My Name Is Annemarie Schwarzenbach (2015) - full transcript

What is it?

When I have to say something
straight away,

I'm often worried that...

I'm worried about having to say
if I'm a man or a woman.

If I have to say that I'm a woman,
what does it mean?

It seems weird
to have to be clear about it.

It's very strange to say,
as a woman...

I really like her voice.

Yes. She has the accent too.

Annemarie's voice was deep and gentle.

And that's a deep and gentle voice.



I love that sort of voice.

...isn't possible
without separating into categories.

If the category is things,
then making...

Are you looking for a copy?

No.

Not a copy.
More a contemporary take.

In any case,
she couldn't be identical.

It's not the 1930s anymore.

You see, Marion...

An important thing
about this casting...

I want young people.

She died at 34, remember.

I want them to talk about themselves.

Mégane.



Yes, she's interesting.

She really has the look.

Have you seen her eyes?

Just like Breslauer's photo.

An odd mix of man and woman.

Listen to this...

"They're not Annemarie Schwarzenbach.
They become her.

"Just as one isn't born a woman,
one becomes one."

MY NAME IS
ANNEMARIE SCHWARZENBACH

- Shall I start?
- Yes.

My name is Fanny.

I'm thirty-one.

I'm a feminist.

To me, everything is political.

I come from Sweden.

I grew up in Stockholm.

Once on TV,

the Queen of Sweden
answered a question,

which was:

"Is Your Majesty

"a feminist?"

And the Queen answered,

"I think it's very important
to remain feminine."

An answer like that

is so sad,

especially coming from someone

with the powers of a queen,

even though those powers
are purely symbolic.

It's exasperating!

And I think that's why

the feminist struggle isn't over.

And even if in Sweden we have made...

Or, rather, they did.
It was in the 70s before I was born.

They made enormous progress.

But while there's still inequality
between the sexes,

we can't speak about equality.

What I mean is,
equality is either 50/50

or it's nothing.

My mother always told me,

"You can do anything you want."

And I've really tried
to do everything.

I've delivered the post,
been an actor,

waited on tables...

I've been a...

translator.

Now I'm in a situation where
I have to decide what to do,

and I find myself stuck
because I'm having trouble

making my way in the world
the way it is today.

I need to become politicised.

Unfortunately, I don't have
the strength that Annemarie had.

Maria, it's your turn.

Put this on.

I'll let you do it.
Come and join us.

There are photos behind you.

I want you to look at them,

and to try to assume
Annemarie's poses.

They're from three periods in her life.

On the right is when she was
in Persia in 1935.

In the middle is when she was
in hospital, in detox.

On the left
is when she was in Afghanistan.

Look at the camera. Annemarie was
very conscious of being photographed.

Another position, please.

Once, when I was still very small,

some beautiful women
visited the house.

They were conversing with Mama

and drinking tea

from blue cups.

When I came to say hello

they pulled me to them
and caressed me.

One held my hand
while chatting to the other visitors.

I blushed

and looked at Mama, who called me over

and sent me to do something elsewhere.

OK, great.

Now line up again, please.

Look at this photograph.

This is something
that Annemarie loved doing.

Could you do it?

Each time I met beautiful women,

it was the beginning of the forbidden.

Oh, cracking!

Very good.

Well done. I'm impressed.

- Pauline?
- Yes, hello.

Come on in.

I've had a cancellation
so it's your turn right now.

My name is Annemarie Schwarzenbach.
I was born in 1908.

I was born
and educated in Switzerland.

When I was five,
my mother made me go horse riding.

After that I played the piano,
which I always loved.

It was always there.

At the age of 15
I went to a girls' boarding school,

then I came to Paris,
where I completed my studies.

At the age of 23 I published
my first novel and my thesis.

Then I wanted
to discover other things,

escape from this world in which
I was hemmed in by my family.

I travelled a great deal,

and on these trips
I encountered lots of people

and places,
whose images have stayed with me.

On these voyages I wrote a lot.

It was very important to me
to get it all down on paper.

So I came back,

enriched with all those images
and encounters,

which enabled me to construct
what I wanted to,

and discover
what I wanted to discover.

Try a tracking shot.

Go on!

My name is Pauline Leprince.
I was born in 1991

in the 17th arrondissement of Paris.

