Les papillons noirs (2022–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - Les Souvenirs d'Albert - full transcript

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- Hello?
- Adrien Winckler?


Uh, yes.

Hello. Uh, my name
is Albert Desiderio. Someone...

Someone gave me your phone number
and I would like to meet you.



Hi, sir.


Please, come in.

Bought the house
with a life annuity.

In case you're interested.

I don't have any heirs.

If I understood correctly
what we said on the phone,

and I agree to everything,

I prepared a first envelope
with 2,000 for you.

The other half comes at the end,
is that right?

That sounds good.

Of course, I also provided
a supplement for the trips,

the tolls, the gas.

Because... it's a pretty long drive, right?

No writers in Arras?

Well, you know, you only
do this once in your life,

so might as well get the best.

And, uh,

any idea of how long it will take?


That depends on
what you have to say

and how often we see each other.

Then, if you like what I've written,

the whole layout and the printing
can take a while

if there are many copies.

Any obligations, a deadline?

No, no obligations, but I think
we'll have to move fast though,

because otherwise

we might end up
with a beginning, a middle,

and no end.

Kidneys are... fickle like that.

And they don't give a shit
about literature.

When they say "stop," it stops.

No more Albert.

Do you take sugar?

No, thank you.

Getting this was my touch of madness.

I'll tell you about it.

Shall we?

I'm sorry. I feel slightly awkward because

I've never said this out loud before.

We promised never to tell anyone.

I mean, it was a long time ago.

Perhaps promises have an expiration date.

Huh? Don't you think?

So, on that day,

she was very sick.

No, thanks.

And her mother was entertaining...

...in her nightgown,
if you know what I mean.

So we spent the day in the shed and, uh,

we made forever promises to each other.


Here we are, 60 years later.

This "she," who is that?


Ehh. Who else?


I even think it could be a title. No?


Maybe a bit premature.



You're the professional here.

In fact, I think
we should start from the beginning.

Chronological order is useful,
if not original.

Can you tell me about, um,

your family, growing up, childhood?

That is none of your business.

Well, isn't that what you've...
hired me for?

That's a joke.

My childhood, family,
and all that stuff...

...we can skip.

It's not far from here.

And we were there in the...
there in the '50s, yeah.

There was a Catholic orphanage.

You can research it yourself.
Type in, uh, "Father Germain."

Because he wasn't quite as smart,
so he ended up in jail.

There were articles about it.

It'll help you get an idea of the others.

No, everything started with Solange.

Before her, there was nothing.

First, she was the daughter of a Kraut.

Of a Kraut and a Kraut whore.

You can't imagine what it was like
after the war, with...

...women having their head
shaved in the town square.

And as a good friend of mine always says...

You know, "When the fathers
have eaten sour grapes,

it's the children whose teeth
are set on edge."

Yes, she went through hell, that Solange.

With me yes, but...

before me, it was worse.

Watch out
with the hula-hoop, okay? Careful.

The priests had just
transferred me to yet another school.

Every time a bit further away.

Hey, look! It's lice-boy!

But every time, the same.

Lice-boy! Lice-boy!

Good day to you, Father.
I've brought you young Albert.

Hey, Lice-boy! Lice-boy!

What're you doing here, huh?

Ew, don't touch him.

The same little brats.

Daddy's boys spoiled by life.

- Bastard! Traitor!
- Kraut whore! You make me sick.

- Slut!
- You whore!

Get out of here, German bastard.

- Disgusting.
- Kraut whore! Just get lost!

Get lost, bastard! Slut!

- Hey, it's lice-boy.
- You want some too?

Hi, I'm Albert.


Did you have sweet dreams?

Hello, Solange.

Do you mind if I call you Solange?

Here, it's for you.

Last night, I dreamed
I had a lot of good food.

It was great.

But I dreamed of you as well.

If I was in love, I had no idea.

I didn't know what love was.

I just wanted to be with her,

to be around that spark.

Why aren't you talking today?


No! No! Oh, no!


The bastards,

the children of shame
who they point fingers at.

But the hostility of the world
was only making our love stronger.

It was just Solange and me.

From now on,
my world would revolve entirely

around her.


It doesn't diminish with age.

I have 25 passionate years to prove it.

But then it all came to an end
once Solange was gone.


All right?

When will you be back?

Um... day after next?

- Really?
- Mm-hmm.

Do you have the time, by chance?

- Uh, it's nearly five o'clock.
- Okay.

- I have to go.
- Everything all right?

Oh, just my wife has this...

- No big deal.
- Sure.

