All language subtitles for My Number

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Hello?

Hello?

Uh, bonjour?

Hello?

Bonjour.

Hello?

Nobody home?

Hello?

Anyone here?

Excuse me.

Hello.

Hello?

- Oh, God!
- Oh, mon Dieu!

I'm sorry.
Je suis désolé.

I-I think-- I think
it would be better
for both of us...

if you spoke in English.

Yes. Good.
Well, the door downstairs
was open, and I just--

You're Mathias.

I'm Mathias, yes.

I actually call myself Jim.
But, uh, I like Mathias.

How do you know my name?

Maître Brinot told me
you'd be stopping by.

The lawyer,
Christophe Brinot.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, the lawyer.
For the apartment. Yes.

See, I inherited
this apartment
from my father.

He died and left it.

I'm--
I'm Madame Girard.

Mathilde Girard.

Okay. Well, um,
nice to meet you.

Do you think, um--
Could you show me around?

Could I--

Oh, y-yes.
Yes, I could.

Of course... I could.

There are--
There are quite a few
rooms upstairs.

Uh, y-yeah.
A lot.

I went up there
before I saw you.
Oh.

No, I haven't
been up there in years.

My legs are useless.

Some of the rooms
haven't been used
for, oh, 30 years.

And this-- this...

is the Salon d'Hiver.

Ah, in its time
it was a glorious room.

We had wonderful parties
out there...

in the garden.

Wait. That garden is, uh--
That's part of the property?

A garden like that
in the middle of Paris
must be worth a fortune.

That's awfully nice.

A little out of tune,
but, uh--

It's got a nice action.

You look remarkably
like your father.

Y-You knew my father?

Did he buy the apartment
from you?

Didn't you speak
with Maître Brinot?

The lawyer. Y-Yeah, well--
I called him.

Oh. No.
He doesn't--

doesn't
speak English.

Not a lot, no.
And I haven't spoken French
since I was a kid.

So nobody's...

ever explained
the situation.

Wh-Wh-What situation?

Well, this--
this apartment...

is a viager.

Uh--

Hmm.
The word viager...

means, literally,
for life.

It's a French system.

You know, for buying
and selling apartments.

The buyer
gets the apartment
cheaply, you see,

for what we call
a petit bouquet.

But then the buyer...

must pay the seller
a fee,

you know,
until the seller dies.

I don't quite
follow this.

Uh, m-my father...

bought this apartment
as an investment
40 years ago.

Oh, no, 43 years ago.
It was after my husband died.
Forty-three years ago.

He owned this apartment
until he died and left it
to me in his will,

which was
just probated.

You must have inherited
quite-- quite a lot.

Uh, no.
Some books.

His watch.
And this apartment.

In total?
Period.

Where did the rest go?

Oh, to who?
To whom?

Oh, to whom?
Yes.

I'm so sorry.
I'm sorry.

I taught English
for years.

I mean, I've stopped--

I've stopped teaching
formally,

but I cannot stop
correcting people.

Sorry.

So, tell me.

Where did the rest go?

Uh, he left his money
to charity.

He didn't feel comfortable
leaving it to me.
Oh?

Except the apartment.

The apartment and, uh--
Excuse me.

And, uh, some, uh,

French classics
in French,

which should be
very useful.

And, uh, that's it.

So who's been, uh--
who's been
collecting your rent?

It's not rent, you see.

It's a fee,
payable to me each month.

I'm sorry.

Payable to you?

To me.

Until you die?

And not a minute
afterwards.

Thank you.

Are you kidding?

Hmm?
Are you kidding?

Not at all.

It's not a lot of money
by today's standards,
for an apartment this size.

2,400 euros...

a month.

And...

I'm responsible?

Well, I've been paid
to the end of the month.

But when the new month
begins--

So... what I inherited...

was a 2,400-euro-a-month
debt?

Well, it seems
like it, yes.

That's perfect.

He got me again.

Are you--
Are you unwell?

A bit, yeah. I--

I used the last cent
that I had to get here.

This place
was my last hope.

Wh-- This apartment?

Don't you have
an apartment
in New York?

Uh, no,
not anymore, no.

Well, weren't you
planning on going back?

The plan was to...

sell this apartment
and then, I don't know,
go somewhere.

I don't know. Somewhere.
Just not stay in Paris.

But you have
a plane ticket home?

So, what you're saying is,
I, uh--

I own this apartment,
and, uh,

I also own you.

Yes.

Yes, you own the apartment
and you also own me.

Until I die.

After I've died--

Then I'll just
own the apartment.
Exactly.

How old are you?

Sh-- Sorry.

Please understand.
I-I'm--

I'm in shock. I--

I'm completely broke.

I owe everyone I know money.

Except for a box
full of French books and

this apartment, I have
nothing.

Didn't you have
anything yourself...

before your father
died?

Oh, yeah.

Yeah,
I had lots of stuff,

a long time ago
when I was married.

Oh.
You're not married
anymore?

No, I'm divorced.

A couple of times.

Three times.

Oh. Three divorces?

Mmm.

One for each of my three
unpublished novels.

- Any children?
- I'm sorry?

Oh, children? No.
No.

I'm 90.

That's a big number.
Yes.

I've been here
since my 20s.

Seventy years ago.
Mmm.

I was born in England.

And you stayed English.

Well,
when you're born English,
you stay English.

Englishness...

is so obvious.

You have no choice.

How old are you?
Sixty?

Uh, 60-ish.
I'm 57 and 11 months.

How did you get to be
57 and 11 months...

and have so little
to show for it?