I've lived a bit in Switzerland,
in Crans-Montana.

I was privately educated at a school
called Les Francs Bourgeois.

I was started on the piano at 6
by my great-uncle Pierre Petit,

who was a musician
and a great music critic.

My father owned race horses
so I started riding early.

My first mare was called Valériane.

I've had my current horse
for 7 years. His name is Onoé.

Annemarie always felt,
when she was horse-riding

as a child,

that she was
a sort of circus performer.

Because her mother forced her.

Doing this casting,
I sort of have the same feeling.

That we're making them
jump through hoops.

But that's all part of it.

If you really want to know
how far they can go...

Mégane,

tell me about yourself,
taking inspiration from Annemarie.

I always knew I was gay,

even as a very young child.

At nursery school I was in love
with my best friend.

She loved me too

but just as a friend, of course.

I grew up with that burden.

Maybe in a simpler era
than a few years ago.

But I wasn't raised like that.

I was taught "Mum and Dad".

I was told, "You'll love a man."

No, it'll be a woman.

At high school I met Mélodie,

the love of my life.
She wasn't gay.

We discovered love together.

Fusion.

My parents found out I was gay
when I was 17.

It caused a huge fuss.

My dad said things
I never want to hear again.

He said I wasn't his daughter.

Why did it happen to him?

What had he done to deserve it?

"Who are you, my daughter?"

Eyes full of tears.

My mother was desperate.

Her brother was gay too.
My uncle.

It had happened to her again.

It had "befallen her again",
as she put it.

A huge fuss.

I'm still angry with them
but I love them.

Annemarie,

tell me about your great love, Erika.

The daughter of Thomas Mann.

Sister of Klaus.

A fantastic actress,

rebellious,

brave...

You're everything I'm not.

Passionate,

fulfilled, I think.

I want you for myself, Erika.

Do I think a lot about Sybille?

I'd say that I don't know yet.

I don't think about it,

but I haven't forgotten her
for a single moment.

It's as if I'd never lived without her.

Nothing binds us together,

but I'm impregnated with her presence.

At times I have recalled
the smell of her skin

or of her breath,

and it's as though
I were still holding her in my arms,

for the duration of a dance,

or as though
she were seated beside me,

and I need just reach out my hand
to touch her.

Could something be linking us together?

Those long evenings,

those long nights,

that goodbye at her door
in the early morning...

That infinite loneliness.

Let's go, then.

Véronique will ask you what you have
in common with Annemarie.

What will you say?

I think...

I think I have many things
in common with her.

I find myself in her.

Is there anything more precise?

- I love her...
- As regards her life?

Lots of things.

But it's not really...

Well, I'm gay.
So I can understand her position.

Marion, can you come?

And then...

That will do. Work on that.

OK.

I'll be right back.

Coming!

Here.

So you'll come and hold up your sign.

When she tells you to come forward,
come forward, OK?

OK, right profile.

Left.

Now fill in the form,

for the image rights.

Aurélie, can you come?

Don't smile.

Thanks. Right profile.

She's writing.

- Is it an original photo?
- Yes.

Annemarie
was photographed a lot and...

- 1933.
- Yes.

She was photographed a lot,
even while writing.

She was always writing, anyway.

Yes, writing was her weapon.

It's beautiful. May I?

Quiet!

My name is Annemarie Schwarzenbach.

You asked me
to bring an object for the audition.

You know, Claude,

I went to the sea and...

I thought it was a bone.

But no.

And I thought it was like,
you know, when we'd dance...

I wanted to dance while looking at it.

You couldn't dance with this,
it's too thick.

My darling, it's such a pretty colour.

We're so...

Look.

I thought I'd send it to you.

Sometimes Sybille seemed
so oddly preoccupied

that I'd withdraw my trust from her.

I knew she was keeping
something important from me,

maybe the most important thing
in her life.

Once, I said to her...

It was very late at night,

we were drinking in a cellar
on Kantstrasse,

she wasn't being friendly
and in my sadness I asked her.

She replied that she wouldn't
have lost a single instant of sleep

if she didn't have feelings for me.

And I realised that I had lost sleep,

and a lot more besides,

and that I loved her for that reason.

She was committed

in 1940, in New York,
to a psychiatric asylum.