- I look forward to seeing you again.
- Me too.

- Goodbye.
- Drive safe.

Thank you.

So, yes,
it's a long, interesting process.

And while studying these strange organisms
might not get you a Nobel Prize,

it, uh... it does make it possible
to imagine, over time, a cure for cancer.

We're hoping
you are unlucky enough

to win that Nobel Prize.
That was Dr. Nora Reski...




I'm sorry,
I feel slightly awkward because

I've never said this out loud before.


We promised never to tell anyone.



You know, Nora, it's... it's kind of hard.

Trying to make a baby
isn't really all that sexy.

It's contradictory, to say nothing
of the pressure to produce a result.

Adrien, say whatever you want.

Deep down, you know
this isn't the real problem.

But as usual,

you're confusing the cause with effect.

This is much deeper
in your subconscious, Adrien.

Yeah, sure, right.

You know everything.

That's Nora, the big scientist.

The expert in genetics
and subconscious motivations.

What's the problem?

The real problem, Adrien,

is your dad.

- What?
- Come on!

That's exactly
the kind of thing you'd say.

No, man, that one was all you.

- I thought you were gonna blame your book.
- What?

- "- Ugh, I can't write today.
- I suck. I can't do it."

- Okay.
- You know what I mean.

No, not really.

Oh, I'm sorry
for my annoying scientist side.


It'll be fine.

- What will?
- Everything.

We'll make it.

You'll make it.

I love you.


I can't move.

- Oh?
- Yeah.

That's it!


As a kid, I always won against my mom.

Well, isn't that what mothers do?

They're very good
at pretending to lose, right?

Just a game of luck anyway.

I'm not sure.

In any case,
I hope you're better at writing.


In truth, I already know.

I read your book.

"The most promising
French writer today."

Says so on the back.

Bit intimidating, huh?

Just publisher bullshit.

And when will there be
a second book?

Why are you wasting your time
writing other people's stories?

Unless you're a genius
or write airport novels,

writing doesn't pay.



Did you like the book?

Yes, I did. I found it... very intense.

And beautiful. Beautiful as well.

Perhaps there was slightly too much
senseless violence, but...

No, it was really intense.

Excuse me, I'm...

I'm not very good at analyzing.
I don't have the words.

No, no, you got it.

But that's precisely what you can do.
You find the right words.

And all the parts in prison are...

...very strong.

Also, the descent into alcoholism.

The revival through writing.

The love story with Moïra, it's...

You really feel like...

feel like you're there.

It spoke to me.

It feels real.

Perhaps that's because

it is all real.

"To respect the victims,
the names have been changed."

And your other clients, they...
they don't have a problem,

because in general old people
don't like ex-cons very much.

You're the first to read it.

Now, this is... this is really a confession.

So then why...

why did you use "Mody"?

"Maudit" means "cursed" in French. Hm?

Better than "damned."

That's no good.

Names are important.

Personally, I wouldn't know
because I never had children.

But I imagine your dad must have been sad

that you didn't keep the name
he passed down to you.

He died when I was a boy.

And your mother?

She doesn't care about that.

Sorry, Albert, but we're on the clock.
We haven't started.

- Better focus.
- Oh, yes. Sorry.

Let's get to work.

Because if truth be told,
that's all you're here for, eh?

Now then, where was I?


Oh, sorry.

I swear, if I got the chance...

That old bitch.

- So madame prefers returning to school?
- I'd rather die!

- Hey, don't say that.
- What?

Don't say that.

I'm forbidding you to die.

If you die, I'll kill you.

I'll crush your head, tear out your eyes,

and eat 'em if you die.

- I wrote you a poem.
- What?

I wrote you a poem.

Go on.

When the sun goes south
I think of your mouth

When there's an eclipse
Of your lips

And when the rains come
Of your bosom

You are my ocean reef
I want to lick your teeth

Is that it?

I love it!

It's beautiful, my birdy!

Don't call me that.

Promise me we'll go to the sea.

Nice hat, sir!




We've got the whole beach to ourselves.

My name is, uh...

Uh, I forget his name.

Anyway, it doesn't matter.

He came from the city
with his older brother.


I don't remember his name either.

You up for a game?

You want to?

It was nice.

The two of them were both nice.

Different from people back home.
City kids, less...

Anyway, we spent the afternoon together.

Over to you!

You good? Not too cold?

- How 'bout we warm up?
- What the hell are you doing?

What's wrong?

You've never done it?

Come on. Your boyfriend doesn't
wanna make love to you?

