All language subtitles for Tropic Of Cancer (1970)_en

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HENRY:
This then?

This is not a movie.

This is a libel,
slander,

defamation of character,

a prolonged insult,

a gob of spit
in the face of art,

a kick in the pants
to God, man, destiny,
time, love, beauty,

what you will.

I'm going to sing for you,

a little off-key perhaps,
but I will sing.

I will sing
while you croak.

I will dance over
your dirty corpse.

Have you seen Boris?

He's meeting someone who
may rent the apartment.

Could you loan me 5 francs
for a taxi?

You know Mona--

if I 'm not there
to meet the boat train,

she's liable to turn
around and go back.

Oh, Henry.

O.K. It's too late
already. Forget it.

Oh, for god's sake.
Here.

She rises up out of a sea
of faces and embraces me.

Embraces me
passionately--

a thousand eyes,
noses, fingers,

legs, bottles, windows,
purses, saucers--

all glaring at us,

and we in each
other's arms, oblivious.

I sit down beside her,
and she talks--

a flood of talk,

wild, consumptive notes

of hysteria,
perversion, leprosy.

I hear not a word

because she is beautiful
and I love her.

And now I 'm happy
and willing to die.

The hotel,
where is it?

Can we go to
the hotel right now?

No. I got to
find Boris.

I thought I 'd
never get here.

When you weren't
at the station, I...

Hey, Boris!

Henry, how are you?
Nice to see you.

Glad to see you.

Here's Mona,
my wife.

Hello.

My check didn't come.
I haven't got it.

20 francs!

That's all I got
on me, fella.

I'll give you
half what I got.

Come on, Boris,
just...just once?

Eh, all right.

Take it.

Thanks. Really
appreciate it.

Yeah, yeah, sure.

Thanks a lot.

Yeah. Sure. Swell.

Oh, yeah. A pleasure.

I'll see you,
Boris.

So long, Henry.
Yeah.

May I take my dress off?

No.

Oh, I forgot
to tell you.

I had a, um,
reading for a play

just before
I left New York.

It was for
Charley Morton's
new play.

He liked me.
He really did.

But, of course,

they gave the part
to the producer's
new girlfriend.

Idiots.

Anyway, this...

you know, she's probably
going to have to wear a wig.

If they try and color
that hair one more time,

it'll turn green.

I need a Kleenex.

Do you have a Kleen--

No, you don't.

What do you
ask for in French?

I guess "Kleenex."

They always
understand Coca-Cola.

Baby.

Hmm?

Uh, I don't want
to alarm you,

but you're covered
with bugs.

What?

Aah!

Ha ha ha ha!

You bastard!

Deux cafés,
s'il vous plait.

It's out of order,
and it stinks.

I must have a bath.

We've--I've got
to have a bath.

Ohh.

Oh, it's so cold.

Get my clothes hung up.
Get them pressed.

The state they're in.

We look like
a couple of tramps.

We must find another
hotel, and a clean one.

I want to find
a good hotel as soon
as they're open.

What time do they open?

7:00, 8:00.

How much money
have you got left?

What the hell
are you doing?

You trying to
get us thrown out?

Qu'est-ce que c'est,
Madame?

Uh, thank you.

Très bien. Merci.

Wait. I have
to take a bath.

Wait.

Ooh.

Oh, yeah.

Uh-uh. Uh-uh.

Your bath is running.

Isn't it good
to be clean again?

How much money
have you got left?

Oh, I got enough
for tonight.

Oh, no. Uh-uh.

No. Oh, no.

When I realized
that she's gone,

perhaps gone forever,

a great void opens up,

and I feel that I 'm falling
into deep black space.

And this is
worse than tears,

deeper than regret
or pain or sorrow.

It is the abyss into
which Satan was plunged.

There's no climbing back,

no ray of light,

no sound or human voice
or human touch of hand.

How many thousand times

in walking through
the streets at night

have I wondered if the day
would ever come again

when she would
be at my side?

All those yearning looks

I bestowed on the buildings
and statues.

I'd looked at them
so hungrily,

so desperately
that by now

my thoughts
must have become

a part of the very
buildings and statues.

They must be saturated
with my anguish.

I could not help
but reflect also

that when we had
walked side by side

through these mournful,
dingy streets

now saturated with
my dream and longing,

that she'd observed
nothing, felt nothing.

They were like
any streets to her--

a little more sordid
perhaps--

and that is all.

I became reconciled
to this life without her,

and yet if I
thought about her
only for a minute,

it was enough to pierce
the bone and marrow
of my contentment

and shove me back again
into the agonizing gutter

of my wretched past.

Somehow, the realization

that nothing
was to be hoped for

had a salutary
effect on me.

Then it occurred to me
like a flash

that no one would
refuse a man a meal

if only he had
the courage to demand it.

I went immediately
to a cafe and wrote
a dozen letters.

"Would you let me
have dinner with you
once a week?

Tell me what day is
most convenient for you."

It worked like a charm.

I was not only fed.
I was feasted.

Every night,
I went home drunk.

And now I could afford
to scratch off the ones

who were a pain
in the ass.

I calculated
your share

of the actual
cost of last
Tuesday 's meal,

not counting
the half-bottle of
wine you spilled.

Won't you be
late for class?

It comes
to 12 francs,
63 centimes--

bringing the total
to 1,340 francs and
1 centime exactly.

We're not asking him
to pay us back.

I know, but it's
very interesting.

[ ring ]

[ dogs bark ]

Hi.

Ah. CÇa va?

Bien. Bien, bien.

Hi. Come on in.

[ dogs yelp in pain ]

[ playing
auprès de ma blonde ]

One by one,

I fucked myself out of
all those free dinners.

The wives
turned against me...

or the husbands.

[ piano music plays ]

Tania, darling,
when's dinner?

I'm just finishing
my pliés,darling.

We'll have to stop this
now he's home again.

Darling, I think
the potatoes are burning.

I'll be there
in just a second,
darling.

Mmm.

Turn the gas down,
darling.

Ah, there we are, darlings.

Now give Henry a large
helping, Sylvester.

He needs building up.

How was New York?

