Wake Up, Mes Bons Amis! (1970) - full transcript

an unbelievable country!

or
wake up, my good friends!!!

belonging to the album

You made it!

You made it, kid!
Congratulations! We're here!

There they are!

Yup, there they are.

It's unreal!

You did it.
-Let's go over.

They'll kill us.

I went, they didn't kill me.



Well, I respect authority.

Over there,
they're property of the seminary.

Let's chase them off.
-Poor things!

They'll settle down.

You can't go in,
it's hunting season.

We can't, a guard will show up.

I have affiliations.

They don't know you.

Everyone knows Didier.

I'm dying to see the geese
and you won't...
Doctor of Science.

Let's go see.

Poor things.

Let's rouse them,
make a blizzard of birds.

You'll hurt them.
-Come off it!



You'll disrupt
the biological equilibrium.

You can see them!

Forget biology. We'll watch here,
it's all we can afford.

We're not allowed in there.

Look how far away we have
to stand. It's not fair to them.

All we can do is stand
on the railway track.

We're not allowed on the field.

It's club property from the point

to Cap Tourmente.

I'll go ask that guy.

We're not hunters with guns.
-Doesn't matter, I can't let you.

Not even look at the geese?

Look from the track.

The track? That's crazy!

The clubs decide, not me.
I'm just the guard.

You're doing a great job.

Even I can't go there, sir.

Congratulations,
you're the man for the job.

There was a multitude of birds

so great as to be
incredible to behold

whereof said island was
as full as a field with grass.

And all the ships of France
might fill their holds

without their absence
being noticed.

You wanted to know why,
this is why.

Hands off, this country's ours!

Near the aforesaid place

lives a race
whereof the chief is Donnacona,

and he himself lives there.

Said place is named Stadaconé,

and is land as fine
as is possible to see,

being exceedingly bounteous,

and therein are cedars
and spruces

enough to mast and outfit
ships of 300 tonnes and more.

There are people on said land,

which people
might be called savages.

I don't like it one bit.

It hurts me in my heart

when I'm called a savage.
I don't like it one bit.

I'm an Indian, I'm a...

Call me an Indian,
Indian man or woman...

Men, women and children are
as hardened to cold as beasts,

for in the greatest cold,
which was extraordinary harsh,

they came to our ships every day
across the ice and snow,

the majority almost wholly naked,

which seems incredible
unless seen.

You can't read it.

From the middle of November,

till the 18th day of April,

we continually lay
frozen in the ice,

which was full two fathoms deep.

Lord, the snow back then!

My dad told me the same thing.

In spring we walked on the roofs
of the logging shanties.

Shanties 7, 7 1/2 feet high.

You'd snowshoe over them.

Whereas on shore

there was show
four feet deep and more,

higher still than the bulwarks
of our ships,

with the result that our
beverages froze in their casks.

In the morning you needed an axe

to hack through the ice
in the water bucket.

Wasn't hone too warm back then.

The moon shone
through the cracks.

And the whole of said river

as far as the water ran fresh

was frozen up
to beyond Hochelaga.

Then there broke out
a sickness among us

accompanied by symptoms most
marvellous and extraordinary,

for some could not stand,

their legs became
swollen and inflamed,

and their sinews contracted
and turned black as coal.

The disease spread among
the three ships so entirely,

that in mid-February,
of the 110 men in our company,

there were not 10 in good health,

so that not one
could aid the other,

which was a grievous sight,

considering the place
where we were.

this country of birds and bitter
cold, this land of discoveries...

When we say we colonized

this goddamn country...

We colonized this country,

and don't you forget it!

"the goddamn country
we colonized"

of poet Alfred Desrochers...

how shall we name it?

I'm just a Canayen, that's all,

a good Canayen,

who deeply loves

the country where he was born,

which is an awful poor country.
Let's drink to that!

For me, my country
is all of Canada.

I mean, if I think about it...

First, when I was a kid,

we'd sing, My Country, My Love,
you know...

It wasn't just
the province of Québec.

We bragged about it,
it's a huge country.

We're proud of our country.

Canada?

That has absolutely
no meaning for me,

in my sense of a country
where I want to live.

But by Canada
we're talking about...

I mean from British Columbia
to Nova Scotia...

St-Pierre and Miquelon?

Say something to me in French.
-How are you?

Again, please repeat it.

How are you?

I'm very well, and you?

Fine, thanks.

Do you speak English?

Don't you learn English
in school?

Yes.

But you don't have a chance
to speak English?

Like me in Toronto.
It's the same in Ontario.

He speaks much too fast for me.

But I try to understand him.

What struck me at the end
of the evening,

was that Mr Carrick,
who's English,

came to the same conclusion
as Marc Briére and René Lévesque.

He said that
if we want to survive,

we have to separate,
it's the only way.

They've lied to us for 100 years,
goddammit!

Aren't you tired
of being lied to?

That surprised me from Mr Carrick

because you and me, Benny,

we feel we should stay
in Confederation.

We don't really know
what it can still do for us,

Confederation.

Even if the government
signs treaties

with their bilingualism
and biculturalism,

where will they get us?

They're nice tunes,
but nothing tangible.

There's no other way.

I see the problem of Québec's
independence or evolution

in my own terms of reference.

I do know one thing.

I breed mice,

while strictly
controlling heredity

to be able to obtain a given
degree of genetic purity.

At one point,
based on very precise criteria,

you might one morning discover
you can confer

on a specific mouse,

given certain criteria for
a mouse's growth and potential,

enthusiasm and maturity...

You can decide that one mouse
deserves its autonomy.

If we extrapolate

from our terms of reference
as researchers

to our society
and its claim to maturity,

I come back to our conditional
starting point:

it's absolutely urgent now

that we evaluate the degree
of maturity of our mice,

our Catholic,
French-Canadian mice,

to see what percentage
of emancipation

we can allow ourselves
tomorrow.

A Catholic, French-Canadian
mouse and another.

You see, you turned them
into little humans.

attempt to evaluate
the degree of maturation

achieved by our catholic,
french-canadian mice.

What was your house like?

It was painted gray,

everything was covered
in gray paint.

And the roof?

The roof was cherry red.

It had an overhang,
like Jean-René's house.

A pointed roof with an overhang.

We were poor, we all slept
in the same 202 feet,

in three beds, not big ones.

They weren't like today's beds,
they were rough hewn.

They were just wide enough
to sleep two, just barely.

Nobody puts up
with 4 feet anymore,

they need 4 1/2 feet,
there are some even 7 feet.

You need a lot of room.

You never had that,
three beds in the corners,

wood stove in the middle,

in the other corner,
the stairs to the attic.

When Mom left,
I babysat. I was 11.

Mom told us what to do
for the 8 days.

She went to Baie St-Paul.

She worked as a char
in Baie St-Paul.

And she'd say,
I'll be back on Saturday.

It was ok for me,
I was the eldest,

but I had to show
I didn't miss her, I had to say:

Great, Mom'll be back,
in only 2 more days, 1 day,

she's coming back tonight...

Of course, it was very lonely.

I can see myself back then.

We'd look out for her.
The houses were far apart... ..

You hardly saw the neighbours.