- Kiss me.
- No!


You see,

it's a confession for me too.

What can I do about it, after 60 years?

I can only tell the story.

You understand the importance of...

of what we're doing here.

You understand why... I need you.

To help me find the right words.

For the truth, for me and for Solange too.

I need you, Adrien.

...The sand would soon
take care of soaking up the blood.

The rain took them by surprise.

They hadn't spoken a word
since leaving the beach...

Solange was shivering.


Hey. My love.

My love.

That stinks.

No, it's passion fruit.

Fruit, my ass.

Your ass...

Family dispute,
assault on a minor. The mother called us.

Saint-Pierre area. El Catalan bar.

Yeah, Carrel and Launay.
We're close by, heading to the site.

Please, please, you have to help me.

Don't worry.
We'll take care of your husband.

- Please help me. It's my son...
- Calm down, ma'am. Just calm down.

He took my husband's shotgun.
He's gonna shoot.

- Please help me. He's in there.
- It'll be all right.

Stay here and don't move. Don't move.

Stay back! Stay back or I'll shoot!

- Okay.
- So?

- I'll call backup.
- Yeah, go for it.

I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker!


- Yeah?
- Don't be fucking stupid.

- I won't.
- Not tonight.

Okay, I won't.

Uh, Mathilde.

Just in case.

If something bad does happen,

I fucking love you to death, you know?

- Enough!
- I'm crazy for you.

You smell so fucking good!

- You're gonna die, asshole!
- Whoa, whoa, whoa.

- Don't move! Don't move or I'll smoke you!
- Take it easy.

You're not gonna smoke anybody.
Let's talk.

- No, no talking!
- Yes, we're gonna talk.

Don't worry, I won't give you the speech
we learn at the police academy.

It's bullshit anyway.

It doesn't work.
The guy always ends up shooting.

If you ask me,
the shrink assholes who wrote it

never held a fucking gun in their hands
ready to waste someone.

But I know all about that.

- Don't move, fucker! I'll shoot!
- Whoa, whoa!

He's not moving!

The hell you gonna do
with that piece-of-shit shotgun?

What is it?

A 12-gauge, maybe? Fifty grams of lead?

That's for shooting birds!
Use your head, kid.

Now let's say you do shoot him
and you actually hit this fucking asshole!

And we take him to the hospital,

where the people
will fix him up real quick!

They're good.

If you're lucky, they'll forget
a little tiny bit of lead

in this motherfucker's asshole,

and he dies in ten years
of I don't know what disease.

But in all probability,
chances are he'll be home in a few days

to smack you right in the face.

Calm down, son. Fuck.

Put it down.

Here, listen. Listen to me, listen to me.

- What's that? W-What are you doing?
- Shhh...

- Carrel!
- Shh.

You need one of these.

See that?

With this caliber,

that son of a bitch'll be dead even before
you decide to pull the trigger.

Your mom will need a week
to clean it all up here.

Much easier.

And if I may so,

much classier too.

Guys like us
have to help each other, you know?

- Here.
- I'll show that little prick!


Drop the gun! Drop it! Get down!

Hands on your head!
Nobody move!

Carrel! Carrel!




You good?

See you, Catherine.

- Sure, sure, sure.
- Hello!

- How are you?
- Good.

- Hi.
- Thanks again for having us.

- Thank you for the limoncello.
- Yes, all right.

Okay, so,

I'll take care of the prepaid phone
and drop it off.

- Perfect. Perfect.
- Excuse me.

Okay. And from now on,
no contact with her.

- Radio silence, okay?
- Sure, no problem.


Having a parade in here?

Planning a commando attack?

Oh, it's a messy situation.

We're rescuing a young girl.

Take it easy, Mom. You're not 20.

Oh, no. No. Don't bring up my age.

Or my treatments, please.

I'm the one who worries about you, right?

I'm the mother.

You look pale, by the way.

And how's Marc?

It's Marc, isn't it?

Oh, no.
Don't talk about Marc either!

You know me.

I don't do well with boredom.

Maybe I should go
if there's nothing to say.

Well, we can talk about
you or Nora.

How is Nora?

She's good. Great, really.

She had her radio interview.

- It was great.
- Oh, that's right.

Sorry, I couldn't listen to it.

- I'll catch the replay.
- Sure. Come for dinner.

- She'll tell you herself.
- Come when?

Well, tonight? Tomorrow?

I don't want to intrude.

Forget it, then. Never mind.

Oh, God.

- Well, how about tonight?
- Okay.