Oh, terrible.

New York is dreadful.
You know that.

All those phonies.

But we're set for
a February opening.

And Greg Saint Clare
will direct.

Yeah, that's good.
Very good.

Very good.

What's next?

Well, there's work
in progress, naturally.

I like to
call it that.

If he finishes a play
in the morning

and there's still
time before lunch,

he puts a new sheet
of paper in the typewriter

and starts a new one.

That's how
to be a writer.

More, Henry,
or you've had enough?

I think I can take
a little more.

Give Henry some more,
Sylvester.

But, you know,
he's fantastic.

He never talks about it.

But when he
sits down to write,

it just runs out of him.

I believe it.

You smile at me
so confidently,

so calculatingly.

I'm flattering the ass
off you, can't you tell?

I believe
this wine is corky.

I thought that was
only supposed to happen
in the States.

While I listen
to your crap,

she's got her hand on me.

But you don't see that.

Remember?

Yeah,
it's in the kitchen.

Henry, nip out and bring in
a couple of bottles.

It's on the top...

shelf.

Henry, you fool.

So now I 'm
the only one left

who'll cough up
the weekly dinner.

Two cognacs, please.

Well, I didn't know
Sylvester was so
hypersensitive.

Ah, Tania.
It was worth it.

So what are you
going to do now?

Jesus, I don't know.

Hey,
that's Fillmore.

Hmm.

Maybe he's got
a spare bed.

Doesn't look
like it tonight.

[ Tango music plays ]

Princess, princess,
uh, don't be mad.

I, uh, I won't move
my hips anymore.

You speak too much,
too loud.

And you
speak nonsense.

Oh, my nervous!
My nervous!

Please give me
some Champagne.

It's the only thing
for my temperament.

Champagne.
Ah, Champagne.

Uh, Champagne, please.

Oh, hi, Joe.
Hi, Joe.

Hi, Joe.Hi, Joe.

Fellas...

I want you to meet
the Princess Masha.

She's royal, you know.

Fillmore, can I use
your sofa tonight?

No, you cannot use
the sofa tonight.

What are you
whispering for?

You want me not to hear.

Hmm.

Why should your friend
not sleep at your
apartment tonight?

The poor fellow.

You think he gets me
there to make love?

I don't blame you.

You should see me
when I am undressed.

I am very beautiful.

But a princess
of the blood royale

is not to be bought
for a few bottles
of Champagne.

And the caviar.

Ooh la la!

[ snaps fingers ]

It's, uh...royal
temperament, huh?

But you won't enjoy it,

I warn you.

Well, Princess...

you let me be the
judge of that, huh?

All right.

Princess.

Did I tell you
I have the clap?

The clap!

And what are you
making a fuss for?

It's only gonorrhea.

Only gonorrhea?

Ohh, Americans!

They have
no manners at all!

[ glass breaks ]

What's that?

It's me, Henry--
Joe from the bar.

Ahh.

Oh, well.

Joe from the bar.

This blanket
are no good.

I'm so cold.

Come here
and warm me a little.

Right away,
your highness.

I wouldn't
if I were you.

You didn't give her
a key, did you?

Yes.
Will you shut up?

Ahh. All right.

Mmm.

You poor shy boys.

I go to take
a little coffee now.

So, you can get dressed.

Oh. Money.

Just a little
10-franc note.

I see you later.

But what a charming place
you have.

I'm going to like it here.

Bye-bye.

FILLMORE:
Goodbye.

HENRY:
Bye-bye.

You grab the door.

I'm going to get
the lock changed.

Peckover!

You live
around here?

No. I work days, too.
Didn't you know?

A dentist's office
up the street--

to pay off this set
of teeth he made for me.

Don't you read proof
at the paper anymore?

Why? What have you heard?

About what?

Well, I know you
hang around with
Carl and Van Norden.

Did they say anything?

They didn't say
anything.

That boss of mine

bawls the piss
out of me

if I miss
a semicolon.

Yeah? Maybe
he needs more help.

I'm a great
semicolon spotter.

Well, is there a list
I can put my name on
for future consideration?

Here. Well, uh,
put it on there.

I'll see it gets on
the applications list.

Thanks.

Thanks a lot.

Here, take a look
at these ads.

Maybe you'll find
something good.

If you do,
you'll be ahead of
everybody in Paris.

Hey,
how about this one?

"American needed
for teaching in Dijon

"under international
exchange agreement.

Room and board."

what's the salary?

There's no mention
of money.

It's "your contribution
to Franco-American amity."

it's a roof over
the head and food.

[ doorbell rings ]

Bonsoir, Monsieur.

Je suis le
professeur Americain.

Entrez.

Oh, brother.

Ahh.

Good night,
Monsieur Miller.

Ah, good night,
Monsieur Lecenseur.

Pray consider yourself
welcomed among our walls.

I observe
you are astounded

to be listen
of English spoke.

It is myself
that have till now

instruct the pupils
in this language.

But a man occupied as myself
have no more for such.

You, Monsieur Miller,
henceforth shall talk
the English conversation

to the boys.

Uhh...

I, uh, my best will do to
follow up your good work.

It is a class
in the morning,
at 8 of the clock.

Uh, you are speaking
French, I hope.

Well, a little.

Un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu.

Un tout petit peu.

Peu.
Peu.

Excellent.

Your predecessor was not
gifted with the tongue.

He was not capable
to follow my work.

Also,
he did not exercise
himself to, uh...

inform us
about his departure.

He go, uh,
over the wall.

Couldn't he have gone
through the door?

The door is locked by key
each night at 10:00...

to avoid the
infiltration of women.

A contingency at all
costs to be avoided.

Exactement.

Now, back to
our businesses.

[ children sing
frere jacques ]

Thus your personal fire
for the week.

Also there is
in supplementation

two measures
of coal in bucket.

Paper must by
yourself be found.

I for it will start
looking at once.

Yes.

In times you do not
converse with the boys,

you are at liberty.

The town of Dijon is yours.

Amuse yourself goodly.

AÀ toute à l'heure,
Monsieur Miller.

Your continuing
good health,
Monsieur Lecenseur.

