, mochi.
I never traveled so much.
You're beautiful.
I went through a period...
of deep introspection, since you left.
I wanted to say...
what I discovered
didn't make me too happy.
Bad husband, lousy father.
I was a disaster.
I understand why you left.
I really do.
You served your time
and you deserve
whatever makes you happy.
Even if it's without me,
it's what I wish for you.
But I want you to know...
I'm proud of our time together,
and of all our children.
Every single one.
They're handsome, complicated,
full of passion and principles.
They don't get it from me,
but from you.
Even if we don't grow old together,
as I arrogantly assumed we would,
I wanted to say I love you.
Thank you for all the years
you gave to me and the kids.
Fabrice was offered a job in Paris.
We're leaving Sunday.
You must be happy to go back.
You've wanted to for ages.
Each time we went,
you hated it so.
I can't stand it.
The grayness...
rude Parisians, expensive coffee,
constant traffic.
Have fun.
I think I should go.
Good luck.
You too.
4 minus 5
equals minus 1.
You found my dog?
Stupid?
It's my dog's name.
Can I have your address?
Of course there's a reward.
Just tell me how much.
How much?
Sometimes I'd smoke a cigar at night.
I'd look from Stupid to the stars,
and I felt a connection.
I liked that dog.
As a kid, I'd sit still with my dog
to look at the stars.
Stupid was childhood incarnate,
fetching my catechism.
Who is God? Is God everywhere?
Does God see us?
"Why did God create us?"
Honestly, it's not bad, is it?
You came alone?
Too bad.
I don't like my new assistant.
Your novel is...
wonderful.
No lies. You tell the truth
about mediocrity, bravura...
It's spot on.
Except for the ending.
You want to end it like that?
- How else?
- Keep telling the truth.
The truth?
The truth is depressing.
Every night I stare at the mountains
on the horizon,
above the empty, dead house.
I look up at the sky
to see the 747 heading west.
Chicago, New York...
Maybe Rome.
Every night
I stare at the huge roof,
the swing for the kids,
Pauline's mobile in front of my office,
Pauline's former room...
The branches of the big tree
with Raphael's treehouse in it.
Gaspard's studio,
his boards and wetsuits.
Above, the tattered string
of Noé's basketball hoop.
And every night,
every night,
when I realize I traded my family
for a gay, sex-addicted dog,
my heart shatters
and I start to cry.
Write what you just told me.
The title?
"West of Rome"?
Nothing else?
"My Dog Stupid".
He left it at the office.
I hesitated before giving it to you.
But I needed to know if you'd come along
knowing all the facts.
Did you read it?
No.
Yes.
I read it. That's why I...
couldn't give it to you right away.
But I had to show you.
I don't want to leave with a lie.
He loves you, I think.
Last call for flight 3267
to Paris-Orly.
Fuck Paris.
I'd rather go to Rome.
MY DOG STUPID