Hey. Please.
Don't be subtle with me.

If you have something
you want to ask me
that's a little cruel,

just ask me.

I'm 90.

Subtlety's not something
that interests me.

Come with me.
Come on.

Take this.
You can stay here
for a while.

Until you know
what you're doing.

Thank you.

I'll get the femme de ménage
to make up a room
for you upstairs.

Do you have
any luggage?
Just the one bag.

That's it?
That's it.

I think you need some air.
Take a walk by the Seine.

Hmm? The night
will be beautiful.

Only don't--
Please don't jump in.

You'll probably fail
to drown yourself...

and just end up
with a dreadful cold.

Dinner is at 8:00,
precisely.

Don't be late,
or I'll start without you.

I'm still
six hours behind.

I'll have to
charge you something
for staying here.

I always need money,
and that watch is gold.

You're a pirate,
Madame Girard.

C'est vrai.

Oh, uh--

Auguste Lefebvre.
Pardon.

Lefebvre.
Uh, I'm Mathias Gold.

Call me Jim.

Any chance you speak
a little English?
Yes, yes, of course I do.

A little bit, Jim.
Oh, good.

I'm wondering
if you have an apartment...

about 400 to 600
square meters
I could see?

Oh... I might have
something, yes.

Sit down, please.

How big did you say?

Around 400 to 600
square meters.

Yes.

With
a little imagination...

and a bit of money--

this could be, uh,
un vrai palace.

Masterpiece.

Mmm. And, uh,

this is, uh, how much?

Oh, the owners
ask 12 million.

But I think
you can make an offer
with enough--

Twelve million.

And how much would this
be worth if there were
a garden in the back...

that's equally,
if not bigger, in size?

Why do you ask this?

Actually, I'm--
I'm looking to sell.

Ah. D'accord.
And where is your apartment?

It's in the Marais.
Ah.

Yeah. I inherited it.
It's, um-- It's really big.

I've got some pictures.

Let's see.
See?

It's, um, two stories.
Mm-hmm.

It's about that long.
And this huge garden.

Ah.
This is good.
Yeah.

There's only one problem.

See that old lady?
Yeah. She lives there.

It's a viager.

Uh, this is
not good.

Yes.

No-- She's 90.

Not so bad.
Yeah.

This French guy, whose name
I can't pronounce, he's
called me a couple of times.

We Skyped
while I was still
in New York,

and he's really hot
to buy it.

Course I didn't tell him
about the old lady.
I didn't know about her.

If you see him, tell him
she's 90 right away.
Tout de suite.

Uh, good point.
Yeah.

Do you have a--
a card?

Oh, yes, yes. Of course.
Of course, uh, I do.

Voilà.
Thanks.

Uh--
I'll be in touch.

Okay. Call me.

I eat dinner each night
at precisely 8:00.

And breakfast
is at precisely
8:00 a.m.

I don't eat lunch.

Lunch is not a meal
that interests me.

Please?

It's a 10-year-old
Gigondas.

Should be lovely.

Ten years
is a perfect age
for Gigondas.

Any younger,

and the Syrah overpowers
the Grenache.

Any-- Any older,

then the alcohol...

overpowers everything
and everyone.

You're very precise.

Very precise,
Madame... uh, Girard.

Precision is the key
to a long life.

Precision and wine.

Gotcha.

I'm just gonna...
have water.

I don't drink, uh...
alcoholic beverages
anymore.

You had a drink problem?

Uh, it wasn't
a problem for me.

Just for the people
around me.

Mmm.

A bit young.

What a pity.

Vous parlez to me?

Parlez-vous anglais?

Cochon.

Whoa!

Oh, God, I'm--

What? I'm--

You!
I'm very sorry!
I'm sorry!

I-- I had no idea that
anybody else was in the house!
Stay back!

I didn't see anything!

You're, uh--
Je suis désolé--

C'est quoi ça?
Calm.

Mathias--
Mathias, this is Chloé.
Chloé, this is Mathias.

What are you
doing here?

Uh, I own this apartment.

And I also own,
uh, Madame Girard.

Do you work here?

Chloé is my daughter.
She lives here.

Your daughter--
Why are you
staying here?

Well, your mother,
uh... invited me.

She seems upset.
What, is she--
is she leaving?

She's probably
going to check the rooms
to see where you slept.

Uh--

She doesn't think
you and I--

- Never mind.
- Well!

Oh! Hello.

That's my room.
Can I help you?

How long are you
staying here?

Here in Paris,
or here
in the apartment?

How long are you
staying in this apartment?
I don't know.

I'm paying rent.

Why?
Wh-Why?

Why are you paying rent?

Chloé!
Maman, s'il te plaît.

You don't have to
speak French
in front of me.

I can go to my room
if you like.
Yes, please. Thank you. Do.

What? Go to my room?
Yes.
Please do!

Your daughter
has a wonderfully
welcoming spirit.

I feel bienvenu
beyond belief
in her presence.

No, no, no. No French.
My French is for shit.

Please don't be vulgar.
Well, I'll try not to be,
but I can't make any promises.

I know exactly who you are,
and I know exactly
why you're here.

Wh-Wh-Who am I, exactly?
And why am I here?

Chloé!

I had a Cairn terrier
named Murphy who used to
eavesdrop constantly.

He was, uh,
90 in dog years
when he died.

Same age as your mom.

My mother's 92.
She told me
she was 90.

She lies about her age.
She had me totally fooled.

You have
no legal access here
before my mother dies.

If you continue
to trespass, Mr. Gold--

Whoa, whoa.
Let's start all over.