[ bedsprings squeaking ]

Oh, Tania, where now is
that warm cunt of yours,

those fat, heavy garters,
those soft, bulging thighs?

There's a bone in my prick
6 inches long.

I will ream out
every wrinkle in your cunt,

Tania, big with seed.

I'll send you home
to your Sylvester

with an ache
in your belly

and your womb
turned inside out.

Your Sylvester.

Yes, he knows
how to build a fire,

but I know how
to inflame a cunt.

Tania, I make
your ovaries incandescent.

Your Sylvester 's
a little jealous now.

He feels something.

He feels the remnants
of my big prick.

[ piano music plays ]

I set the shores
a little wider...

ironed out the wrinkles.

After me you can
take on stallions,

bulls, rams, drakes,
Saint Bernards.

You can stuff toads, bats,
lizards up your rectum.

You can shit arpeggios
if you like,

uh, string a zither
across your navel.

I am fucking you, Tania,
so that you'll stay fucked,

and if you're afraid
of being fucked publicly,

I 'll fuck you privately.

I'll tear off
a few hairs from your cunt

and paste them
on Boris' chin.

I'll bite
into your clitoris

and spit out
2-franc pieces.

Good morning, boys.
I am your new professor.

Good morning,
Monsieur le Professeur.

Now what shall
we talk about?

Anybody have anything
they want to talk about?

Poor kids.

Our first subject
is the physiology of...

love.

Let's consider
how the elephants make love.

Pachyderms,

although they're, uh,
pretty heavily built,

they get pretty spry

when a male
gets a bone on.

A bone?

Uh, some animals have bones
in their penis.

And hence
this expression...

Happily,
according to Gourmont,

uh, this bony structure
is lost in man.

Now, think
what would happen

if you had
half the human race

walking around
with a bone on.

[ class laughing ]

[ speaking French ]

Good morning, boys.

Good morning,
Monsieur le Professeur.

Right. Sit down.

Today, we agreed,
was question day.

Fire away.
Ask anything at all.

All right. O.K.

We'll answer all questions,
but one at a time.

Sir, yesterday
you was telling us
about the whale.

Yeah.

This noble beast

has a penis
2 meters long.

Ce n'est pas vrai.

That's quite true, my boy,

and that's only
in repose.

And the kangaroo
have two?

That's quite right.

It's a double penis.

It's, uh,
one for weekdays

and one for Sundays.

[ laughing ]

[ dance band playing ]

Music was the least
of my worries.

I didn't even
think of cunt,

so dismal, so chill,
so barren,

so gray was it all.

[ knock on door ]

Une telegramme,
Monsieur.

"Paris," uh,
"Indian pearl merchant

"wants low-life guide
to Paris, stop.

How about it? Fillmore."

When's the next
train to Paris?

Monsieur?

Le prochain train--
ah, never mind.

Merci. Merci.

[ dance band playing ]

LECENSEUR:
Mais oui. Go, uh,
over the wall.

In the fullness of night,
he disappeared.

Fillmore,
my old, my savior.

Get in here
and sit down.

Well, where's
the pearl merchant?

I'm ready to take him
to the haunts

of coot, fern,
and fornication.

Well, it's, uh, not
the old merchant himself.

It's his only nephew.

What's he looking for
in Paris?

Well,
as far as I can tell,

his wants are simple.

Don't you worry, though.

The old boy's paying
for his education.

Ranji, you can't jump
them in the streets.

Wait till we get
to Miss Hamilton.

[ rings doorbell ]

Let me tell you,

this is a refined,
high-class joint.

Hello, bébé.

Allo.

Take your pick.
You get your choice.

HENRY:
You'll feel better
when you've had a drink.

Ladies.

RANJI:
I'll take this one.

Mmm, you have
good taste, Monsieur.

I am sure you will be
very happy together.

What?

Oh, you can't.
They'll be offended.

If you wish.

Let us have rooms
next door, huh?

HENRY:
If you must.

[ knock on door ]

Yes?

RANJI:
Henry, the young lady
has gone for her toilet,

but where can I go?

Quick, quick,

tell me
before she comes back.

Use the bidet,
for Christ's sake.

Oh, thank you.

[ Miss Hamilton
shouting in French ]

RANJI:
Oh, Madame,
I do beg of you.

Have you no shame?

You are responsible
to bring a savage
to Miss Hamilton,

one of the most
distinguished bordel
of Paris!

Mais c'est dégoûtant!
Oui, dégoûtant!

Dégoûtant!

Hey, man,
what did you do?

What did he do?

Come here! I show
you what he do!

Ha!

Voila!

Regard your eyes
on that!

Oh, brother.

You shouldn't
have told me to.

I didn't know
it wouldn't go down.

I asked you
where to go,

and you told me
to use that.

Come along.
Let us get out of here.

Pour la femme
de chambre.

I would like
to get out of here.

Would you like
to try another place?

Oh, no, no.

For some reason or other,
man looks for the miracle,

and to accomplish it,
he will wade through blood.

He will debauch himself
with ideas.

He will reduce himself
to a shadow

if only for one second
of his life

he can close his eyes
to the hideousness of reality.

[ drum playing ]

Everything is endured--

disgrace, humiliation,
poverty, war, crime, ennui--

in the belief
that overnight

something will occur,

a miracle which will
render life tolerable.

[ organ plays ]

So I think
what a miracle it would be

if at the last moment,

when the banquet table
is set

and the cymbals clash,

there should appear suddenly
and wholly without warning

a silver platter on which
even the blind could see

that there's nothing more
and nothing less than

two enormous
lumps of shit.

When I looked down

at this fucked-out
kind of a whore,

I feel the whole world
beneath me,

a world tottering
and crumbling,

a world used up
and polished,

yeah, like a leper's skull.

If there were a man
who dared to say

all that he thought
of this world,

there would not
be left him

a square foot of ground
to stand on.

When a man appears,

the world bears
down on him

and breaks his back.

There are always too many
rotten pillars left standing

for man to bloom.