They never visited,
they kept to themselves.

We'd say, She's not coming.
We took turns.

I'd say to my little sister,
Sing a song.

We're checking too often,
that's why she's not here.

Sing a song,
when you're done we'll go look.

It takes a bit of time
to sing a song.

She'd go to the window.

Then it would be my turn to sing,

and my turn to go look.

When Mom came home it was bliss.

But let me tell you,
it was lonely.

Our upbringing was pretty hard.

I wouldn't like to do it again.

Be young again, yes,
but not to relive that.

from Marie's house, or the
rejection of the picturesque

to Didier's village,
or the risk of tenderness

There you are!

Look!

You wanted it, you've got it.
Hands off!

This country's ours.

Our country? It's the country
of French Canadians.

Our country's where we were born,

here, on ile-aux-Coudres.

This is our country.

Anything beyond
isn't our country.

It's too beautiful for
even a virtuoso to describe.

This is Uncle Arthamase's
carding mill.

Were you related to him?
-You bet!

For me, my country is visceral.

If you stop thinking about it,

even Québec isn't your country,
Baie St-Paul is...

my house,

the street corner,

the climate...

It's all those little things
that mark you,

that you can never shake off.

The tiny place, the tiny village
where you were born,

that saw you mature vegetatively,

in the prime of your youth,
leaving an indelible signature.

A country is
an indelible signature.

You can't intellectualize it,
only bucolize it.

It's a form of slavery.

We have insurmountable
psychological barriers:

belonging to a family album,
and belonging to a country

What brings you here?

My reasons are
disinterested and pure.

I've come to take the sun.

I'm making a pilgrimage
to my roots.

Damn you speak well.

Poets like Pierre Perrault,

wading through the sludge,
shooting ducks...

Didier, did you climb
that mountain?

Chaperon's mountain,
have you been?

Sure, with the poets of sludge.

Poets of sludge?
-Yes. I've been up it.

But you two went to perform.

You chose the mountain
for its difficulty.

You did it for sport.

And the view. Ile-aux-Coudres
as small as a hand...

But from our point of view,
everything

was so vertical
that we had no time

to appreciate the horizontality.

The horizontality!

We dug out every shoot we saw
and gave it a meaning.

The horizontality!

20 years later
we can measure the depth

of the meaning of that period,
if it left a signature.

Naturally the country leaves
an irreducible signature.

You can't erase the signature,

but if you try to read it,
it's illegible.

I can't read the signature
left by Baie St-Paul,

but I can't erase it either.

I can't see the dock,
I can't see the water,

but through the dock and water
I see Zarzais!

Remember when we worked
for Ottawa?

He had a contract for $500.

He paid us 42 cents an hour.

We only worked at low tide.

Low tide lasted only
about half an hour.

We were paid by the hour!

And we tried to convince
the captain

to give us a high
cost-of-life bonus.

It could be.

Zarzais may be the village

but for the village
to become a homeland,

we must renounce the picturesque
and go back to basics

or a portageur
at the Chicoutimi carnival

Coming back from France,
who should I meet,

who should I meet
but fat Victoria?

Long live Malbina!

I'm Malbinal

Who should I meet
but fat Victoria?

I took her in my arms,
and shoved her onto the bed!

Who'll open bidding
for these slippers?

Two crowns and three pistoles?

Qk, I have a bid:
two crowns and three pistoles!

Two crowns and three pistoles,
that's worth $5!

I took her in my arms,
and shoved her onto the bed.

The bedframe was dry
and went creak, creak...

Long live Malbina!

The missus wasn't deaf,
she heard all that noise.

C'mon, girl,
it's not going to kill you!

If ever it Kills you,
we'll place you in this grave.

On the four corners of the grave
we'll write these words...

On the corners of the grave
we'll write these words:

She's the first girl
ever to die from doing it!

Oscar, pass me the bottle!

I'm thirsty,
I wasn't raised in the desert!

No Indians have gone by.

No Indians yet.

Did you portage a lot?

Yeah, sure I portaged a lot.

I did lots of portaging.

I worked a lot for the companies.

When they opened up the far end
of Lac St-Jean, it was all

portaged on your back.

Bravo, Mr Raphael, well done!

He completed the 10 mile race

in how long?
An hour and how much?

One hour and forty-five minutes,
twenty seconds!

Clear the way for
the main attraction please!

Bravo, we didn't think
you'd finish!

Let me congratulate you!

At age 59?

Age 59.

For that distance...
I'm not tired, I don't get tired.

I can walk all day
and not get tired.

He can start at dawn
and finish at dusk.

In terms of endurance,
I can still keep up

with lots of kids,
maybe not all.

And for the load,

at my age I can still
challenge lots of guys.

How heavy can you carry?

I've carried 880.

How many pounds?

On long runs
we'd average 200, 300...

We'd portage that.

How many hours a day?

About 8 or 10 hours a day,
the days were long.

Shorter workdays are recent.

Before a day's work
was 12, 14 hours,

often 15 hours. That was normal
with those companies.

They didn't give you
a chance to rest.

I saw guys who couldn't
finish the trip,

they were too exhausted,
burned out.

It wasn't only portaging,
you had to pole up rapids.

You'd pole up them,

in loaded canoes.
That's something else

that's hard on the arms.

Pushing your way up
through rapids,

not everyone can do that.

It takes know-how, firstly,

and you need to have
strong arms, too.

Took us about 18 months,
that trip did.

Full of hardships it was.

They're all dead,
there were six of us.

They're all dead, all of them,
Mr Low, his partners...

I'm the only one left
from that trip.

Before that, Mr Low...

he says to me, Xavier,
you have a good head.

I says, I do?

He says, I'm going to tell
the government about you.

The government owes you a lot
for that trip.

Xavier, he says, it's thanks
to you we made it here.

I say, Really? Oh well...

Mr Low was a geologist.

I don't know what that job is...

He looked at rocks.

He was a prospector.

Did he chip at the rocks?

He'd break them
into little chips.

Did you get anything afterwards?

Did you get four bits a day
after a trip like that?

Did they give you a gift
after the trip?

After?

After the trip,
did they give you a bonus?

What about after the trip?

Yeah, did they only pay you
for the time you worked?

I don't understand.

If they gave us anything? Each
of us got 5 bucks for the trip.

We got nothing, we got
our salary, and that's it.

After the job, time worked,
time paid, that was it.

We never got a bonus, never.

in Baie St-Paul in Québec
as in Dol in Brittany,

those without a homeland
seek refuge in their village

and scrutinizes the smallest twig
to find the kingdom

One thing that struck me
in my visits to other countries

is that we people from the Baie
share with Bretons

this unbelievable love

of their little hamlet,
their home.

I don't know how many times
my parents told me,

Be quiet! Hold your tongue!

It's awful, you'll bring
who knows what on us.

because you're talking
about Brittany.

Shush up!
For God's sake, shush!

It was literally being ashamed,

not so much of themselves,
I don't think.

People like my parents
weren't ashamed of themselves.

But they'd understood

to what extent

it's important to wear a mask
when you're weak.

And that's why

they gave up wearing
the national costume.

It was a kind of relief when
my mother gave up the headdress.