They put her in a straitjacket.

Each time I see them
holding those "mugshot signs",

I think of that.

Yes, but you need them for the rushes.

Or how would you recognise them?

Those signs give you
all the information in one go.

I may have been living
like a child of dreams...

I may have been living

like a child of dreams...

I like writing.
I have no talent for it,

but everything I write
is very sincere.

It really is what I feel.

There's no literary style but it's
very sincere about what I feel.

That notebook you're holding,
are there things in there?

This is different.

This is a notebook
I started about Annemarie.

Taking notes about her.

I started doing some drawings,
some collages...

There are just words, all in a mess,

to describe her personality,
what she was like...

It's not complete, it's just a start.

What sort of things have you written?

Could you read a little bit?

For the moment it's really simple.

It's sort of her life,
but the bare outlines.

The most interesting thing,
for the moment,

is the stuff that's loose,
the drawings...

A swastika with a cross through it
because she was antifascist.

Or there are things she said.

For example: "It is only women
that I could love with true passion."

There are words
like "sensitivity", "friendship"...

I've noted Véronique Touche,
my mum's sister, my aunt,

because she really makes me
think of Annemarie.

I've also drawn a syringe,
for all the morphine and so on.

You see, Hugues?

That's the position I'd like them
to have in the fiction.

Don't overdo it.

Do you have a cigarette?
I'm Madeleine.

Do you like it here?

Yes, I like doing nothing for hours
and getting paid for it.

He could do some cleaning!

You have a lovely voice.

Want to come with us?

We're going to a concert.

All right.

Can you help me?

You're beautiful.
Do you have someone?

I have a fiancé in Persia.

In Persia?

He's not here, then?

No.

What's he like?

Handsome, a diplomat,

French...

Like you.

His name is Claude.

The sun

was a white enemy.

When writing a novel too,
we use models.

Really?

Do you pose them naked,
like painters do?

No. I could never paint.

If I painted a landscape I'd forget
something essential, like...

the sky.

We'll do the last bit again.

In fact, Annemarie stays very serious.

She doesn't react
to the posing naked comment.

She's very serious.

She's lost in this consideration
of painting, writing...

When writing a novel too,
we use models.

Really?

Do you pose them naked,
like painters do?

No.

I could never paint.

If I painted a landscape
I'd forget something essential,

like the sky.

I've seen 4 or 5 who were good.

I need to get out.
There's no air in here.

- But there's one more.
- No, no, I need air!

She came all the way from Switzerland.

OK, but let's not take all day.

My name is Julia Perazzini.

Or Giulia Perazzini or Yulia Perazzini.

I'm 1.74 metres tall and I'm 31.

I'm from Switzerland.

My mother is German Swiss,

from Schwyz.

The canton is Schwyz
and its capital is Schwyz.

In Switzerland.

It's what they call
primitive Switzerland.

I have an Italian surname because
my dad is half from Lausanne

and half Italian, from his own dad.

He was born in Milan

but doesn't actually know his dad.

He has a strong Swiss accent.

He says Perazzini,
but it should be pronounced Peratzini.

We don't know any other Perazzinis,

even though that's our name.

My grandmother called me Yulia.

That was sort of...

the fiction.

In fact, I never know
how to introduce myself.

I often use Giulia.
My friends say it suits me

because it sounds more energetic.

But my parents call me Julia.

So that's what...

The interesting thing is how...

others impose a reality on you,

and you're a fiction.

It's just...

very complicated.

So...

At the same time,
when I go to family parties,

to see my German Swiss family...

They've known me all my 31 years
but they still can't kiss me.

"Ja, hallo!"

They shake your hand.
If you reach out for a kiss,

well... they just can't do it.

They're not
very physically demonstrative.

And that's a real pity.

What do you do when your mother acts

as though nothing is wrong although...

she's...

Because...

She had big problems being the eldest,

with five brothers coming next,

and then a sister,
but twelve years later.

And at the age of 12

she was already at boarding school
with the nuns.

She always tells this terrible story

about how she was really happy

and wanted to do a cartwheel
in the playground.

But they all wore skirts at the time.

And doing a cartwheel
in a skirt showed your knickers.

"We don't do that, Miss Perazzini!"