Hi. I'm Mathias Gold.
I'm from New York.

I'm renting a room
from your mother.

I've paid her--
I have no time for this.

Simply and clearly,

if you are not
out of this apartment
by noon today,

our lawyers will petition
the police to have--

Excuse me, but, uh, I'd
like to say something,
simply and clearly.

This is my apartment!

Yeah!
My dad bought it!

And he paid for it
over 43 years!
Gazillions of dollars!

And then
he left it to me.

I don't care
if your mother's
500 years old...

and the two of you
end up living in a tent.

I own this apartment,
and I'm gonna
sell this apartment.

The moment I have
the money in my pocket,
I'll be gone,

and not a minute before.

Okay?

You heard what he said?
Hmm?

Chloé, what did you say?

I'm going.
I won't be home for dinner.

Bonjour.
Bonjour.

Um, parlez-vous English?

Yes. Definitely.

I speak français, anglais,
Dutch, polonais.
Whatever you want.

Okay.

Well, I've got
some things here
I want to sell.

That--

Oh, no, no. No.
I can't really
sell all this stuff.

No, no--
Well, I quite like
those '50s pieces.

Okay.
I got four of those.

Oh. Great.

No, no.

And the lamp.
The lamp could be
interesting.

That's art deco,
that table.
Brilliant.

How much for four chairs
like that,

an art deco table
and the lamp?

Minute.

Uh, 900,

if everything
is in top condition.

Everything
is in top condition.
Yeah.

This is why
it's worth 1,300.

No, no, no.
One thousand
is my absolute maximum.

Twelve hundred?

You can deliver
today?
I'll do my best.

Brilliant.
Pleasure doing
business with you.

Um, my table?

My lamp?

I'll be right back.
Thank you.

Milles deux cents.

Merci beaucoup.

What?
Uh, cleaning.

Cleaning.
No, thanks.

No. I do.
Oh. Good.

Uh, th-thank you
for seeing me.

I found you through, um,
Madame Mathilde Girard.

Mm-hmm. You are
Madame Girard's friend?

Friend?
Well, you could
say that.

Yes, provisionally.

Um, I'm Mathias Gold.

What can I do for you,
Mr. Gold? Are you ill?

N-- Am I ill? No.

I was actually
inquiring about
Madame Girard's health.

Is she ill?

Well, that's what I was
hoping to find out.

I mean,
she's quite elderly.

Why are you asking?

Well, if I can
be honest, I--

I own her apartment
as a viager.

Oh.

Well... you may have made
a terrible investment,
Mr. Gold.

When I last saw Madame Girard,
she was in top form.

Top form?
Well--
Mm-hmm.

French women
can live a long time.

Yes. It's the red wine,
isn't it?

Exactly.

We had in France an old woman,
the oldest in the world--
Jeanne Calment.

Never heard of her.

She was 122 years old
when she died.

She sold her apartment
in a viager contract
with her lawyer...

when she was 90.

Her lawyer paid her
several thousand francs
a month for 30 years,

until he died.

A viager can be
a very bad gamble.

Mmm.

As far as I know,
Madame Girard
is in excellent health...

and could well
outlive Jeanne Calment.

And you've been
Madame Girard's doctor
for a long time?

Madame Girard
and her daughter...

were my mother's patients
for many years.

Now they're mine.

They're also
my English teachers.

We exchange skills.

I get private lessons.
They get doctoring.

It's an excellent
arrangement.

Yes.

You exchange skills.
That's charming.

Well, thank you
for your time.

Not at all.

I'll get that.

Oh, no, no.
No. The trolley
gives me balance.

Oh. Well, I, uh,
just wanted to help.

Oh.

If I allow people to help,
they don't help at all.

I know what you mean.

So, when were you
last in Paris?

Oh, I haven't been here
since I was a kid.

Oh?
Why is that?

I think it's because
my mother thought Paris was,
um, the enemy, in a way.

My father
was here on business
all the time and, uh--

I think, uh--

You kind of got the feeing
that he loved Paris more than
he loved his wife or his son.

Why are there, um,

guns in my room?

Oh!

My husband's business
took him to Africa,

and he loved safari.

He was always
game shooting.

Ah! That explains
the dead animals on my wall--
the pig and the cow.

It's a wild boar.

I can't remember
what else
was on the wall.

I wouldn't think
it's a cow.

Well, to me,
anything of that girth
is a cow.

Lucky you weren't here
a few months ago.

You see, I've just sold
most of his animal head
collection.

Oh, there were
animal heads
everywhere.

Lions, tigers, zebra.

Carnage.

Yes.

Absolument carnage.

Ecch.

So, what are
your memories of--
of Paris?

Uh, v--
Uh, not a lot.

Uh, my father had
an apartment near here.

I remember kicking a ball
on a courtyard
with a concierge.

Not with
your father?

Oh, definitely not
with my father. No.

Was he-- Was he
alone when he died?

I don't know.

He was in a home.

It's a fear of mine.

He's buried here
in France somewhere.

They shipped his ashes over.

Yes.

Ah. Fruits de mer.

Ah. Why not?

I hope
you like oysters.
Oh, yes.

I have them
specially delivered
on Tuesdays.

Ah. Expensive, no?

Not at all.
Not at all.

I barter
English lessons...

with the owner
of the restaurant,

and his wife
makes the mayonnaise.

Ah.
Would you, please?

Oh.
It's a Chablis.

Ah.
1990.

Remarkable.
Mmm.

My private students...

come here tonight
between 9:00 and 10:00...

for English
conversation.

I don't think
we'll disturb you.