A relief because
she could go unnoticed.

Meavenn is someone

who accepts being a Breton.

When did you realize the cellar

dates back to Nominoé?

Sorry, who is Nominoé?

Nominoé was a Breton king
crowned here in the Dol cathedral

in the 8th century, I believe.

It was he who

created the country of Brittany.

Meavenn wanted us
to see his ruins,

meet a guy who commits himself
with his hands,

who buys, not a general store
to make money,

but ruins to rediscover
the history of Brittany.

When I got home,
my wife was curious.

I said, I saw something
absolutely amazing.

She visited and said,
You're buying that?

It wasn't a pretty sight.

I said, Yes, because...

I felt everything
that was starting to show.

At that point
you're becoming The Breton,

the person who is
comfortable enough with himself

to work on his own realm.

Your realm is being created
like that of the Capetians.

You started with a store,

and suddenly
there's an entire country.

Still, I'm persecuted.
-Of course!

By my neighbour.

Last year I wanted to fly
the Breton flag.

I had a very big flag

that I wanted to hang
on the facade.

So my neighbour, an old communist,
starts insulting me.

"You autonomists..."
He called me an autonomist.

He wanted to insult me.

I didn't take it that way.

I asked, Which one
should I put up? It was July.

Well, the red, white and blue.
I said I wasn't sure.

Should I put it up?
I knew he was a communist.

I said, I'd use the red,
but maybe it should be the black.

I said,
For now I'm for the Breton flag.

He gathered himself up
and said nothing.

Against him

and in my favour was all the weight
of history in the building.

That's really very pure.

We'll clear away this area,

empty the well and see
if something's in it.

We may be disappointed.

It won't be the first time.

Some things are encouraging,
others disappoint.

Meavenn finds,
at the bottom of the well,

history's weight and
the risks of clandestinity

Do you sense, do you see
any bridgeheads or analogies

between what we are,
separately and collectively,

Bretons and French Canadians?

We have the same ancestors,
we're cousins anyhow.

We have to be, because...

SO many people
from Saint-Malo here...

discovered you, one could say.

Jacques Cartier
discovered Canada...

He was Breton.
-Breton, not French.

Back when Cartier
discovered Canada,

Brittany didn't yet
belong to France.

A Breton discovered Canada,
even if he was co-opted after.

It's true.

He was an autonomist, really.

He didn't have to be one.

He was autonomous,
Brittany was free.

You know, it's so stupid,

I'd love to be Polish.

Someone said to me
that Brittany is

a Poland that people
tried to erase.

Everything was
taken away from us.

We've been forced underground
in our souls, our minds,

our own worldview.

Speaking of Québec libre,
it made me think...

He talked about free Québec,
it made the headlines,

we followed it day by day,
minute by minute.

It made us think of
free Brittany,

but also free Czechoslovakia,
Romania...

all those communist
satellite states.

You'll see that
in a small country like this,

which is no longer a country,
after a while

you're no longer Breton,
you're...

For instance, take the
inhabitants of Douarnenez.

Right next door is Plouhinec.

Well the people of Plouhinec

are different as humans
from the people of Douarnenez

and vice versa.

So when you crush
the potential for expression

of what is called national
feeling in large countries -

where they're ensconced...

the large countries
that are comfortably at home -

you fragment
the national feeling,

and people become

fiercely patriotic
about their tiny corner.

Because Bretons want a country
that doesn't exist,

a Breton's village
is his country.

My Brittany isn't much bigger

than this house
and the surroundings.

Because Québec and Canada
don't have a formal entity,

a proper ecosystem
for French Canadians,

we're forced to define country

as our little field or village.

You can't define
the Québec mentality either.

You'd have to define it
by negation if you tried.

It's a defensive reaction.

We define the country
as a barricade.

I've spent my life asking myself
what is me, what isn't me.

And I've had it.

She has no choice. She sounds
like someone who has no choice.

It's magnificent. Magnificent,
in the name of humanity.

the example of the Breton sailor

met by chance
at the bottom of the well

And the worker's perspective,
what about that?

In Québec?
-I've been to Québec.

You have?

I worked the line for two years.

and then on a brand new ship,
the Cleveland.

She was built just to sail

the Great Lakes.

And the St Lawrence?

It's very pretty,
especially in summer.

In summer, for sure.

You see lots of flowers
everywhere.

It's very nice.

It's really pretty.

Everyone can communicate
when they're drunk.

But you really communicate
when you're sober.

No, that's not what
you're blaming me for.

I'm not blaming you.

Ok, I know. It's not important.
You're not blaming me,

you simply
don't understand that...

What don't I?

This.
-What?

That, as a member of
an underdeveloped people,

I've always considered
most important,

and least comprehensible
for anyone else,

establishing communication

with those who are most
victimized by the situation.

Where were you born?

St-Cervan.

I know St-Cervan so well.
And your parents?

St-Cervan.

It was a negative illustration
of what Bretons have always been,

the worst sailors,
soldiers, drunks...

I love it, because you represent

the last link in the chain
that always told me,

Shush! You don't talk to drunks!

Long live France,
and here's to the good Lord!

What do we need?
Booze for everyone!

Boy, have I seen this before!

Since I was born in Brest,
all I've seen are drunks.

It does correspond to a reality.

That's all I've seen,
broken people.

And they're certainly not
responsible for being broken.

Now I'm beached,
I do maintenance at a shipyard.

Everyone's beached.

I do maintenance.

Isn't it disgusting,
isn't it exploitation...

that sailors can't find work
in a country of sailors?

For the moment you can't.

That moment
has lasted a long time.

For the moment you can't.

5000 sailors are unemployed.
-l know.

In Brittany.

You're among the most exploited.

7000 sailors unemployed?
-5000!

In a just society,

orphan or not, you'd have gone
to school, learned a trade,

earned a living.
But we let you croak.

Right, they've gagged me.

They shut me up.

But for me, personally,
seeing them even now,

at my age,
knowing they still exist,

gives me courage.

I don't get all sentimental.

Those broken lives — someday
the guilty will pay for them.

The old guys are all dead.

I'm young, I'm a loser.

How old are you?
-I'm 39.

I'm a young loser.

But I'll earn my steak every day.
-For your family.

Soon I'll take a machine gun
and mow'em all down.

We will overcome!

Poor bastard, carry those bricks
all day long and march!

Go on, move it!

Move it! Like they say
in Breton, Move it!

Because all I ask...
What does anyone ask for?

To be able to live, to live free.

And dough.
-To live...

For the working man.

And that it's not always
the same ones who get the gravy.

It'll come.

I sure hope it comes.

I hope to God it comes.

Don't get upset.
If I get upset, I'm lost.

It'll come.

I'm not afraid.
-We're strong!

I did three years' time.
I went wild.

It'll come.

I'm not scared.
I'm not scared of dying.

It'll come.

I give my life every day.
I'll give it if I have to.

We will overcome.

Just so long as
the working stiff

can live in peace.

Ok, there'll always be people
who are less well off.

That's fine, that's fine.

You have to work. Fine.

But at least,
at the end of the month,

you have a place to sleep.

You're free.

You're free and speak your mind.