No, her name was Schuller
at the time, of course.

"Miss Schuller, that is not done.

"It's quite inconceivable.

"Women do not do that!"

The mother superior kept on
till my mum cried.

And the weird thing is
that my mum retained her faith.

Yes, so how...

That's the question.

How do you manage
to love the people you love?

Because we're the same,

we come from the same body, but...

I do monologues in my car
because I have to try to understand.

The way you do it,
whether writing or talking,

is just a means
of getting some distance.

It's just a way.

of getting all that shit out

and understanding it,

and then trying
to formulate a thought.

You always need to surpass yourself.

You don't want to remain mediocre.

At the same time, you love your mum,

but you're disgusted
when you're like her.

I've gone over two minutes.

Marion, please.

Magnificent, Yulia.
Yulia, Julia...

That's always the problem.

So, now...

There are two photos there.

Would you mind
miming those photographs?

First, Annemarie.
Try to find that aspect...

In that photo she's in hospital,

stretched out on a chaise-longue.

That's her sullen side.

She's looking at the camera.

So, can you...?

That's good.

Magnificent.

Thank you.
Now, the other character

is die Mutter.

The mother.

Look at the teeth.

Good.

Then can you go back to Annemarie?
Suddenly.

The mother.

Great. Then Annemarie.

Thank you, Marion.

Thank you, Julia.

Very good.

Really.

Let's go to Jean's with the others.

- To Jean's?
- We'll wait for Klaus.

Still searching for suffering,
little Swiss girl?

You haven't changed.

I don't know.

Will you come with me to Switzerland?
I have a country house.

Put your hand on my forehead.

I think I have a fever.

Sybille turned to me

and put her hands on my face.

Her hands were icy.

Your hand is so cool.

I mustn't get ill again.

It was like resting my head

on fresh linen.

Look...

When I'm in my house in Switzerland
I feel better.

Do you know Sils?

Sils?

With its beautiful mountains,
like no others.

Madeleine, are you coming?

We don't know the way to Jean's.

I do. Follow me.

What's this wedding in Persia about?

Couldn't you do something better
with your life?

Claude is so kind.

We talk all night long.

I don't know, I'm confused.

Help me,

Erika.

You're our little Swiss girl.

In fact, I think
I really do have a fever.

I don't want to think anymore.

Did you see
what happened with Madeleine?

Everyone always ends up leaving me.

It hurts. It hurts all over.

Calm down.

Who is this woman?

What? I haven't done anything.

What are you doing? Leave me alone!

She's adorable
when she's in withdrawal.

Discovering that vice

was like being expelled anew
from paradise.

Thank you.

Thank you very much, Nina.

There were a few...

A few false notes in your lines.
That doesn't matter.

What we did... with Madeleine.

It's a read through.
It doesn't matter.

The important thing

is that things passed between you
which were spot-on.

And I realised all of a sudden
that you were in withdrawal.

That became clear.

That was good. Well done.

We'll do another passage now.

Maybe we'll try another Annemarie.

Who'll be the next Annemarie?

So Valentin plays Madeleine.

Who starts?

That'll be you.

- Yes, it's me.
- Oh, you.

But why are there two Annemaries?

Only two.

- I'm not saying.
- Should have listened!

Do you like it here?

Do you like it?

Yes, I like it.

I like doing nothing for hours
and getting paid for it.

He could do some cleaning!

You have a beautiful voice.

We're going to a concert.
Want to come?

All right.

Can you help me?

You're beautiful.

Do you have anyone?

I have a fiancé in Persia.

In Persia?

So he's not here tonight?

No.

Then, suddenly,

I undressed in haste.

jumped on the bed and could smell,

while my headache persisted,

the marvellous freshness
of the pillow's linen,

the faint scent of eau de toilette.

I closed my eyes
and waited for a woman.

There's nothing more marvellous

than waiting for a woman.

Are the pussy-munchers here?

When writing a novel too,
we use models.

Really?

Do you pose them naked,
like painters do?

- No.
- I could never paint.

If I painted a landscape
I'd forget something essential,

like the sky.

Like the sky.

You're playing your last cards
with Erika. OK, Julia?

I thought that...

we could go skiing.

All of us with your troupe.

Eh, Eri?

Will you come?

With Klaus?