The superstructure
is a lie,

and the foundation
is a huge, quaking fear,

and if at intervals
of centuries,

there does appear a man

with a desperate, hungry
look in his eyes,

a man who would
turn the world upside-down

in order to create
a new race,

the love that he brings
to the world

is turned to bile.

[ ambulance siren ]

wait, wait!
I found them!
I found them!

Hey!

What the hell
are you doing?

What's going on?

Stupid bastards
wouldn't stop.

Look.

Poor old Peckover fell
down the elevator shaft,

eight stories.

They found him
crawling around crying,

looking for these.

Couldn't think
about anything else.

He hasn't finished
paying for them yet.

And they're quarreling

about who's going
to write the obituary.

Hey, I think you're next
in line for his job.

Hey, hey! Get up here.

What's all this?

Don't worry, my dear.
They're friends of mine.

First paycheck
in four months.

Here's to Peckover.
He would've liked this.

Thanks to us, he died
with his teeth in.

Peckover.

FILLMORE:
Peckover.

VAN NORDEN:
now let's have
another bottle of wine.

Oh, no! Look at my dress,
you stupid!

Oh!

Jesus!

Now you know
not to laugh
at French woman!

[ whistles ]

Spirited girl.

Yeah.

I'd better follow her.

But why?

Because I gave her
the key to my place.

That's why.

And if
I don't apologize...

she'll be waiting
with a broken bottle.

See you later, Joe.

You know, what I love
most about Fillmore

is his absolute refusal
to learn from experience.

Lona, now, she had a cunt.

I know because
she sent us some hairs

from down below.

Lona--a wild ass, snuffing
pleasure out of the wind.

On every high hill,
she played the harlot,

and sometimes
in telephone booths

and toilets.

She used candles,
roman candles, and doorknobs.

Not a prick in the land
big enough for her,

not one.

Men went inside her
and curled up.

She wanted extension pricks,
self-exploding rockets,

hot boiling oil
made of wax and creosote.

She'd cut off your prick

and keep it
inside her forever

if you
gave her permission.

One cunt out of a million.

Lona--all cunt
and a glass ass

in which you could read

the history
of the middle ages.

Une coupe de Champagne,
s'il vous plait.

How lucky you are
to be able to afford

the good things of life.

All the bad things
happen to me.

First, my little baby,

and now my mother
is at home, very ill,

and there is
a doctor to pay,

the medicines
to be bought.

I'm always in difficulties
for money.

Wouldn't you come
over to my hotel?

You can tell me
all about it.

Oh, I couldn't do that.

I have to look
after my mother.

You could
come home with me.

I have an apartment
to myself.

It will be peaceful.

O.K. Let's go.

I got to warn you.
I only got 50 francs.

50 francs?

Come on. You're
surely joking with me.

Bye. Made a mistake.

Yeah. You certainly
have made a mistake.

Ecoute, cheri.
Be reasonable.

O.K. I'll be nice to you.

You'll see.

You were
lying to me, then.

I was just lying to you.

Taxi!

[ ticking ]

[ bell rings ]

My god, this place
is in such a state

since mother,
uh, has been sick.

I can't find anything
when I want it.

No, don't sit there.

Come over here, cheri.

Oh, this dress.

The zipper
always sticks.

Can you?

Never mind.

I've done it myself.

Now what are you
waiting there for?

Hurry up
and get undressed.

Have you seen
my diploma on the wall?

First class honor.

Mama had it
framed for me.

Come on.
Get undressed.

I think you should
hurry, you know?

Uh, where's my
kimono disappeared to?

I must go to see mother.
Just a moment.

You can have a bath,
if you like.

I'll be back
in a few minutes.

She's going to die.
She's going to die!

Oh, dear, dear.

If--if only
I had the money
for the doctor.

Oh, yeah, the money.

Will you please take this
for your mother?

You're very kind,

but...the doctor
is very expensive.

Yes. Things are
rough all over.

Ah, you're right.

[ meter ticking ]

come on.

Move over.

[ panting ]

Mmm.

Oh, darling,
I'm dying for you.

Oh, what are you?

Ohh!

Oh, yes, again.
It's so beautiful.

Ahh!

Yeah, slow down.
Where's the fire?

Here! Here!

Oh, cheri,
c'est tellement bon!

Oh, c'est bon,
vite, vite, vite!

C'est bon, cheri, vite.

Uh, take it easy.

Take it easy.

Where's your mother?

Is she downstairs?

Oh, c'est
tellement bon!

Vite, vite, vite,
cheri, vite!

[ bell rings ]

I must go
and see mother.

Germaine was different.

There was nothing to tell me so
from her appearance,

but I 'd noticed her
verging toward me

with that curious
trot-about air of a whore

and the run-down heels
and cheap jewelry,

the pasty look
of their kind.

In a few minutes we were
in a 5-franc room

on the Rue Amélot,

the curtains drawn
and the covers thrown back,

but she didn't
rush things, Germaine.

She sat on the bidet
soaping herself

and talked
to me pleasantly

about this and that.

As she stood up
to dry herself,

still talking
to me pleasantly,

suddenly
she dropped the towel.

In advancing
toward me leisurely,

she commenced rubbing
her pussy affectionately,

stroking it
with her two hands,

caressing it,
patting it.

There was something
about her eloquence
at that moment

and the way she thrust
that rosebush under my nose

which remains
unforgettable.

She spoke of it

as if it were
some extraneous object

which she had acquired
at great cost,

an object whose value
had increased with time

and which now she prized

above everything
in the world.

The words imbued it
with a peculiar fragrance.

It was no longer just
her private organ,

but a treasure,
a magic, potent treasure,

a God-given thing

and none the less so
because she traded it

day in, day out
for a few pieces of silver.

As she flung herself
on the bed

with legs spread
wide apart,

she cupped it
with her hands

and stroked it some more,

murmuring all the while

in that hoarse,
cracked voice of hers

that it was good,
beautiful,

a treasure,
a little treasure,

and itwas good,
that little pussy of hers.

That Sunday afternoon,

with its poisonous breath
of spring in the air,

everything
clicked together.

As we stepped out
of the hotel,

I looked her over
again in the harsh
light of day,

and I saw clearly
what a whore she was--

the gold teeth,
the run-down heels,
et cetera, et cetera.