And speak our mind. It'll come.

I don't know, but at this rate,

we won't win.
Everyone's jumping ship.

We will win.
Not everyone's jumping ship.

Don't lose hope!

rejecting the album

When France is hurt, I feel it.

All of us in Île-aux-Coudres,
we may be backward,

but everyone here
shares my opinion.

When we speak of France,

it's our home.
If we were in trouble,

we'd move to France.
Not Italy, France.

What I like in Paris?

Being here.

This is my home.

I'm at home here.

Springtime in Paris is amazing,
it's sensational.

You have to go through winter

to appreciate the spring.

I told him, In spring the air
is laden with sexual hormones.

Remember?
-Sure!

He scoffed!
But now he feels it.

Sometimes, just walking down
a Paris street,

it feels like mating season.

You look at people and...

Everything is sexual.

Is this a spiritual atmosphere?

It's the apotheosis of flesh.

Everyone feels it.
You meet someone and sense

two sexual bodies
considering each other.

I've the impression

that the atmospheric climate,
let's say,

that emanates
from Parisian life...

There must be fumigations
of substances

that pollute the air
with an erotic charge.

Why am I in Paris?

The possibilities
are a lot greater here

for finding fulfilment.

Why did you skip over Québec

to cultivate yourself in France?

I'd have to tell you my story,

and what it's like living
in western Canada.

Or what it was like for me
to live in western Canada.

I was born into
a French-Canadian family.

My father's a French Canadian
from Québec.

He moved west with his father and
brothers when he was about 16.

He was a farmer.

So, a French-Canadian farmer
from Québec

moves west to settle
in a farming region.

To survive.

To lead a better life.

I lived among French Canadians

and at the age of 6,
I moved into town, to Edmonton,

a city that's 7 or 10 or 12%
French Canadian,

or was back then.

It was a Catholic
French-Canadian milieu.

I belonged to the
French-Canadian parish.

We spoke French,
I was French Canadian.

Of course when you're young,
you are very sensitive

to what others think of you.

There was a kind of loathing

of foreigners,
including French Canadians.

People kept saying, Speak white.

Right. I remember, I can see it
as if it was yesterday,

the sacrifices it took

to go on the bus with my mom.

She'd talk to me in French,
in a booming voice.

I'd feel myself blushing bright
red because I was ashamed.

Ashamed of my mother
and of myself.

It was like she was
spitting on me in public.

I asked her to speak English
in the bus

so people wouldn't know
we're French Canadians.

It's probably the last year
I'll see it.

By speaking French we became

everything a French Canadian
is for an anglophone:

a person who's backward,

doesn't have a lot of education,

probably a peasant.

It's a complex —
French Canadians are the dregs.

Yes.

We knew hard times at home,
jeez, I remember.

I was 6, and for weeks at a time

Mom cooked flour and water
right on the stove.

We'd borrow lard
from a neighbour

to keep it from sticking
to the top.

We ate that for weeks.

In fall we had to wait
two months

before the lumber camps opened.

It often happened that we'd eat
flour and water.

In the fall we'd catch
some fish in the rivers.

I'd kill hares and partridge.

In fall that's how we lived.

Exactly. It's civilization

that gave them the idea
to call it Misery.

Their country's called Misery?
They named it that?

Good for them, poor guys.

Anyone who wants to change
the name will answer to me.

I'll fight for the name Misery.

Often we can attribute
the failure

of maturation of
our Catholic French Canadians

not just to that,

but also to the quality
of the environment

we give them to develop in.

a land called Misery

or an attempt
to explain the failed maturation

of catholic french-canadian mice

Minus 15.
-157

Last night it was minus 30.

lake Saubosq, March 68,

expedition
led by B. Simard, biologist

Hope you ate enough.
-If I had a 4th steak...

I love the forest
and I'll tell you why.

Alone in the woods,

I feel at home.
I feel good, in charge.

There's fir tree in our blood.

If we're not in the firs,
we're not happy.

I met Paul last winter
when he left...

when he started at the Ministry.
He'd worked in town,

he was skinny as a rake,
he was green...

Six months later,
he'd gained 30 pounds with us,

he was ruddy and healthy.

His wife said, Since working
for Wildlife, he's been happy,

cheerful. She said,
before when he came home

he was grumpy, banged around.

I think we have the forest in us.

Like you said,
there's fir tree in us.

In our veins.

For a guy with a weak ticker...

I'm freezing, Jesus.
And I bet I'm not the only one.

We have sap in us, hot blood.

Jesus, yes.
One of my boys has it real bad.

I have a son, he leaves
every Saturday at 7 a.m.

with a knapsack, his lunch,
snowshoes...

He comes back home at night
at 10:30, 11.

Where's he go?

Off into the mountains.

Sunday he goes to 6 a.m. mass,

takes off again
and comes back at night.

Does he trap?

He's got it bad. You can
forget about school for him.

He'll make a woodsman.

For sure.

Grab hold like this.

Hold onto it like this.
Didier, look!

First of all, a guide, a good
one, he don't need no schooling.

If he can prove it,

as long as he can prove

that he's a coureur de bois,
a woodsman,

it's no problem.

We're almost there.
Just one more time.

We were broken in young,
taught to work.

...whipped into shape.

We were brought up that way, to work.

But kids now, forget it!

You know how kids are, my boy...

The way you're broken in,

that's how you stay.

I didn't get any schooling.

I'm not ashamed.

I just didn't have the chance.

First, I started working
when I was 11.

Back then it wasn't
like it is now.

We didn't learn much, you know.

Took you a year to learn
your alphabet, your ABCs

and two plus two's...

I went to school

to the French-Canadian college,

the elite college
in the province,

which turned out good
Catholic French Canadians.

Historically, you can say
there were many alibis.

Catholicism was so omnipresent,

it obviated the need
to go beyond grade school.

Catechism, that we learned.

...and getting the "diploma"
of solemn Communion.

What did I learn?
Reading and writing...

I can read and write French,
I can look after myself...

Some English too...
I taught myself.

Kids can't match you?

No, kids today will never be
as capable as us.

They're students,
they go to school.

I went to school and university
for maybe 20 years.

Today they're broken in
to go to school.

Grade 1, grade 2, 3, 4,
all the way to grade 12.

Let's work, let's go to school.

I had literary ambitions.

I wanted to escape
my background at all cost.

You run to school
and learn and learn...

When you feel like a bastard

in your milieu,

and you're deep
in your teenage revolt

and at school you're studying
Corneille's Le Cid,

the glory that is French culture,

and you go out into the street,
into life,

you speak French
and you sense that...

It's not Le Cid.
-Not exactly.

Not like in the book?
-Not like in school.

The old Constitution,
they promised it would...

preserve our language.

Where's the French language
at today?

It's nowhere.

So many promises.
If they'd kept them, ok.

But they didn't.
Will they keep them in future?

Not likely.

That's the question!

That's the question.

despite a diploma
of solemn communion

and notwithstanding
Corneille's Le Cid,

people here are caught
in the trap of assimilation

Do you see them?

They're across the island,

at the tip.

Here they come, you can see'em.

Forty, at least.

Yeah, forty of them.