Oh, I'm sure you won't.

Well, good health.

Long life.

Which one?

Now, today is
Jean-Christophe's
birthday, so--

Happy birthday!
Happy birthday!

Yes, happy birthday.

And, uh, we say,
"Many happy returns
of the day."

Many happy returns
of the day.

Bravo. Brava.
And what are you reading,
Jean-Christophe?

I'm reading Ulysse
by James Joyce.

Oh.
But it's Ulysses.

Ulysses.

Ulysses.

- Can you?
- Ulysses.

Ulysses.
Such difficult language.

But well worth
the struggle.

Yes, Florence?

What is the meaning
of the word "wang"?

"Wang?"

Well, it's, um--

it's an Oriental dynasty.

Why?
What are you reading?

A roman by a young disciple
of Philip Roth-- Philip Roth.

Well,
what is the context?

"His blood-filled wang...

was in her 'mouse'...

when the tea-kettle whistle
whistled."

Ah.
C'est du porno.

Oh.
C'est du porno.

Also, Florence--
"Mouth."

"Mouth."

"Mouse."

"Mouse" is a little thing.

"In her mouth."

"In her mouth"?
Yes.

Oh.

Oh!

Sorry!
Nearly done.

I'm done!

It's all yours.

Okay.

"Café Colbert at 2:00."

Okay.

So, if I can't sell my old
lady, and I can't sell my

apartment, can I sell the
contract?

Uh, oui, oui, oui.

When someone can afford
a high-end apartment,

they rarely want involvement
in a viager situation.

Why is there only one toilet
in such a big apartment?

One toilet
is the French way.

French people
love eating,

but pooing
isn't so important.

The old lady probably has
her own toilet downstairs.

What if I get the Girards
to agree...

to split the apartment
into two apartments?

They keep the top floor,
and I get you to sell
the bottom floor for me.

No problem, if we can
find a buyer who accepts
a viager contract.

Compliqué.

The French guy
I told you about?

François something.

He's, uh, very hot
to buy the apartment.

And I'm meeting the daughter
at 2:00 at a café.

I invited him to join us
so I can propose
this split idea.

I'd be anxious to know.
Did you tell him
about the old lady's age?

Yeah. Nothing seems
to scare him.

Of course not.
It's a good age,
a good address.

Where do you live,
Lefebvre?

I live in
the blood of Paris.

Your coat's torn.

Oh, yeah.
It is.

Has, uh, François Roy
contacted you yet?

"France Wah-Wah?"

A man called François Roy
will be contacting you...

regarding the sale
of the apartment.

Yes. He already--
He already called me.
In New York.

We Skyped.
Hmm.

Be careful with him.
He's a snake.

Uh, Mademoiselle Girard,
I think we're about to
have a little problem.

- It's a pleasure to meet you
face-to-face, Mr. Gold.
- As it were.

What are you
doing here?
This is yours?

You invited him?
Just call me Jim.

And remember,
I don't speak French.

Not a problem, Jim.

We'll speak English.

- I'm sorry
I'm a little bit late.
- This is an outrage.

Did you not speak
to Mâitre Brinot?

I have.
Several times.

I want to
propose something.

This idea of
splitting the apartment
into two apartments.

You keep apartment "A,"
with the toilet,

and I sell apartment "B"
to Wah-Wah.

Vous êtes un imbécile.

I-I-I don't speak French,
but I get the gist
of imbécile.

What about you?

I'm only interested
in the entire apartment,
as is.

Then what do you
propose to offer...

for the entire apartment,
as is?

- What are you doing?
- You are very direct.

Yes.
Well?

Nine million euros.

The apartment
is worth 12 million.

Probably more.
I think not.

Well, I've been talking to
the best real estate agent
in France.

Uh, several times.

This man lives
in the blood of Paris.

At the moment,
the property is a merdier--
a mess.

Both literally and legally.

Okay.

I'm prepared to
consider your offer.

D'accord.
D'accord.

Jim, you are legally
within your rights
to sell the contract to me.

Why don't you just murder
my mother and me? It would
make things a lot easier!

Can't you see
what you're doing?

On Tuesday my mother dies,

on Wednesday this man has me
thrown out on the street
with no money and no home,

and on Thursday the building
that my great-grandfather
built for his children...

and their children and their
children's children is
destroyed by this monster...

and turned into one of
those hideous hotels!

It's all about the money,
isn't it?

That's the speech
you should have made
to your mother...

before she sold the apartment
to this man's father,
for money.

My mother sold her apartment
to this man's father to keep
it away from your father!

Guys. Guys. You've got to
keep it down. Okay?

Look, I just need a week
to consider your offer.

But I-I'm gonna need
a good-faith advance...

during the week
of consideration.

I don't completely
understand.

- You haven't heard a single
word I've said, have you?
- Quiet. Please.

It means that I won't
negotiate with anyone else
for one week...

while I'm considering
your offer.

But right now I need
a-a-a binder from you,

a small bouquet
in cash.

How much cash
do you have on you?

Are you serious?

Deadly.

Let's look
in our wallet,
shall we?

Really?
No joke.

Uh, 360 euros.

That'll do.
Okay.

Well?

You have my word as
a New Yorker, I will not
talk to anyone else.

And I will
give you my answer
in one week exactly.

This is unique.

Uh, Mr. Gold.

Jim.
Jim.

Chère,
Mademoiselle Girard.
Wah-Wah.

Let me get the tea.

Charmant?
Garçon? Gendarme?

Le cheque.

He plans to turn our building
into a hotel...

like the two monstrosities
he has in Montparnasse.