Even the fact
that she had wormed
a dinner out of me,

and cigarettes and taxis,

hadn't the least disturbing
effect upon me.

I encouraged it,
in fact.

I liked her so well
that after dinner

we went back
to the hotel again

and took another
shot at it...

for love this time.

And again that
big bushy thing of hers

worked its bloom
and magic.

It began to have
an independent existence
for me, too.

There was Germaine,

and there was
that rosebush of hers.

I liked them separately,

and I liked them
together.

I don't think
this earthy stuff

is going over too well
with Irene.

I think she's kind
of an ethereal cunt.

Ethereal or not,
she's rich.

It should be worth
a little letter-writing.

Now, go on.
Where were we?

Rabelais--"You send me
golden apples, Irene, dear,

and gifts
of shaggy chestnuts, too."

She hasn't given you
anything, has she?

No, but I like
that word "shaggy."

"But if you follow them,

the choicest gift you brought
would be just you."

You know you say that
like you mean it?

Let's hit her with
a little dash of Keats.

Irene, peerless nymph,
"why fear such
tenderness as mine?"

Now, wait a minute.

This is
the real clincher.

"oh, let me
have thee whole.

"All, all be mine.

"Those hands,
those eyes divine,

"that warm,
white, lucent,

million-pleasured
breast."

Jesus, that'll do it.

Let's pepper it
up a bit.

No, no, no.
That's too morbid.

Breathes there man
with soul so dead

who to himself
hath never said,

"when I see Irene,
I think of bed."

Oh, it's not
in the same class.

Besides, it's too pushy.

We've got to bring this
to a delicate conclusion.

Not too delicate.
It's about getting laid,
you know.

If the lady's
any good at all,

it's never far
from her mind.

You just have
to let her know

that you know what
she's thinking about.

[ doorbell rings ]

Did you pay your rent?

It's from her.
It's from Irene.

Well?

A rendezvous.

Christ, do you think
she's watching us?

Come on, Carl.
She's not going to eat you.

Wish you hadn't
said that,
crude bastard.

I can't go in yet.
What's the time?

I'm two minutes early.

All right,
all right.

Let's take a walk
around the block.

Press button 2.

"Rescue teams have been
working throughout the night

"in an effort to reach
the 12 miners trapped
since Tuesday

"in the Alsatian
mining disaster.

"Investigation into cause
of disaster has revealed

that the collapse was due
to faulty tit-props"?

Pit-props.

"Messages of consolation
have arrived from
the government."

I'll bet.

[ telephone rings ]

Yeah.

Henry, it's Carl.
Look, Henry...

fill in for me
at the office, will you?

Tell the bastard
I'm--anything.

Tell him I 'm dying.

O.K., Carl...

What's happening?

Hello?

Are you
Henry Miller?

How are you?

You sound so nice.

Hello, Joe?

She likes you.

I told her all about you,

how we call each other Joe.

She wants us
to call her Joe, too.

Talk to you later, Henry.

Ah, you...

son of a bitch.

Help me read through
these stock prices, huh?

What happened to Carl?

He says he's dying.

Oh, so he's dying, is he?
The little prick.

Come on. Give me the lowdown
on this whole thing.

He went to visit
his rich cunt.

He actually went
to call on her?

Where's she live?
What's her name?

Let me in
on this racket.

It's not a racket.

A little prick like that

slips off to lay a rich,
beautiful, hungry cunt,

and you say
there's no racket?
Come on!

Calm down.
I'll tell you everything

as soon as Carl gives me
the details, O.K..?

Yeah, O.K..

I like Van Norden,

but I don't agree with
his opinion of himself.

He's not a writer.

He's just cunt-struck,
that's all.

29, 35 5/8, 35 1/2...

Come on, Carl,
you're hanging me up.

Don't torture me.

Tell me, was it good,
or was it bad?

Wait. I'm going
to tell you everything.

That means
it was a failure.

No. No, it wasn't
a failure.

It wasn't a success either.

You know,
it's pretty strange.

To think of all
those letters we wrote her

and then to find that...

well, she was
in her dressing gown.

There was a bucket
of Champagne on the dresser.

The room was pretty dark,

the curtains drawn,
not much light.

But her voice was lovely.

I know that. Go on.

It must have been 9:00
because I remember

I looked at my watch
to check.

The next time I looked
at my watch, it was 10:00.

She was on the divan
with her boobies
in her hands.

At 11:00, we were going
to run away to Borneo.

Didn't she have
a husband?

Fuck the husband.
She never loved him anyway.

She never would've
written that first letter

if the husband hadn't
been old and passionless.

And when she says to me,
"But listen, dear,

how do I know you won't
grow tired of me?"

What'd you say?

What'd you
expect me to say?

I said, "How could anyone
ever grow tired of you?"

Oh, Carl,
you're the cutest.

What happened then?

I don't know.

Oh. I kissed
her breasts a lot.

Then I got tired of them
staring me in the face,

so I stuffed them
back in her corsage--

or whatever
they call those things.

Wasn't that
a step backwards?

No. They get hotter
if they think
you're cooling off.

So, then we had
more Champagne.

There I was, sitting
with my semicolons,

wondering whether
I could afford

to go to the can
for five minutes.

And I 'm dying
to take a leak!

I had one hard-on,
but it faded out.

Ohh.

I pull her to her feet,

and I start walking her
to the door.

I tell her I love her.
I'll go anywhere she says.

Only now I must go.
It's getting late.

Carl, you didn't
even tell me whether
she's beautiful.

A woman with
a voice like that?

When we spoke
on the phone,
I was stunned.

I wanted to say
one true thing,
no matter how silly,

after all that crap
we wrote her.

Was she beautiful?

She had
a streak of gray hair
across her forehead.

I remember that, but that
wouldn't be so bad.

You see?
I'd almost forgotten it.

But it was her arms.

They were thin.

They were thin
and brittle.

If she were only
10 years younger,

I might overlook
the gray hair and even
the brittle arms.

But she's too old.

You see,
with a cunt like that,
every year counts now.

She won't just be
one year older next year,

she'll be 10 years older.