The plane's taxiing alongside.

We're fine. If everything goes
well, they'll run right in.

As long as this one
doesn't veer off.

One's breaking away.

There's more than forty.

Yup.

There's at least fifty.

Don't move, everyone!
Didier, don't move!

Stay right where you are.

God, it's beautiful.

Now, with experience, it's easy.

But the first year
we were scared to get hear them.

It's like playing cowboys.
We call ourselves cari-boys.

Got him!

I was wavering.

I was really tempted
to speak English because I felt

it helped me
in my social development.

I had access to television,

fashion, movies, restaurants,
all kinds of things.

I felt I was a swinger...

when I spoke English,
and a hick when I spoke French.

If he speaks both languages,
that'll save him.

Most of our friends at the
French college where we went,

which only complicated
our lives...

The majority no longer
speak French.

They feel less torn than I do

because they chose
to live as English Canadians

in an English milieu.

So it's not as hard as for me,

who lives as a French Canadian
in an English milieu.

A French Canadian
who's bilingual, ok, alright.

But if you're not bilingual,
nothing.

I'm telling you!
I tried and I failed.

Lots of others tried too
and failed.

It takes English.

When I see 1000 French Canadians

in Sept-iles enter
the Iron Ore mill in the morning,

and hang up their language
like a coat...

At Iron Ore they're greeted
by a guy, a foreman,

without weapons or threats
or violence...

One guy,

he forces the 1000
French-Canadian workers

to speak his language.

It's true. It's the truth.

Will you write your book
on caribou in French?

Well if I want it to be read
by the staff who...

A popular book, fine.

But if I want to write
a technical book,

a scientific document,
I'll write it in English.

I agree with you there!

Finally for about a year or two,
I decided to speak English.

I even went to Los Angeles

to live my life completely
in English.

And I realized
that wasn't what I wanted.

I'd have a great life, yes...

Poor guy's starving!

But there was something in me

that wanted something else.
I told myself, this isn't me.

That's the question.

So I wanted to speak French.

Well when you live in the West
and you want to speak French,

you become a priest,

or you leave,

or you teach.

That's the question.

must one reject one's village
to find one's homeland?

So there I was in Winnipeg,
teaching French lit,

first and second year,

leading a monotonous,
pessimistic and empty life.

I spoke French for an hour a day,

with a few words in English
to make things clear.

Then I'd have coffee
with my colleagues, in English.

So in short, I was leading
my life in English,

after having lived
two years in France.

I thought, I know Montréal
exists, I should go there.

I can't go on leading this life.

Who should show up in Winnipeg

but Perrault,
Lévesque and company...

I go to hear Lévesque speak,
of course,

like many others
at the university in Winnipeg.

Welcome to the 8th annual

Conference
on International Affairs.

Lévesque could've said anything.
For me, he was there,

I was looking at someone
from Québec.

As if he'd landed from Mars.

You're in heed of a mythology.

When it comes to myths,

all the great movements
sprang up around a personality.

Jesus Christ and Mohammed
with religion,

Stalin...
Let me say something else.

You ask,
What if Mr René Lévesque dies?

Providence gave him to us, It'll
keep him till we're sovereign!

Doesn't humanity need
mythology and dreams to live?

Alas!
-No, fortunately!

If you don't have dreams,
you can't fulfill them.

I didn't care about
the anglos around me.

Here was a real presence...

You'll say,
like Christ in the Eucharist.

For the first time in my life,
after his speech —

I'd never done this before,

though I'm quite impulsive
and emotional —

I went up to him.

Yes, for you I'm erotic.

with my religious background,
but let's forget that...

So I thought, To hell with
everyone else, I went to see him.

Here's my chance...

He was there,
with others around him.

What would you say
to French-Canadian Manitobans

who want to do something

and who are fighting
in this awful environment?

Would you say, Look, cool
your heels, forget about it.

Or would you tell them,
Well, keep at it!

I've a lot of respect for it.

I don't think French here
will grow.

I think it'll weaken.

But it's important you at least
maintain a presence.

I'm a cynic. I say:

Keep it up, because when we're
ready, and it'll be a few years,

I hope you'll send us immigrants

who still see themselves
as French Canadians.

Make us some, dammit!

I thought you'd say that.

I told you, I'm a cynic.

What did Lévesque say
about your interpretation?

He said they'd welcome me
to Québec

so I could work in Québec,

so Québec could determine
its destiny.

Did he ask you to maintain
a dynamic presence in the album

according to your transcendence?

To be a dynamic presence

in the transcendent album
in Winnipeg? No.

Because for René Lévesque,
and French Canadians...

Winnipeg and St Boniface
are of no interest.

When a house is on fire,
you don't try to save a painting.

For me it was intoxicating

to taste this thing,
feel my own identity.

For the first time
I could live my life in French.

I discovered things,
deeply personal reactions,

that, when I was in Edmonton,
I had to fight against.

I was in Québec this summer
and I felt so...

so great, so much at home.
It was fantastic!

It was... I don't know, there was
something... They really live.

It echoed in me because they're
people who know how to live.

I realized that,
Yes, this is who I am.

I'm not the anglo
I was made to be in the West.

I even pass myself off as British.

Many francos do.

Can you pass yourself off
as a French Canadian?

No, but...
-So why should I change?

No, but most French Canadians
can't do what you do.

When we were filming,
a fellow professor,

Allan Dale, an anglophone,

of Scottish origin, I think,

who teaches
French-Canadian literature...

In a way I can speak
to my students

in my French-Canadian lit class.

It's my only opportunity.
We're dealing with literature...

It allows me to reach them.

For instance, when we read
Menaud, Master of the River,

I don't know if you can imagine
what a culture shock it is.

The English Canadian students
read Menaud

and think, My God, I'm the enemy,
I'm the conqueror.

I'll never forget
that the English,

when they conquered Canada,

they mistreated our forefathers
in Louisbourg,

in Nova Scotia, in Grand-Pré.

I'll never forget.

English Canadians don't

see themselves as conquerors.

They may be historically,
but they don't think that way.

And there, in Menaud,
they're the conqueror, the enemy.

This book is against me, it's
written to defend against me.

It's a big shock.

attempt to describe
the life of Menaud

and those who haven't left
the village

to maintain a transcendent
presence in the album

It was very hard.

Getting up early in the morning.

The cook came by around 3:30.

Wake up, my good friends!

That meant, Wake up!

We'd have breakfast,
we'd eat beans, molasses...

That's all?

That's all. Molasses,

a cup of tea, a kind of tea...

Then off we'd go,
the stars above...

We'd head into the forest.
The stars...

The trees cracking like mad...

We'd leave around 4:45, 4:40.

to set out into the forest.
That early...

Back then you set out
with a packsack on your back,

your clothes, over the hills,

on a tiny trail marked by cord,

the horses got stuck in the swamps.

My God, my God, my God...

Sure I remember,
I was 17 back then.

I started in the logging camps
at 15 and stopped at 56.

22 years I logged in Québec

with an axe and a double saw.

I kept a team
of work horses going.

I made 8 hauls,
90, 100 logs a day,

cut'em
and loaded'em on sleighs.