He has options to buy every
apartment in our building
as soon as he gets ours.

But until he gets ours,
the city won't give
permission.

So he really
needs the apartment.
Excellent.

It's not about money.
It's about preserving
a historic neighborhood.

Yeah, I get all that.

But what is so wrong about
my idea about dividing it
into two apartments?

It's unacceptable.
Why?

What do you want?

I want to buy
the entire apartment
from you...

and keep it exactly
as it is.

And I'm prepared to offer you
3,000 euros a square meter.

You're joking.
Right?

Mr. Gold,
if you had a heart or a soul,
you would accept my offer.

The apartment
is worth 10 times that.

You heard
Wah-Wah's offer.

That was
just his opener.

Let me simplify things.

By contract,
we are due to receive
2,400 euros from you...

in one week, precisely.

If we don't receive our money
in a timely fashion,

our lawyers will instruct the
court to have your contract
made null and void.

Bon après-midi, Jim.

Oh.

Sorry.

Come in. Come in.
I was just reading.

Uh, I just had tea
with your daughter.

Oh? Now, that--
that pleases me.

Does it?
I'm not sure your daughter
would share your enthusiasm.

Oh, are you still
not getting on?

Uh, not so much, no.

Mrs. G, I want you to know
I'm trying to be fair.

About the apartment?

I offered your daughter...

an extremely
reasonable solution,

and she rejected it.

This is something
you must resolve
with Chloé,

for obvious reasons.

Why obvious?

I'll be dead,
won't I?

Right.

Well, anyway,
I wanted you to know
I'm trying to be reasonable.

Is your daughter going to be
having dinner here tonight?

Well, ye-- Well, no.
It's Wednesday.

She teaches a night class...

and she usually has dinner
with her friend beforehand.

She has a friend?

She has.
Mmm.

Male friend?

Yes.

Has your daughter
ever been married?

Not at all.

Do you find my daughter
interesting?

Are you a serious
jazz person?

Do you know
I saw Django Reinhardt
play guitar?

At La Grosse Pomme,
Montmartre,
about 50 times.

Or more.

Genius.
Mmm.

Seems a hundred years ago.

Poor chap.
He died so young.

I had a romantic liaison
with Django Reinhardt.

Well, no, it was more
a flirtation, really.

You know, just a fling.
A fling.

You had a fling
with Django Reinhardt?

Well, Paris
was different then,
you know.

It was just after the war.

We were young and carefree,
in love with love.

Every day was filled
with romantic possibilities.

This is actually a fact?

You really had a fling
with Django Reinhardt?

I did. I did.

You devil.

That's very cool.

Did you ever,
uh, like, uh,

date Sigmund Freud?

No.

I may not be back
in time for dinner.

Are you going out?
Yes, I--
I feel that I should.

Mademoiselle Girard!
Oh!

Fancy meeting you,
of all French people.
Stop it.

Stop it!
Oh, it takes
great pictures.

It doesn't work
as a phone anymore because
I didn't pay my bill.

It's also good for telling
the time now that your
mother's taken my watch.

So, where are you
coming from?
Work.

Really?

You work?
I do!

I teach.

Really? What?

What, "what"?
What do you teach?

English.
Oh.

Where?
Um, my mother's school.

It's a bilingual
French-English school.

We sold--
She sold it.
Ah.

But you still
work there?

While the school still exists,
they're obliged to employ me.
I was part of the sale.

Let me guess.
Your mother arranged that?

She did.
Yeah. That seems
to be her specialty.

So, uh, tell me.

Who's the guy
in the restaurant?

What?

The guy
in the restaurant.
He looked familiar.

I think I saw him
duck into a hotel
with you the other day.

But today he didn't seem quite
so happy to see you, what with
the wife and all, the kids.

How dare you!
Oh, I dare!

You give me all that
holier-than-thou crap
about family and tradition,

and you're doing the hoopie
with somebody's husband,
some kid's dad?

And I'm a heartless bastard
because I want to
sell an apartment?

- This is not your affair.
- Oh. Good choice of words.

I'm just wondering
if it might be worth,

say, 2,400 euros a month
to somebody...

for me not to sit down
with that man's wife...

and, you know, have
a little conversation...

over a café filtre
and pain au chocolat.

Please don't do that.

See? Just when you think
things are really bad,
they get terrible.

"If you do not love me,
I shall not be loved."

Ah! Bonjour.

Yeah.
Bonjour.

Uh--

Uh, Mrs. G,
are you, by any chance,

the charity
that got my inheritance?

No. Not at all.
Not at all.

But, uh,

you knew my father
pretty well.

Your father and I
were lovers...

since I was 29.

If you want to know
for whom you are named,

you are named for me.

I am Mathilde.
You are Mathias.

Bonsoir.

The end
of my wagonhood.
Cheers.

Midnight in Paris.

What?

Oh, there you are.
I've been so worried.

You've been drinking.
Drinking, getting robbed.

No wallet. No phone.

My head feels
like a broken arm.

I've been terribly upset.

Well, that makes
two of us.

Uh, I'd like to ask you
some questions.

I'll try to answer them.

When exactly
did you meet my father?

Just a few years after
Chloé's father and I
got married.

I knew. I knew
when I met him he would
be the love of my--

No! Spare me
the fromage.

Where was my mother
when this was happening?
In Paris.

They'd just met.

So--

So my father married
my mother after you two
already hooked up?

We were young.

My husband was
very successful in business,

and your father
was penniless.

It just seemed
the best plan.

I--

How is it at my age
I can still be shocked?

Well, I'm shocked
that you're shocked.