Another year, she'll be
20 years older.

I'll be getting
younger-looking
all the time,

at least for another
five years.

How did it end?

That's just it.
It didn't end.

I promised
to meet her Tuesday.

Ooh, and that's not all.

I promised to write her
a letter in the meantime.

How can I write her
a letter now?

I haven't got
anything to say.

If she were only
10 years younger.

Listen, do you think
I ought to go with her

to Borneo or wherever
she wants to take me?

[ jungle noises ]

I don't know
how to shoot.

I'm afraid of guns
and all those things.

Besides, she'll want me
to fuck her night and day.

Nothing but hunting
and fucking all the time.

I can't do it!

[ loud jungle noises ]

She said she was
turning 40.

That means 50.

Or 60!

It'd be like fucking
your own mother.

She must have
had something.

You kissed her breasts,
for christ's sake.

Kissing her breast,
what's that?

Besides, it was dark,
I'm telling you.

Look at that.

It's coming apart,
the god damn suit.

I'm coming apart.

Irene is certainly
coming apart.

You can forgive
a young cunt anything.

She doesn't have
to have brains.

They're better off
without brains.

But an old cunt...

see, an old cunt,
even if she's brilliant,

even if she's
the most charming
woman in the world,

nothing
makes any difference.

A young cunt
is an investment.

An old cunt
is a dead loss.

All they can do for you
is buy you things.

With you, it's different.

You don't have to lay her.

You can afford
to like her.

Maybe you would like her.

If she's rich,
I'll like her,

as long as
she's not a hag.

She's not a hag.
What are you talking about?

If that's how it is,
I'll fuck her.

If you don't want to,
tell her that.

You be subtle
about it, though.

Perhaps we'll go
to Borneo together.

I don't know how
to shoot either.

That doesn't matter.
We'll drive, we'll hunt,

we'll wear nice things.

If we go to Borneo,
I won't have hemorrhoids
anymore.

Maybe I 'll develop
something else,

something worse.

Cholera, do you think?

It's better to die
of a good disease

than to piss your life away
on that newspaper

with grapes up your ass

and buttons
falling off your pants.

What would you rather do,

be a cripple all your life
or have a job

or marry a rich cunt?

You'd rather marry
a rich cunt.

Supposing you married her
and you couldn't get
a hard-on anymore?

That happens sometimes.
What would you do then?

The best thing would be
to marry her,

then get a good disease.

You wouldn't have
to worry about laying her

or the rent either.

That's the best solution
for a writer.

Listen, all I want

is a good wheelchair
and three meals a day.

Then I 'd give them
something to read,
those pricks.

What happened
to you?

You should've
stayed around
for a Pernod.

Carl talked about
that dame Irene
for two solid hours.

I could use a Pernod now.

I was out
looking for Fillmore.

Oh, Fillmore 's been
taken to a funny farm
outside Paris.

Wonder if that guy's
putting us on.

That girlfriend of his
gave me the address.

It's around somewhere.

But Carl, now...

that guy's an artist.

He described
every detail minutely.

He gave it to me
with such accuracy,

I know the whole
god damn thing is a lie,

but I can't get it
out of my mind.

You know
how my mind works.

He told you the story.

You think
he made it up?

I think he invented
the whole thing

just to torture me.

I don't care about that.

I don't care
if it's all a lie.

It's the images
that get me.

I didn't sleep a wink
for thinking of it.

Just like that guy
to tell me

he put it to her
six or seven times.

Well, that's
a lot of shit.

But when he tells me
she rented a carriage,

drove him to the bois,

and used her husband's
fur coat for a blanket,

that's too much.

I suppose he told you

about how the chauffeur
waited patiently.

And listen,
did he tell you

about how the motor
purred all the time?

He's such a cute
little liar,

you can't
walk away from him.

I don't understand
how a guy writes
letters like that.

I don't get
the mentality.

It's a kind
of masturbation.

What do you think?

I suppose he told you
the whole thing.

Tell you about
how he kissed her
on the balcony?

The way that boy
described it,

I can just see
that little prick
standing there

with his arms
around her,

and already
he's writing her

another letter
about the rooftops

and all that crap
he steals from
his French authors.

That guy never said
a thing that's original,

but you have
to get a clue

to whom
he's been reading.

That's hard because
he's so secretive.

It's the way
he tells it to me.

You know how
he embroiders things.

After that scene
on the balcony--

he gives me that
like an hors d'oeuvre--

after that scene
on the balcony,

he says
they went inside,

and he unbuttoned
her pajamas.

What are you
smiling for?

Was he shitting me
about that?

No, he told me...
the same thing.

Oh. Well, after that,

he says, she's sitting
with her legs up,

not a stitch on.

He's down on the floor
looking up at her

and telling her
how beautiful she is.

Did he tell you
how she looked
like a Matisse?

What I 'm getting at
is that moment

he said he was down
on his knees,

and with his
two skinny fingers

he spreads her cunt
open. Remember that?

Her legs were dangling
over this chair

when he gets
this inspiration.

That's after
a couple of lays

and the spiel
about the Matisse,

but now, get this.

With his two fingers,
just the tips of them,
mind you,

he spreads
the little petals open.

Squish, squish--
just like that.

That little
sticky sound,
almost inaudible.

Squish, squish.

Jesus, I 've been
hearing it all day.

And then, if that
wasn't enough for me,

he said he buried
his head in her muff!

Then if she doesn't
swing her legs
around his neck!

When he told me that,
that finished me.

Can you imagine
a fine woman like that

swinging her legs
around his neck?

It's poisonous!

It's so fantastic,
it's almost believable.

Sounds pretty incredible.

Still,
you never can tell

with a little
prick like that.

I suppose
anything can happen.

Maybe he didn't
fuck her at all.

Maybe she just
let him diddle her.

You never can tell
with these rich cunts.

You know what they
might expect you to do.

I better go see Fillmore.

It's all over, Joe.

They say I 'm crazy.

Fuck 'em.

They say I may
have syphilis, too!

They say I 've got
delusions of grandeur.

What did they put me
in this expensive room
for, huh?

Why don't they
put me in the ward?