- Does tonight work?
- Yes, perfect.

I'll tell Nora.

Did you let me win
when we played dominoes?

What was that?

When I was a kid, did you let me win
when we played dominoes?

Well, yeah.

All parents do that. It's basic.

And you know, you'll have to do it too.

- I mean, if you finally decide...
- You're unbelievable.

Will you stop with that?

I told you, we're trying.
What more do you want?

- Photos? Videos?
- Don't be a jerk.

I love you too, Mom.

- What are you looking for?
- For my shot.

I left it in the car.

Hang on, I've got it.

Sit there.

A child is the most
wonderful thing in the world.

When I finally had you,

well, nothing was ever the same.

Before, I was...

...just a shadow.

Oh, it's four, right?


Always four.

He was so happy
when you were born.

He ran all around Brussels
with you in his arms, shouting,

"Adrien Winckler, son of Wim Winckler.
I cha..."

"I challenge anyone
to love him more than me!"

You've told me a thousand times.

Tell me more about him?

What do you want me to say?

I've already told you everything.
Enough with that.

But, Adrien, just promise me...

No motorcycles. Yes, Mom.

I promise.

The rest of the family?
Are they still in Brussels?

I don't know.

Better to leave them where they are.



Can I help you?

Sorry, do you speak English?

Of course.

What can I do for you, sir?

Could you tell me if Mr. Winckler
still runs the company?

Um, yes. Who's asking?

Mr. Winckler. I mean, I'm Adrien Winckler.
Wim Winckler was my dad.

Do you have something to prove it?

Uh... yes, I do. Here.

Um, you'll want to go elsewhere. Um, yes.

You'll want to go back
to the main building.

If you get lost, just ask someone.
I'll let him know.

Okay, thank you. Bye.


I'm Klaas. My dad's Bert.

Um, Adrien, my dad was...

- ...was Wim! That's right!
- Yes.

The uncle we don't talk about.

Oh my God, if I'd only known
I had a cousin.

I always wanted to have a cousin to, uh,
mess around with and...

...teach me how to talk to the ladies!

- You know?
- Oh, yeah?

All right, what have I got here?
Let's see...

Oh, boy!

Some red ale?

Ah, no, thank you.

- Something else?
- I don't drink alcohol.

Wait... Are you sure we're family? Huh?

- Kidding! I'm kidding!
- Right.



Um, so how about
you come for dinner tonight? Huh?

Tonight I'm going back to Lille,

but, um... yeah, it's fine, I'll come.

Oh! Fantastic!

- You ever been up to the house?
- No.

It's Grandpa's house.
We moved there with Femke and the kids.

- This is it?
- Ah... When I took over as CEO...

Well, it was sort of a package.

- Anyway, this is dad there.
- Hmm.

Uh, he'll be around today,
and he won't believe his eyes!

Adrien! Wim's son!

All right, here... Ha.

This little boy,
the little blondie on the left.

- Right there?
- Yes.

That's him. Your father.

- Okay.
- Hm.

Okay, shall we say eight o'clock?

Yeah, let's do it.

- Uh, you know where it is?
- No.

If you go back to Ms. Delva's office,
she'll give you the address.

- Okay.
- You know, Adrien, jokes aside, but, um...

I'm... I'm really very happy
that we finally met.


- See you later.
- Yes.

Oh, uh... there's one more address I wanted.

- Mm?
- Mm.

Hi, honey.

Good, you?

No, I'm doing research for my book.

No, Astral Disaster
is dead and buried with honors.

Something new. I'm not sure yet.

I'll tell you if it's worth it.


But listen.

So, um...

It took longer than I thought,
so I'm staying the night.

Hang on.


Ah, fuck me.

Uh, Nora...

I screwed up.

For fuck's sake, Adrien.

She made a cake. It's too late now.

No, it's all right. We'll get sushi.

Everyone has to get dinner alone
with their man's mom sooner or later.

All right, well,
I have a house to clean up.

I'll see you tomorrow. Love you.


She went first, because waiting was worse
and because she was pregnant.

They don't kill pregnant women.

- Hi, I'm Adrien.
- Yes, I know.

Did your mother send you?

Is she still alive?

Yes she's still alive.
She has nothing to do with this.

Why don't you just leave
and make this easy?

We don't want you here, is that clear?

And her, even less.

Both of you have done enough harm.

She signed the documents
and renounced everything.

If you don't believe me,
I can give you the lawyer's details.

There is nothing left for you here.

I can see that.

Enough. Now get out of here
or I'll call the police.

This is private property.