During three marriages,
you never had a lover?

I'm sorry
to disappoint you,
Madame G.

Some people...
do the right thing.

Well, why would you know
the right thing...

and your father and I
not know?

What is so especially clever
about you...

and your way
of understanding life?

Ah, well.

I know...

my pain.

See, I know the pain that
you brought into my life,
and I don't like it.

Oh, just stop drinking.
Why?

It's only an escape.

Bingo.

Mrs. G, I-- I'm sorry.

I fail to see
the wonder of you.

It's no surprise
that Max loved you.

You're his soul mate.

Max Gold was the coldest
son of a bitch I ever knew,

and I have known some
très connards froids!

I will not hear this.

Wait.

Wait! You will hear this
if I want to say it!

You tell me
my father was Casanova...

and St. John the Divine
combined,

and I'm supposed to, what--
sit there and nod?

But when I try to point out
that my father was less
like St. John...

and more like Captain Hook,

you just won't hear it,
will you?

Your father was loving, kind
and generous to a fault.

Oh! I'm sure he was!

With you,
but not with me.

And certainly not
with his wife.

I remember!

I remember being a kid
and watching... my mother.

I saw.

I knew. I knew.

Look, I-I have no doubt
that what you're saying
is the truth.

But this particular truth
is your truth.

Not mine.

Definitely not my mother's.

I don't have a friend
in the world.

When my friends see me coming,
they cross the street.

Oh, no, no.
They're terrified that
if they get too close,

they're going to catch
some loser virus.

That's exactly
what your father
said about you.

Excuse me?

That you drink too much
and you have no self-esteem.

Exactly.

I drink too much
and I have no self-esteem.

Do people like you and my
father ever
wonder why?

Do you think self-esteem
is some kind of birthright,

that the baby's born,
and the doctor slaps him
on his ass,

and he says, "Look!
He's got all of his fingers!
He's got all of his toes.

He's got his little dick.
He's got his self-esteem."

It doesn't work that way.
No.

If you wanna kill a kid,
you don't shoot him.

You just do nothing.

You just keep your distance
and watch the kid wither...

and devote his miserable life
to trying to please you.

To displease you.

At some point,
the kid decides,

"Oh, I've just
got to stop trying."

But you can't stop trying.

You think everyone else
in the world is loved,
but not you.

You've got
this terrible secret.

I can't imagine that my
parents spent a good
deal of time...

organizing my birth.

I can only imagine my mother
desperately unhappy,

sobbing in the night,

my father, home from travel,
home from your bed,

throwing in a little
midnight mercy hump.

Then my mother's
pregnant with me,

with this constant, permanent
reminder of this man!

Just stop talking.
Just stop talking.

You don't want to hear
about the other woman?

Absolutely not!

Just stop talking.

Fine.
Now, I knew your father...

better than any person
on the face of this planet.

Better than your mother.

Certainly better
than you.

And he was not your enemy.

You just need
someone to blame
for your misery,

so you blame him.

Well, your father
is not the source
of your failure,

not the source
of your poverty.

And he's certainly
not the reason...

for your
unthinkable sadness.

You have life left,
Mathias.

There is
no greater wealth.

Now, I'm an old woman.

There is--

There's nothing...

more tiring
than exasperation.

And you--
you've exhausted me.

Would you please--
please just leave me alone?

Fine.

You!

You better start packing,
'cause I'm selling.

I'm selling!

Excuse me, Jim.
Business.

Do you have anything
for a headache?

I do.

Ba-ba-ba.

This works quickly.
Ah.

I'm very pleased
by your decision, Jim.

Good.
When do I get the money?

As soon as the contract
is signed.

And how soon do I
get the contract?

Oh, is tomorrow noon
all right?

Yeah.
That'll be fine.

I'm gonna need
another small bouquet
as a binder.

3,000 euros.

You'll have much more
than that tomorrow
when you sign the contract.

Yeah, but I need
the 3,000 euros today.

In cash.

I'm afraid
it won't be possible.

Oh, well.

Then I won't be able
to sign the contract,

and you won't be able
to ever have the apartment.

Cheers.

It is a threat, Mr. Gold?

No, Mr. Wah-Wah.

This is a fact.

Vous êtes Monsieur Gold?

Wrong Monsieur Gold.

That one's dead.

Tell me about these.

That's Chloé, isn't it?
Right?

Yes, that's Chloé.

Your father took that
in the garden.

You were
beautiful children.

He brought you here
once.

Oh.

He never came back here
after your mother died.

He wrote some
beautiful letters to me,
but he never came back.

Mrs. G,
it's really not easy...

for me to process
this fabulous love story
of yours.

I get that
my father loved you.

What I don't get
is that he never loved me.

Of course he loved you.

He just thought you were
more your mother's child
than his.

Oh, that's sweet.

What about when I was 20
and living on my own?

Or when I was 40,

near death
at Lennox Hill Hospital?

Six blocks
from his house.

Why were you in hospital?

I had an accident.
I, uh--

I was taking a bath,
and I, uh--

Well, my razor blade
slipped...

and cut both my wrists
rather badly.

You tried to kill yourself?

I'm not very adept.

You saw that right away.

Remember the first day?
You said, "Don't jump
in the Seine.

You'll just get a head cold."

Mathias, you must get help.

Help!

What sort of help
were you thinking about?

Psychoanalysis?

I tried that.

My doctor told me
that I should put
the child that I was...

on the knee of the man
I had become...

and comfort the child.

But I keep having
these dreams...

where the child
that I was...

is on my knee...

and my hands
are around his throat.