He came here
with his fine lace-up boots.

He'd bought'em in Baie St-Paul
when he sighed up for the drive.

He was dancing,

all eager,
he was off on the log drive.

After that I rafted.
I drove for the Prices,

17 miles from Amqui
where you'd go to get your load.

Then I drove for the Shrives.

It was a day's walk from St-Léon
to our camp at Melbrooke.

Then we'd drive our logs
102 miles downriver.

Three months of driving.

Sundays, weekdays, non-stop.

Good weather, bad weather...
Stand up, boy.

Lord, we went into the woods...

It was dark,
the stars shone down on us.

We had to put in
a good 10 hours a day.

It wasn't funny back then,
sleeping on fir branches.

By spring there were
no more needles,

but there were lice aplenty.

The worst about being
in the woods was the lice.

It wasn't funny,
the lice ate us alive.

When you were working

wherever you had
the smallest tuft of hair,

you had lice there too.

You'd scratch yourself,
the show turned gray with lice.

Happened all the time.

You'd scratch
yourself here and...

Nothing but a pack of lice.

It was living hell.

You'd scratch
against the fir trees.

That was working for Gulf Pulp.

It's closed now.
-That was their doing.

You must've been in a camp.

They were big as an ear of wheat.

With a black stripe down
their back, like a skunk.

I remember that!

One night I felt something
crawling on my neck.

I felt something on my neck.

Something on my neck.

It woke me up.

I ran my hand over my neck.

God, what is it?

God, what is it?

I managed to grab it.

I said, Be-Blanc —
that was his name...

Be-Blanc, I've got
a real whopper in my hand.

Bring a match and let's look.

I don't know if
it's a fat-assed spider...

I have something,
a bug or a spider.

I said, I have something,
and it's big!

I said, I have something
and it's pretty big.

Light a match.

So he lit a match.

I took the beast and laid it
on the matchbox.

Blazes, it was a louse.

It was long like this.

You should've seen its belly,
my boys.

It was as long as this.

And with a belly...
The belly on it!

I said, We have to Kill it.

So with my thumb I crushed it...

Gosh, all over my face.

The carcass, the body,
I still had that.

The carcass was at least
3/4-inch long.

The carcass was so long,

I kept it, I put it in a...

I said, Be-Blanc,
we'll keep it in an envelope.

When we're home I'll show it,
a curiosity.

I'll take it home to show my dad.

I said, I'll have boots made,
and use it for leggings.

I told my dad.

I said I'd have boots made
with the hide.

I'd use it for leggings.

So we put the carcass
in an envelope.

Back home I showed it around.

Look at the louse!

For me it was an old-timer.

It had a beard,
it was unbelievable!

Look, it's the granddaddy
of all lice.

The granddaddy of all lice,
the biggest.

To think I caught it
in my hand and...

Lookie, I got me something,
that's for sure.

We knew hardship, Perrault.
And not your everyday hardship.

There are some people who...
it's normal...

get used to living

with hardship, even to love it.

They learn to bless the hardship

as a means to sanctify
their daily life,

or sublimate their daily life.

If I had the same as others,
fine.

As long as I did the same,
I was happy.

When I came here, I was
pretty ignorant about life.

Then I got a job and worked.

When I was 14, I told Mom: I'm
going to try to earn my living.

Where'd you work?

At Dominion Textiles,

the factory in St-Grégoire.

It's not the same today,
the falls.

There was a railway on a sort
of bridge, over the falls.

That's all.

The rest was bare rock
and precipices.

All around the building,
it was so dirty.

The new building's
real pretty to see.

It's beautiful to see.
I don't recognize it.

The factory's a lot bigger now.

When you're in the area,
have a look.

I worked in the spin room.

I spun. I spun on the warp.

On the warp, on the line.

I spun the cotton thread.

On the machines of course.

I ran two bars. When I started,
I had only two bars.

They were big spinning frames,
longer than this room.

They ran on their own.

You had to keep up,
it was hard.

It was hard because
you went in at 6,

and you left at 6 p.m.

You were locked in all day long,
the doors were locked.

You ate in the corridor.
you didn't go out.

You ate among the looms
and then

you'd go back to work,
from 6 to 6.

Today they start at 7

and at 4 they're done,
with an hour for lunch.

Things have changed.

When we say that we colonized

this goddamn country,
you know...

We colonized this country!

And don't you forget it!

I guess I enjoyed it
in the end.

Everyone had it the same.

The hardship
that our ancestors faced...

They can hardly be imagined.

And I wouldn't want

any of my kids
to face those hardships.

But damn,
those were amazing times.

Yes indeed.

It was wonderful.

Alas, it doesn't surprise me
that on lle-aux-Coudres,

they loved their misery.

They kissed the Anglo-Saxon hand
for giving them jobs.

It was all thanks to Gulf Pipe.

I'm absolutely convinced
that Menaud exists.

But the reason humans
are put here

is not to knuckle under
to survive.

You can't reconcile the concepts

of submissiveness and life.

Whatever happens will happen.
They can't do worse than bury us.

We all end up in that hole.

So if we have to fight,
we'll fight.

I'm 58, if I have to take up
my rifle, I will.

Whatever it takes.
I'll do whatever it takes.

return to the album

In my experience, the country
we talked about, Baie St-Paul,

is a breeding ground of Menauds.

But "Menaudism,"
nationalistic resistance,

couldn't express itself
in the album.

So lots of Menauds
left the album

and played the role of Menaud
outside the album

because
in our society's structures

there's no room
for an accomplished Menaud.

Expatriating oneself

is a form of protest.

We're in Paris,

on the river banks.

It's sunny, you can see all
the bridges, the architecture.

I do love it.
-Erotically?

If you like.
Even religiously, if you like.

I love France with
a sacrilegious love. Happy how?

You let yourself
be seduced by Paris.

And you forget.

But you visited me in my home.

It'll be hard to get over
our meeting.

Personally, I haven't fully
absorbed the Chaillot phenomenon.

But spontaneously,
in a nutshell,

Mr Chaillot is a prototype
of the absence of identification.

I can't say,
I'm Canadian.

I can't say,
I'm French Canadian.

When people ask where I'm from

— it happens occasionally —

I say, I'm from Québec.

I never lived in Québec,
but I say I'm from Québec.

When we're forced to say,

when we want to define ourselves,
Catholic French Canadians,

the only words we can find
to define Québec

are words that restrict
our dimension.

We're still French Canadians?
-Catholic French Canadians.

God, no!

Do you think that?

Is he French Canadian?

He's a Catholic French Canadian
like us,

who all of a sudden discovers

that he's forced to learn French,

painfully, in secret and
discovers a context in Paris...

I really loved Paris...

...the Sorbonne.

...because it was the first time
in my life

that I felt

at home.

So he staunchly refuses to enter
the Canadian album.

Or he'd only do so if he could
find an ecosystem there

like he found in France,

where he can finally,
and only there, speak French.

When I went to Montréal,

it wasn't the West,

and I could speak French.

Montréal is the 6th largest
city in North America,

and the 2nd largest French-
speaking city, after Paris.

It's Paris.

When you go to Montréal
from Winnipeg,

Montréal is Paris.