Or in the bughouse!

I can't afford this.

I'm down
to my last $500, Joe.

That's why they got
you here, pal.

When you run
out of dough,

they'll move you out
quick enough.

Don't worry
about it.

Here. Hold on
to these for me.

They'll rob me
of everything I 've got.

I know.

I know
you think I 'm crazy,

but I want to atone
for what I did.

I want to get married.

I didn't know
I had the clap.

See, I...gave her the clap,

and I knocked her up.

I don't care what happens,

but I 'm going
to marry her first.

He keeps telling me
to wait until I get better.

I'm not going
to get better.

This is the end.

Aw, come on, Joe.

I'm dying, Joe!

And Ginette, who's going
to take care of her?

Who's going
to take care of her
after I 'm gone?

After you're gone?

You can take care of her.

You're healthy.

Joe, would you
take care of her?

Easy, boy, easy.

Would you? For me.

Where does she live?

You're a good guy, Joe.

That's right. I am.

Where is she living?

Oh, somewhere
on the sixth floor.

Everyone in Paris
lives on the sixth
or seventh floor,

so by the time
you get up there,
you're incapable.

They're all
in on it, hmm?

Yeah.

Sixth floor. Where?

365 Rue la Bosse.

O.K., look, uh...

I'll find the girl,
and I 'll hold her hand,

and I 'll explain
everything.

Don't worry
about anything.

Just lay back,
eat your oranges.

You know,
they might be charging
you rent for them.

Oh, no. Not...

[ knock on door ]

Ginette?

Entrez.
Sit down, please.

And you think
he keeps his position

when he leaves hospital?

His job, you mean.
Oh, I suppose so.

You speak
good English, Ginette.

We were pulled together
by common tongues.

That must
have been nice.

Please tell me
what you think.

Jo-Jo want to marry me.
He say that.

But if he does not...

you know, a young girl
in a delicate condition...

and with
the other thing besides...

if he leaves me,

what I 'm going to do?

Dear...

Fillmore is
a perfect gentleman,

and he's thinking
about you all the time.

I'm certain
he'll stand by you.

I'll be the godfather
to the child.

How's that?

Oh, you are so good.

All the same,
are you certain
you want this child?

If you have
this condition
you spoke of,

it might be born blind.

Don't say such things!

It doesn't make
any difference to me.

I want a child
of my Jo-Jo.

Are you all right?

Oh, yes.

I was thinking
of Jo-Jo and me
in the bed.

How we did fight.

You know, he likes
to fight with me.

He was a brute!

Do you want some cheese?

[ knock on door ]

Qui est la?

C'est moi, Yvette.

Bonjour, Yvette.

Comment, ma petit?

Here is my friend Yvette.

Monsieur Henry,
the friend of
mon pauvre Jo-Jo.

Enchante, Monsieur.

Yvette makes a job
of national importance.

She's a spy
for the police.

Oh, God.

Come on. What does
she actually do?

I regulate inspection
of the ladies.

Sounds like
pretty essential work.

I take you to work
in taxi.

I just change my robe,
and I come with you.

Ginette is a whore...

and she has
no baby neither.

Maybe she has
the clap, yes,

but she
isn't pregnant.

Well, why does she
want to marry him?

She wants someone
to take care of her.

No Frenchman
would marry her.

She has a long
police record.

But if she can marry
a rich American...

GINETTE:
Henry, write your address

and leave it on the table.

I am with you
in a moment.

There's the address.
I've got a bed at Boris'.

Mmm.

Good morning.

Mmm!

Who are you?

Hands off, Joe.
Elsa's staying a few days

to lend tone
to the place.

She'll show people in.

You want some breakfast?

I have some
hot croissant and jam.

Don't give him breakfast.

It'll encourage him
to stay.

Why don't you move in
with Fillmore again?

They let him out
of the nuthatch.

Well, Fillmore will
probably be living
with Ginette,

and I wouldn't want
to disturb a happy couple.

It hasn't worried you
up till now.

Look, straighten
the place up a little.

Artistic disorder
is O.K..,

but this is ridiculous.

[ violin music plays ]

He needs a woman.

My...

dear...

one.

Today...

my heart...

is filled...

with...

sorrow.

Ah! Lieber gott!

What's happened
to the world?

Oh, let me help.

I have no luck,
no luck never.

I tried to write
to my lover
so far away,

and what's happened?

The typewriter jams.

Oh, poor girl.
Poor Elsa.

I am so sad...
so sad.

Ah, the Germans.

They take you all over,
like an omnibus.

They give you
indigestion.

In the same night,

one cannot visit
the morgue, the infirmary,

the zoo, the signs
of the zodiac,

the limbos of philosophy,

the caves of
epistemology,

the arcana of Freud
and Stekel.

On the merry-go-round,

one doesn't get anywhere.

Whereas
with the Germans,

one can go from Vega
to lope de Vega
in one night

and come away
as foolish as Parsifal.

Always the same.

Always.

Men use me,

and cast me
aside.

If you could play
the piano like this,

you should have
better sense

than to let yourself
be tripped up

by every guy
with a big putz

that just happened
to come along.

But what can I do?

I like it.

And this is
the living room.

I can see that.

Henry...

Hey, Fillmore,
you old nut.

They let him out?

Yeah, I 'm fine now.

He looks good now,
my fiancé.

You're on the move
again, huh?

Yeah,
Boris kicked me out.

I got to find
a hotel tonight,
you know,

unless I find
someplace to stay.

Ginette,
go do some shopping.

We'll be all right.
We'll be at the cafe, O.K..?

Come on.

Have another.
I don't care.

It's her father's money.

My job's gone,

and we're supposed
to get married
in a month or so.

Once they get me
properly in their clutches,

I'll be nothing
but a slave.

O.K.,
first you get married,
then you get divorced.

Meanwhile, she'll
be dropping the kid.

Who's going to
take care of it?

Some girls
are naturally fat
around the middle.

Yvette told me
that Ginette 's
not pregnant.

What do you mean?

I know she's going to have
a kid, all right.

I felt it kicking around
inside of her.

That Yvette 's
a dirty little slut.