Speaking of children, uh,
where is your daughter?

Isn't she usually
home by now?

Philippe?

Chloé?

I've stopped teaching,
Philippe,

so you'll
have to find yourself
another teacher.

Um, but I hope you don't
because your English
is perfect.

And if you stop
taking classes,

you'll be able to spend
more time with your wife...

and your children.

Well--

Well, um--

No. Chloé, don't.
Don't.

Don't!

Um--

I don't know what--
what to say.

Say good-bye.

Say this is a mistake.

Say, "I've got
two beautiful daughters
waiting for me at home.

This is crazy."

Chloé--

Do you really want
to put your beautiful
family at risk?

No.

Oh! Heavy date tonight?

Excuse me?
I don't think I will.

Oh, I've got your rent.
Here you go.

Uh, one, two, three,
four, five.

600 for me...

and, uh, 2,400 for you.

Paid in full.

Thank you.
Mmm.

You better keep your mother
alive for a long time...

because as soon as she's dead,
there goes the neighborhood.

How can soul
"clap its hands"?

What?

"An aged man
is but a paltry thing,

a tattered coat
upon a stick...

unless soul clap its hands
and sing."

How can a soul
clap its hands?

My book.

Well, all right. Fine.
So, in the face of that--

As it is your book,
I'll ask you again.

How can soul
clap its hands?

Don't know. Don't care.

I don't care.
Nique ta mère.

Nique ta mère.
I don't care.

A Yeatsian couplet
in golden franglais.

It's a pity my father
didn't know you.

In what sense?

He would have had
your head on the wall
next to the other beasts.

Oh! In the carnage sense?
Yes.

Isn't it lovely
when things make sense?

You think your dad
knew about my dad?

How could he not?

And you?

You-You knew
what was going on?

I was 10 years old
when I discovered
what was, um, going on.

That's very precocious.

I was 57 when I found out.

Whoa.

So what did you do?

What did I do about what?

If I'd have known
what was going on, I would
have done something about it.

And what should I have done
that I didn't do?

Stopped it!
I was 10!

You could have
told your dad
what you knew.

I hardly think
that was my place.

And what would
have been your place,
ma chère demoiselle?

I suppose my place was
to watch my father suffer.

Oh, your father
suffered?
Oh, please.

What do you think?

Is that why he
shot and stuffed
all those animals?

So he wouldn't
have to shoot and stuff
your mother?

Or your father?
Or my father.

Did--

Did you ever, uh--

Did your father
ever ask you about it,
directly?

He didn't need to ask.
He knew.

But he did ask,
didn't he?

Yes.
And you lied.

And I lied.

How often did they
see each other?

Often.

And your mother
used you for an excuse
to get out of the house?

Why didn't your father
try to stop it?

My father
was totally discreet.

So, he suffered
discreetly?

That's the way
French people do it.

Yeah.

Vive la French people!

Vive la French people!

Now, that is truly sad.

I mean, all this
we talk about is,
you know--

It's got a kind of
historical, hysterical
sadness to it.

But this bottle is now.
This is now.

This is
an incontrovertible fact,

my dear, darling...

Mademoiselle Girard.

Bottle's a dead soldier.

Ooh!

Oh!

Ah.

I remember
when I was 10.

I saw my mother
out on our balcony
through our doors.

She was leaning
over the balcony.

She was looking down
on Park Avenue.
She was crying.

There's no question
about what she was
thinking about doing.

She was leaning
way, way over.

And I knew
I had about five seconds
to do something,

so I ran as fast
as I could...

right--

And I put my arm
right through the glass
on the door, and I--

I cut it wide open.
See?

My mother snapped immediately
into serious mother mode.

She wrapped my arm up
in a towel...

and took me off
to the hospital.

I bled for her.

She bled for me.

Nine years later,
I came home one Saturday
from college.

I-- I used the key
to let myself in.

I threw my duffel bag
on the bed.

I called,
"Hey, Ma! I'm home."

She called back,
"I'm in my room"...

in this strange,
throaty voice.

I go in,
and she has this gun.

Not a hearty hunting rifle
like your dad's.

No, hers was a--

snub-nosed, chrome
kind of pistoly thing...

that my father gave her
to keep by her bed...

just in case an intruder
were to wander in
while he was away.

My father.

She puts it in her mouth
and she kills herself.

No words.
No complications.

Just... boom!

Terrible mess all over.

I sat on the floor.

I held her.

She died.

My mother said
she died from an illness.

A bullet in the throat
can make a person
extremely ill.

I'm so sorry.

She was wrong
to do that to you.

You're right.

It wasn't very nice.

I--

I'm so upset.

No.

Hmm.

Hmm.

Oh.

Oof.

Chloé?

I got it!

Oh!

Monsieur Gold?
Yeah.

I'm François Roy's
assistant.

Yeah, give me that.

Am I disturbing you?

Are you disturbing me?

That's a bit of politesse
that boggles the brain.

Do you mind if I close
these curtains?

Headache.
Oh. If you wish.

Has Chloé left
for school?

Oh. That's my guess.
I don't know for sure.

I can't, you know--

Who can say?
You know how it is
with kids today.

You and my daughter
were awake together
last night.

Very precise.

Usually a mother
wants to know,

"Did you sleep
with my daughter?"

Which actually describes
a perfectly innocent act.

But "Were you awake
with my daughter?"

That's a 64-euro
mother of a question.

I was awake most of the night
thinking about your mother.

Really? And?

I was thinking
that she didn't know
about me is naive.

She must have known.

Nothing passes unnoticed
in a marriage, I think.