We have a population
of over 2.5 million.

65% are French Canadian

and 73% are Catholic.

If we want to define ourselves...

We're lacking a name
to define ourselves.

We're looking for a name.

I'm unable to say what
a Catholic French Canadian is,

but I'm convinced
we're entitled to have a name,

a country.

Do you know what it means
to live in Paris?

You've lived in Montréal.

You criticize me,
raise many objections,

but try living for a year
or two or three...

Try spending three years
in Edmonton.

Go ahead!

When I go back to Winnipeg
I can't say I'm back home.

Even the trees are hostile to me.

To leave Paris,
where at any time...

where I never sense that I'm
forced, to live my daily life,

to eat my daily bread, to say:

When I leave Paris for Winnipeg,

I leave my country
for a foreign land.

It's absolutely mind-boggling,

this thesis of a man who
discovers that Alberta, his home,

is not home anymore.

Look, you guys in Québec,
you can say, Oh, I'm Canadian!

Ad mari usque ad mare!

I'm so proud!

The Prairies, for 3 days...

you see them stretch out
before you.

The Rockies, the Pacific,
the salmon swimming upstream...

I'm so proud to live in Canada!

Shit! I couldn't care less,
and I was born in the West.

That's tourism.

To me that's not a country.

Just because it's 5 days
by train to cross the country

I don't feel, Yeah, I'm Canadian.

If this isn't an emergency,
"Now!",

then what is?

Then what?

Living free in the woods...

Finette!

Café!

He's gone crazy!

Lie down!

Café!

We offered Mom a house,
she likes her tent.

I was born in a tent,
I've always lived in a tent.

My mom, my late dad,
they always lived in a tent.

And I'm the same as them.

We want a place all our own.

And we don't find it.

We don't want to live
in a place where...

It was a lot better in our day.

There was no poverty.

We had plenty
of wild animals to eat,...

Now we do without.
Not being able to hunt moose...

Kids get nabbed right away.

If I manage to kill a moose
in the woods for us,

I can use it,
but I can't bring it here.

I have to eat it in the woods.

I'm not allowed
to bring any here.

That was the hardest.

They've taken away
so many things. For example...

Except for beavers,

hares, partridge...

They always try
to crush the Indians.

I don't think
we can continue to live

like our parents did.
Now we have to

live like Whites
if we want to live well.

They were brought up
among Whites.

They can't do like us.

You can't adapt to two lives.

As a child I lived here first,

then I went to live with Whites
at age 3 or 4.

I always wanted
to come back here.

If I'm here, I'm bored.
I leave, same thing.

I think happiness is impossible.

I'm going back to Québec,

a Québec that I don't know.

I've spent a week there.

I'm going back to Québec
because

it's all I have.

There's nothing else.

If I knew that in leaving Paris,

I'd be forced to go to Winnipeg
and spend my life there,

Winnipeg or Edmonton,

I'd never go back.

Ever.

I think that...

in Canada the Indians...

...to the death!

You say you're ready
to do your bit,

for the survival, the
development of French in Québec.

I'm ready to suffer.

I'm ready to suffer.

I'm ready to give up
my Napoléon Ill chandelier,

And my Balzac collection,
which is worth a fortune.

I'd give up my paintings,
which cost $200,

so that in Québec my children
can live in their own country.

To the death.

Yes sir, to the death.

If the French cause were to lose

in Québec...

I didn't say if it lost
in Canada, because it has.

But if it were to lose in Québec,

I don't think
I could live in Québec,

among other people who,
like me, have failed.

Before there were
only Indians here.

Nothing but tents, all around.

In the middle of winter
there were tents.

There used to be trees
everywhere.

They cut them all down,
we're out in the open.

Even Indian is
disappearing here.

Many people
don't speak Indian anymore.

There's just us oldtimers

who still speak Indian.
That's all.

Will there still be Indians
in 25 years?

There won't be many,
there are almost none left.

They've all gone over.

I know I won't be here.

It's not about creating
a paradise, but rather

if not for us, well certainly
for our children more and more,

a country in Québec
where we feel home.

It's not asking much.

It's ours, really.

from the international tribune

to the poacher's tribune

or, an attempt to evaluate the conditions

to ensure the maturation
of Québec mice

Laurent!

They're biting!

I lost three.
-Because of beavers?

There are lots of beavers!

I'm proud Léopold saw
his first beaver.

I'd never seen a beaver.

The trout won't approach now.

It'll scare them away.

Course it will,
no doubt about it.

They startle us
when we hear them.

You sit down and I will too.

We'll stay glued to the boat.

Principles are great.

Like sitting quietly.

He's a nice guy, but I worry
about my ears when he casts...

What about me, behind you?

I'm not all that comfortable
sitting here.

See it?
-Right there!

I'm gonna catch it. Watch this.

You've got competition, Laurent.

We'll see what you're made of.

What you eat.

Bravo, lad! Poor thing.

Well done, Léopold

How'd he hook it?

Let it go, it's too small.

How'd you land it
with two feet of line?

It's technique, old man!

Boy, you're lucky today.

Since I've assigned myself
the task of being

a complete French Canadian,

I've done poetry, folklore...

I'll get revenge.
-He broke the ice.

Don't needle me too much.

When I come back and see

the value of the fruit
we harvested

in the name of, and for
Catholic French Canada,

I tell myself that, maybe,

despite my Catholic
French-Canadian imprint,

I have now, at my age,

the mandate to be present
at this forum,

this international forum.

I don't want politics
to interfere.

I don't want to fulfill myself
just with folklore.

Laurent,

come eat something!

You must've caught lots!

We're starving, bring the trout!

Some fishermen,
you only caught two!

Baie St-Paul's known
for its poachers,

who've emptied its lakes.
It appears to be true.

Poaching was their sole
means of survival.

We learned poaching
is indispensable

to the survival of the poor.

It's sublime. Sublime.

Don't you care?

When you're starving to death,

maybe you obey the law,
but not me.

We hunted owls
on the riverbank.

The geese hadn't arrived yet.

We'd hunt owls and eat owl stew.

The best poachers are
the most intelligent ones.

I find them extraordinary
and I explain the fact

that they've become extraordinary

as the expression of a search
for a means of fulfillment

in being such magnificent
poachers.

The owls were fat,
they ate well all winter long.

And we ate the owls.

Any good?
-You bet!

Owls are very, very tasty.

For him it represents a refusal

to be constantly in the tow of

people who give him
orders and tasks

that don't live up
to his capacities.

We'd leave the old man:
Watch for owls, we'll be gone.

Blizzards that lasted 8, 10 days
at a time... it was awful.

It's not logical that
one human species can claim

to assert leadership of any kind

over another species.

It's against
the intrinsic nature of things.

I don't know if it's against
the nature of things...

What I say is biased, but

you should share my bias.

Among animals
there's a hierarchy.

Every animal has its role.
Predators prey on others.

Prey is there to be eaten.

Wolves don't prey on
other wolves.

It would be pathological
if a wolf did that.

There may be predators that do.

But who can claim to give
one human species

the right to eat other humans,
the same species?

from the poacher's tribune
to the genetic gift of gab

I'd like you to confess
your motivation

when you talk about returning
to the album.