You see, Joe,
I didn't want to
admit this to you.

Before I went
to the hospital,

I was putting out
for Yvette, too.

When the crackup came,
I couldn't.

I felt like I 'd done enough
for both of them, right?

No, no, no.

That Yvette 's
just sore at me.
That's all.

Boy, I wish
it were true.

I could get out of this
more easily.

They got me
by the balls now.

God,
here she comes again.

Cheri,I hurried
to get backtoyou.

That's O.K.., hon.

We're just having
a little drink
on your father.

Drink? My father?

My father never drink.

No, honey, uh...

he's trying
to explain to you

the fact is

your old man's
paying for
these drinks.

So now I 'm not
understanding English, eh?

Is that incredible?

How do you work yourself
into these situations?

You're laughing.

You make fun of me.

You mock at your fiancée
with strangers.

Ginette,
don't be stupid.

I stupid!

Ginette,
I want you to just--

that'll teach you
how to behave.

[ crash ]

[ speaking French ]

[ speaking French ]

Come on.

Fuck you!

[ Ginette speaking French ]

Go home!

Why?

Today I awoke
from a sound sleep

with curses of joy
on my lips,

with gibberish
on my tongue,

repeating to myself
like a litany,

"Fais ce que voudras."

Do anything,
but let it
produce joy.

Do anything,
but let it
yield ecstasy.

So much crowds into my head
when I say this to myself,

images--gay ones,
terrible ones,

maddening ones,

the wolf and the goat,

syphilis with her wings
outstretched,

and the door of the womb
always on the latch,

always open, ready,

like the tomb,

lust, crime, holiness,

the lives
of my adored ones,

the failures
of my adored ones,

the words
they left behind them,

the words
they left unfinished,

but above all...
the ecstasy.

Hey, what's the matter
with you?

I have a half-hour
to go to the bank
and no more.

She keeps tabs
on me.

Come on,
let's have a drink.

I just don't know
what to do anymore.

You're going to
have to do something
for me, Henry.

I'm helpless.

She won't let me
out of her sight.

The French...

you know,
I used to rave
about them,

but that was all
literature.

I know what
they're really like.

They're cruel
and mercenary and mean.

There's no sympathy,
no friendship.

The most selfish people
on earth.

They think of nothing
but money, money, money.

And so god damn
respectable and bourgeois.

That's what drives me nuts.

Sure, I hate
those puritanical
bastards back home.

I hate them
as much as you do,

but I 'm one of them
myself.

I don't belong here.

I'm sick of it.

Look here, Fillmore.

What is it
you really want to do?

I'd like to be home
with my people.

I'd like to hear
English spoken.

Listen, if that's what
you really want to do,

why don't you do it?
Why don't you go?

I'd go today.

Yes, by Jesus,
I'd go today

without even
saying goodbye
to her.

That money at the bank,

is that
her father's money,

or is it yours?

That's mine.
My mother sent it to me.

I don't want any
of her Goddamn money.

Suppose we hop
in a cab,
go down there,

you check out
every last cent.

This afternoon,
you hop a train
for London.

In London, you catch
the first boat
for America.

You can't go back
and get any
of your things.

Let her keep them.

In that French mind
of hers,

she'll never suspect
you scooted off

without bag
or baggage.

No Frenchman
would ever dream
of doing that

unless he's as
cracked as you are.

Here. That's
every bit of it.

The closer you get
to New York,

the more this will seem
just like a bad dream.

What are you
going to tell her?

Don't worry about
what I 'll tell her.

The important thing is
how much you want
to give her.

All...

Why give her anything?

Let's give her
this French money.

That should hold her
for a while.

How much is it?

She has 2 or 3,000 francs.

That's more
than she deserves.

Christ, will you don't
say that, Joe? Please!

It's
a lousy, rotten deal

I'm giving her,
you know.

She'll never be able to
go back to her parents.

Give her
the whole damn thing.

I don't care what it is.

Stop.

Hey, you can't do that.
It's too late.

You're getting
on that train.

You can't
go back there now.
It's settled.

I just don't want her
to kill herself.
That's all.

Kill herself?

As far as
the money's concerned,
don't worry.

I'll go right
to the post office.
I'll telegraph it.

[ train horn blows ]

Here, send her a postcard.

Tell her you're sailing.

Tell her you love her.
Go on.

I'll see her tonight.

Don't worry.
It'll be great.
You'll see.

[ train horn blows ]

Hurry up.
The train's leaving.
Let's go.

Henry! Bye, Henry!

Bye!

Bye, Henry!

Bye!

Cab!

[ speaking French ]

Suddenly it occurs to me

that if I want, I could
go to America myself.

It's the first time
the opportunity's
ever presented itself.

My thoughts drift out
toward the sea,

toward the other side,

where,
taking a last look back,

I had seen the skyscrapers
fading out

in a flurry of snowflakes.

I see them
looming up again

in the same ghostly way
as when I left.

See the lights creeping
through their ribs.

I see the whole city
spread out

from Harlem
to the battery,

the streets
choked with ants,

the theaters emptying.

I wonder, in a vague way,

whatever happened
to my wife?

After everything
quietly sifted
through my head,

a great peace
came over me.

Here, where the river
gently winds through
the girdle of the hills,

lies a soil so saturated
with the past

that however far back
the mind roams,

one can never detach it
from its human background.

Christ, before my eyes,

there shimmers
such a golden peace

that only a neurotic
could dream of turning
his head away.

So quietly flows the Seine

that one hardly notices
its presence.

It is always there,
quiet and unobtrusive,

like a great artery
running through
the human body.

And the wonderful peace
that falls over me.

It seems as if
I've climbed to the top

of a high mountain.

For a little while,

I will be able
to look around me,

to take in the meaning
of the landscape.

Human beings make
a strange fauna and flora.

From a distance,
they appear negligible.

Close up, they're apt
to appear ugly

and malicious.

More than anything,

they need to be surrounded
with sufficient space,

space even more
than time.

The sun is setting.

I feel this river flowing
through me--

its past, its ancient soil,
the changing climate.

The hills
gently girdle it about.

Its course is fixed.