Where is he? He was meant to come.

Eri...

Come with me!

I burn with a cold fire.

So, will you do the nude scene?

Yeah.

I think so.

You feel comfortable?

I don't really knew.

No, I don't think I feel comfortable.

But I want to do it.
Weirdly.

Too bad if I'm uncomfortable.

Would you have done it?

You volunteered first.

You're not answering my question.

No.

Why?

Because of the machine...

that we're in.

That's why it's important

that you consider
the question of desire.

Will God never make peace with me?

I haven't written a line for weeks.

My articles are mediocre,
whatever you say.

Your affection oppresses me.

As long as you're here
I'll do nothing good.

- You can't bear to be loved.
- That's mean.

You can't bear to be happy.

That woman again!

You're insane!

It's my life!

Do you hear me? My life!

Let me go!

I hate you!

I hate you!

My driving was getting dangerous.

I stopped and said,

"You can drive now."

Read!

She seemed a bit scared.
"If you like."

She sat there for a moment...

looking at me.

Mégane, read!

...looking at me.

I didn't know if she could drive
but I was so tired I didn't care.

Bother her more!

I leant back and looked
through the misted-up window.

We were going fast.

Often the car veered close
to the verge or some obstacle.

I had to keep correcting the steering.

Pauline, Nina, stop her!

A light coating...

Go on, Mégane!

Now...

Wait.

Don't get annoyed.

It annoys me.

I want to go. I can't...

Véronique!

Nina?

I want to go.

- Why?
- Because...

I don't think it's working.

I...

I don't feel comfortable.

Because of what?

Don't you see?

I feel I'm being used.

That's all part of it.

It's as if someone
is taking hold of you

and saying,
"Now go there! Go there!"

You...

Are you together?

No.

Are you in a relationship
with someone else?

Yeah.

Mégane too.

Yes, both of us.
Separately.

- You're with a woman?
- Yeah.

Me too.

And you?

I think

I always want to be in love, but...

I think, in fact,
that it's an illusion.

You look for this one person,

but it's an illusion.
Two-person relationships

don't make sense.

It depends.

And your sexuality?
Are you gay? Straight?

Nothing?

Just...

a woman who can love other people?

I think...

I think I just...

I just have a desire
to live and to feel.

- You've always been with a woman?
- Yes.

- You've never been with a man?
- No, but for me...

- Sexually?
- That's it, it's sexual.

- Never had sex with a man?
- Never.

But I can't believe
in a fixed sexuality.

I think you can fall in love
with anyone.

Have you been?

With boys?

Yeah, but...

I've always been
more attracted to girls.

- Since you were little too?
- Yeah.

You can hide it for a while,

you're not always ready
to accept it...

It's with maturity that you accept it.

The people around you too.

But I can't work out
if love between two women

is different from that between
two men or a man and a woman.

Only the sexuality is different.

That's it, the sexuality.
The practices.

Everything to do with... technique.

- Technique?
- It's true!

I like the idea of being
with a gay man. I don't know why.

You like that idea?

But then there's the desire.

- The desire?
- Yeah.

Could he, being gay,
feel desire for you?

I think so.

I think I like the idea
of blowing it all wide open.

Being with a gay man...

I don't like the labels:
"gay man", "gay woman", "lesbian"...

I think that,
to blow it all wide open,

the best relationship to conceive of

is a gay woman with a gay man.

It blows all that heteronormativity
wide open.

Yes, it's just people
loving each other.

What about you? And love?

Me... Maybe four years ago, I think,

something like that,

I fell in love with a boy.

But he wasn't in love with me.

So that was very painful.

There was a period
where I thought I liked men.

But with time that idea went away.

And I got interested in women again.
But I think...

If you don't know whether
you're straight, gay or bi...

I think that experience

taught me that you can
fall in love with anyone,

whether a man or a woman.

One day, you can meet
someone of the same sex

and really fall in love.

And have no control over it.

For you, is love
necessarily linked to sex?

I wonder about this.
Can you love without having sex?

To love, you should start
with what is simplest.

A tree.

A cloud.

But there is no simplicity.

Keep going, Annemarie!

This will soon be all in the past.

Claude's so kind to me.
He respects me.

Are you glad I'm getting married?

Yes.