- Dad, what's this all about?
- Stay out of this!

Did you understand what I said

or are you as stupid as she is?

Ten years ago,
I would have kicked the shit out of you.

Right now, you'd be crawling on the floor,
picking up your teeth.

Then if your dumbass son
tried to play cowboy,

I'd knock him down too.

You'd have a good reason to call the cops.

I'd do it even if you were my uncle.

But you're not worth it.

I'm not disappointed, really.

My mom always told me
you were a family of assholes,

all except Wim.

Maybe I just had to see for myself.

You can keep these.

To make it worse, it's the third time.

Every time she ends up back at home,
and every time he does it again.

He broke two of her ribs a month ago.

But the worst thing is, when I realized

that when I was still a nurse
ten years ago,

I had seen her at the hospital
when she was little, maybe ten years old,

beaten by her father.

Can you imagine?

Taking beatings her entire life.

But why does she keep going back to him?

Loves him. What else?

Love. Ugh.

That great affliction.

But you don't agree, right?

It's just that my whole field of research
is working on another explanation.

I never really got what you do. Is it epi...



Okay, so in a nutshell,

uh, well, some years back, we discovered
things that affect our genes,

like pollution, our diet, or, uh,
positive or negative events we experience,

they cause changes in our genes,
little markers.

And... And so, when we have children,

we're not just passing on our genes,
we're also passing on our history.

That's epigenetics.

So maybe those girls
who go back to their boyfriends,

it's not love, but it's their epigenome.

Speaking of epigenomes, how's Adrien?


I'm not sure, this morning
he was a bit... bit troubled.

Is he writing at all?

Catherine, are we ready
to keep a secret between us?

Uh-huh, he's writing.

A new novel.

He doesn't talk about it,
but I read it behind his back.

Not as bad as going through his texts.

What's it about?

Well, it's a love story, actually.

It's the story of two kids
after the war, children of shame,

deeply in love.

At the start, it's tough, because the girl
has a terrible childhood.

Her mother was a prostitute
and made this girl take part in it.

It's pretty awful.

But luckily, she meets this young boy
who stands up for her.

And years later, they go to the beach,
where... something bad happens.

And, um... well, they kill someone
in self-defense.

And afterwards,
they make love for the first time.

That's all he wrote so far.

More than the story,
it's the way he's telling it.

It's like he was there,
like he's being possessed by these kids.

It's really moving.

Not a word, okay? You promised.

Oh, I didn't promise anything.

But I should thank you, Nora.


Carrel, telephone.


Carrel speaking.

Hi, I'm calling you from
the county town of Sainte-Maxime in Var.

You previously filed
several requests for the...

Powell. I requested the Powell file.
No one called back.

Actually, the file got lost when we moved
into our new offices in 2002.

It was just found at the city hall
in Cogolin. Do you still want it?

Yes, please, as soon as possible.
I've only been waiting seven years.

That's good
because I sent it two days ago.

You should have received it by now.

Hm. Great, thank you.

Not the pot, the cast iron.

What was I saying?

That I'm a jerk, but you forgive me.

What was it before that?

I'm a jerk.
How many times do I have to say it?


- What were we talking about?
- My mother.

Oh, yeah. Right.

How have you never told me about her?
She's a tough lady.

- Hm?
- Like the fact she worked in a hospice.

People died holding her hand, it's...

The way she talks about it.

I'm not bothering you?

- You annoyed?
- Well, yeah.

Yeah, that's fair.
I'm sorry, it's just work stuff.

Is your work cute?

It's Alan. So I'll let you be
the judge of that yourself.

What were we saying?

We were talking about my mom,
but can we change the subject?

We can change it to your dad.

Like I said,
I don't give a damn about it, okay?

End of story.

- Nothing to tell me?
- Right.

Then I'll tell you something.


You sit there. Don't say anything.

I've been bad.


Don't look at me like that.

Albert and Solange...

- I read it on your computer.
- No way!

- Are you serious?
- Listen!

- You can't fucking do that.
- Just listen. That's not the point.

- You really shouldn't have done that!
- It's okay!

What matters is it's great.

It's beautiful!

I'm so proud of you, baby.

Pure Mody, huh?

And you just know what he does to me.

There you are.

Just found a half-decent mojito joint.

You in? Or is there another
bullshit excuse?

No, I'm in.

- You serious?
- Mm-hmm.


I'll send you the address. There in 15?

Fifteen minutes sharp.

- Come on.
- Bitch.

Hey. Did you get your package, Carrel?

I'm going now.