My return where?

Your return to the album.

My return to the album?
Oh, you mean Canada!

He uses big words
and tries to come down

to our level but then he repeats
"album" 50,000 times.

What's an album?

It's not a big word.
-No, but...

It's an image
that's hard for you...

Yeah, it's hard to figure.

I'm glad to finally tell you.

Have you figured it out?

The album of Canada,
the album of French Canadians...

If you say it often enough
you start to

understand a little,
and to be able to answer.

He does his best
to come down to our level,

but our level's
too different from his.

Not at all.
-Don't you think?

Well for us, even myself,

I understand, but...

Maybe I'll force myself
to come back another evening.

I have personal convictions,
but it's not my job.

I live with rats and mice.

He lives with rats and mice.

We're no match for
those darn rats and mice!

No...

You can't extrapolate
indefinitely.

You tried!

I want to study
molecular morality.

Listen to him,
He asks a lot from us.

Sure he talks like us,
he's one of Adrien's sons.

My great strength is that I
still belong to the family album.

In individuals, genius strikes —

true genius, not the common kind,

but real genius, you know,
a certified genius —

it strikes in families
that for several generations,

haven't strained their intellect.

It has to come out.

I don't need
to paint a picture.

That can happen to a people too.

If it happens to us,
it's not because

we haven't given the soil
a good long rest.

The last few years in Québec,

every chance
we've given ourselves,

we've made
a pretty exciting discovery.

We are able as a people,

as a society, to set goals,

and to achieve them,

and even to goof up
just like anybody.

It's the same principle.

We've nothing to show?

When our Catholic
French-Canadian universities

turn out 35 PhDs every year,
that's something.

That's what scares them.
It speaks for itself.

You manufacture Skidoos,

you create GFCs, Hydro-Québec,
build Churchill Falls...

the best arguments
for the sovereignists.

I know we used to be cretins.

We abdicated power
on a national level.

In banking,
given how serious we are,

and the gift of gab
we inherited genetically,

which enabled us
to survive so ably,

we could have the same gift

to progressively obtain a higher
percentage of participation

either in the national pie,

or in creating a Québécois pie.

from the genetic gift of gab
to the Jew's harp player

Yolande!

See the geese?

Look, they're turning...

We didn't miss anything.

How would you translate
seeing this paradox...

the complete paradox —
the entire album there.

The paradox?
-The stone fences...

Look at our capacity
when we're given the mandate.

Put the poor things
in the rocks, they can't escape.

It perpetuates their ignorance.

Next to ignorance,
shown by the rocks,

you have the power of knowledge,

that allows them
to do those things.

It's the basis for our claim
to the capacity to survive:

Give us the mandate, and with
the genetic material we have,

we'll match the English.

Give us the mandate —
that's the crux.

Trust us.
-Give us tools and education!

At some point in those parties
in St-Hilarion... It's great...

Certain activities
have survived, including

the fiddle, the fiddler,

the little girl all decked out
in her school uniform,

for her recitation,

and the Jew's harp player.

You listen and
you say to yourself,

Unbelievable, the Jew's harp!

People were impressed,
justifiably, perhaps, but...

it left me cold.

Until I spoke to the player

and discovered he fully deserved
the respect he was shown.

An amazing guy, brilliant,

who could express... a bit like
the best poacher can explain

why he poaches.

He could explain vehemently the
fact that to express himself,

he had to play the Jew's harp.

You think to yourself,

What if you gave him the pylon?

It's unacceptable that all he has
is a Jew's harp. Unacceptable.

We have to do something...

...So the poacher can do
something other than poach.

Same for the Jew's harp player.

Given the demonstration
by the pylon,

and the opposite
by the stone fence,

we have to educate young people

who are in the stones
to reach the pylon.

The alibi we had is that

our role models were farmers.

Now they're intellectuals,
entrepreneurs.

I'll never forget
that Jew's harp player.

from the stone to the pylon

or the prospects for our mice
reaching their potential

in today's ecosystem.

The young guys on the island,
they're running in circles.

It doesn't satisfy
their brains and brawn —

I mean, these guys are amazing —

so they look elsewhere
for fulfillment,

like you do, with poaching.

Yeah, that's true.

While you're
contributing elsewhere,

you're not participating
in building a country.

To be oneself,

it takes an ecosystem
that permits self-realization.

3/4 of our industries depend
on the English, my poor friends.

From start to finish.

So in the current
ecological context,

given the skewed vision that
comes with being an experimenter,

it seems implausible
to expect that,

without fundamental
environmental change,

we can ever hope
to reach our potential.

Look,
they're in complete control.

You want to destroy everything,
tear everything down overnight.

Move away, make room for us!

We're too weak.
It'll take a revolution...

I don't see any alternative.

It'll take a revolution
to get rid of the English.

By force.

With force we can.

It'll take some time
to weaken French stock.

The English can't overrun

the French.

Especially not here in Canada.

The English can't overrun
the French. We'll stop them.

Frenchmen will always
remain Frenchmen, my boys.

Us little French Canadians,

we pilot the ships
of those English companies.

For Bretons to stay Breton,

a Breton sailor has to be able
to ship out and work as a sailor,

like they saw that to stay on
the Île-aux-Coudres they love,

boats have to make money.

These days I transport wood
on my boat:

Canadian International Paper,

Domtar, Consolidated Paper,
Anglo-Canadian Pulp...

I can't work for a company,
a paper mill,

that belongs to French Canadians.
They haven't created any.

We have to start by doing so.

It's not profitable financially,

or administratively
or politically.

What isn't?

To identify ourselves
as Catholic French Canadians

and to continue to wave the flag.

It's like, we build a boat.

We tell them, Drydock your boat,
we'll carry your wood.

I don't know what they'd say.

Because the thing is,
they own the mill.

We need to take away their mill,
and everything would follow.

It'd be the first step
in rebuilding our country.

To take away their...

Take it away or build one.

So what do we do?

It'd take a Québec able to
suddenly raise us to that level,

that has the capital to say,
Ok, guys, your turn.

We have room for you!

My conclusion is:
we have to win or lose.

It reminds me of a story
I like to tell:

Once there was this guy Arthur,
who was loaded with talent,

but he was young and
needed money to start up.

He managed to convince
someone to lend him $3000.

But one day the loan was due.

He was broke, he couldn't find
$3000 to pay it off.

No one would lend to him.

He thought, “Damn, tomorrow at 9
I have to repay it.”

He paced, lay down,
couldn't sleep, paced some more.

His wife said, “Arthur, come
to bed, the Lord will help us.”

Nothing doing.

At 3 his wife was furious.
She got up, took the phone,

called the guy he owes $3000 to.
Guy said:

“Yeah, in fact
he's paying me back at 9.”

She went, “No in fact he's not,”
and hung up.

She said, “Arthur, come to bed.
It's his turn to pace.”

If one day you decide,
the river, the island...

We owe them the St Lawrence...

We won't pay it back.

For too long
we've waited in the pebbles.

It's our turn
to get on the river.

Their peace of mind's over.
Their turn to pace.

Subtitles: Robert Gray, Kinograph