Go, Annemarie!

Gallop!

Heels down!

What did I teach you?

He has a big villa.

I'll be able to play the piano.

The German legation will be out.

No more Krauts!

Forget about all that.

Shoulders, Annemarie.

Sit up straight.

I'll show you the photos.

Why won't you come to Persia with me?

Persia!

Carry on, Annemarie.

The mare's tired.

She's tired... Your back,
Annemarie, your shoulders!

Sit up straight!

Nice, nice...

Yes, Mama.

Mama...

How that name makes me cry.

There was something,
at the very beginning,

that I did wrong.

But it wasn't me.

It was life.

Give me someone.

Give me someone.

What are you doing?

I'm taking notes
and doing some dessins.

Des seins?

No, dessins, "drawings".
I'm drawing.

Drawing?

But you said des seins, "breasts",
at first.

Dessins...

What's the difference?

I'm doing des dessins
or I'm doing des seins.

I'm doing some drawings.

Am I capable
of responding to a feeling,

of committing myself to love,

or to any other domain,

without alienating the freedom
I need in order to write?

Or must I reject all forms
of conviviality, any relationship?

That disturbs me greatly.

I was acting
in German-speaking Switzerland

and we had to improvise some stories,

some "first time" stories.

So I was acting in German,
with no lines to learn.

And the theatre director
told me it was great

because I have no accent

but I sound wrong.

Yet people understand me.

Wrong-sounding but no accent.

He said
it was a great alienating effect.

I was really proud.

We thought it lucky

to have friends
with whom you feel in harmony,

linked by a fraternal bond,

to live somewhere with them,

to travel,

to commune with them,

to give each other
mutual encouragement

and to love each other.

Will God never make peace with me?

Will God never make peace with me?

Louder!

All right?

Did you do it twice? Or once?

I'm following your lead.

- You're following me?
- Yeah.

I am only alive when I write!

I am only alive when I write!

Louder!

Your phrase?

I'm undecided between:

"I must get used
to the freedom of choice,

"it's like I became
an adult overnight,"

and...

"I was given the gift
of a terrible freedom."

Sing both.

I must get used
to the freedom of choice

It's like I became an adult overnight

I was given the gift
of a terrible freedom

I must get used
to the freedom of choice

It's like I became an adult overnight

Go! A bit more!

I was given the gift
of a terrible freedom!

I was given the gift

of a terrible freedom

I may have been living
like a child of dreams

I was given the gift
of a terrible freedom

I may have been living
like a child of dreams

A lonely death is but the symbol
of a lonely life!

A lonely death is but the symbol
of a lonely life!

A lonely death is but the symbol
of a lonely life.

Thanks, Nina.

I feel it's helped me
to understand a lot. It's weird.

Very weird, very strange...
Thanks, Nina.

I don't know what to say.

It'd been a long time.

A very long time.

Thanks to you too, because...

A big moment!

Our respects.

It's awful, I feel like crying.

Really weird.

It's never had that effect on me.

Never.

Halt!

Annemarie!

Come here!

Now...

I was imagining
going away with Sybille.

I've found something!

This way.

Before me stretched out harbour towns.

This way, Nina!

Wide rivers bearing ships
rocking in the water.

Steppes.

Herds of migrating animals.

Airports made of new wooden sheds.

Trucks on the white roads.

- Shall we go back?
- No! No way.

We gave what we had to give,
received what we had to receive.

It's OK, Annemarie is here.
Look, she's here.

No signal.

Kaput!

You could have told her
you were with me.

Did you think you'd win
by taking your accordion?

The pressure is enormous.

I have no desire at all
to be efficient.

I don't think I want to be...

the sort of actress
I don't want to be.

We have no past.

So what?
I'm not an actress, I'm not a woman.

I don't know what I am,

but I feel
that there's already been a lot.

I'm immature.
I want to live, that's all.

With me?

I love you.

We're going to have a child.

We'll go back to Switzerland.

Do you prefer a girl or a boy?

A boy.

I don't want another lesbian
in the house.

I'm not a lesbian,
I'm not a vegetarian...

The wind whistles

and gathers its troops.

There's nothing more marvellous

than waiting for a woman.

Subtitles by Howard Bonsor

Subtitling TITRA FILM Paris