No, I think she knew,

and I think somehow
she approved.

Approved?

You really believe that?

She did nothing to stop it.

She was stuck
in a marriage with a kid.
She was trapped.

I stayed in my marriage
by choice.

I was pregnant
at the same time
as your mother.

Uh, hold on.

Is it possible
that Max got two birds
with one stone?

If you know what I mean.
No, I don't know
what you mean.

Did Chloé have
her own father?

Of course.

Of course Chloé
had her own father.

You had your father.
Chloé had her father.

I think you're
an old French fibber,
Mrs. G.

What went on between
your father and me
concerned nobody but us.

We were discreet.
We were cautious.

We were considerate.

I-I don't wish
to cloud your delusions
in any way, Mrs. G,

but what went on
between you and my father...

concerned me
and your daughter
quite significantly.

You were hardly discreet,
not at all cautious.

And considerate?
Hmm. Well, uh--

In view of the 10 to 15
suicide failures of my
mother...

and the ultimate
suicide success,

I just don't see
how the word "considerate"
fits in, exactly.

Your mother
killed herself?

Y--

You didn't know?
He didn't tell you?

No.

No, I did not know.

I knew she was ill.

I-- That's why
he never came back.

That's so considerate.

Madame G?

Doctor gone?
Gone.

Is she dead or alive?
She must be alive.

I didn't hear
any hideous screams.

What are you staring at?
Do I have spinach
between my teeth?

I can't have spinach
between my teeth.

Oh.

It's Châteauneuf-du-Pape
between my teeth.

Do you want my mother
to outlive you?
W--

Oh, a reference
to my drinking.
Mm-hmm.

Yes. I've been drinking
with my little friend here.

He's not--
not very good company.

He drinks not at all
and he says even less.

A boar... is a bore.

Speaking of wordplay,
I've been doing a little
ink sport myself.

Um, it's, uh-- it's for you.
It's a gift.

It's a small memoir.

Uh, mostly
my anec-dotage.

But I think you'll
be amused and engaged
from cover to cover.

Should I--

Please don't, uh--
don't read it while
I'm in the room.

It'll be embarrassing,
for both of us.

Do you mind if I ask you
something personal?

Of course.

Uh...

what's, um--

what's happening
with your friend?

My friend? Mmm. Um--

He has a wife
and two children...

and a granddaughter
from his first marriage.

I thought
that just having him
in my life was--

was worth it,
but I was wrong.

I was wrong.

He's gone now.
I asked him to go.

What you said to me...

hurt me, um,

because it was true.

I was doing
to those children...

exactly what our parents
did to us.

It's a pity we didn't meet
before we were born.

What your mother
did to you...

was unthinkably cruel,

unforgivable.

No. No, you really--
No. We can't.

If you kiss me,
I'll just drag you down.

I do that to people.

Once they kiss me,
their lives change
for the worse.

You're so beautiful.

Mmm. I'm not beautiful.
I'm nearly old.

No. You're beautiful.

You've been warned.
I know.

My name is Mathias Gold.

When I used to have friends,
they called me Jim,

and I would answer.

I grew up on Park Avenue
in New York City.

My parents were wealthy.

I was born with
a silver knife in my back.

Anytime anyone
follows their heart,

someone else
gets their heart broken.

There's always detritus,

always hurt, always pain.

Love is a limited substance.

When you give love
to someone new,

you have to take it away
from someone old.

My father took every ounce
of love he had...

and dumped it in Paris.

People like us think
we've been cursed by God,

but, in fact, we've been
cursed by our parents.

You look in the mirror,
and you see an adult.

But you have to look
more carefully.

There's a big piece of you
that never grew up.

It may have grown tall,
but not up.

You spend your life
waiting for your parents...

to come back
and make it all right.

But they don't come back.

It's not all right.

You have to somehow
move past them.

You have to somehow
convince yourself that you
don't need those people.

Because you don't.

Couldn't you sleep?

No.
Nor could I.

I called to you
in the night.

Why?
I wanted to talk to you.

Why?
Oh, I've lived
too long, Chloé.

I've only the dead
to talk to.

Everyone I've ever loved
is gone.
How can you s-say that?

Oh, you know
I didn't mean you.

I know that I...

spent my entire childhood
in this house without love.

You had a loving mother
and a loving father.

How can you say that?

I know that watching
Mathias sleeping...

I could see
his father's face,

and some part of me
wanted him dead.

- You can't mean that.
- Why not?

Why can't I mean that?
Why can't I mean that?

Because he's a person
who is so sad.

Oh. So sad.

And defeated.

Like me.

I would never say that.
You'd never say that
because you never see it!

Oh, how could a child
of yours be unhappy?

Oh, that would
be unthinkable!

You're not a child
anymore, Chloé.
I'm your child!

- Years and years ago!
- What does that mean?

It means that when you
were 15, you stopped
being my child...

and started
being my daughter.

I have spent my whole life
at your side.

- I have never left you.
- I never asked for that!

Look, it seems I've caused
nothing but unhappiness...

in your life,
and in Mathias's life.

So, what should I
have done?

We know what
I should not have done.

I should not
have followed my heart.

I should not have stayed
with your father...

and made a home
for my daughter.

All these things were wrong.

I'm 92. I've made nothing
but mistakes.

So, you tell me.
You tell me, Chloé.

What? You know so much.
You tell me what I should
have done.

Is Mathias's father
my father?

There's so much about him
that's like me.

Just--
Just tell me the truth.

Is Mathias my brother?

I don't know.

I have never known.

What possible difference
could it have made knowing
or not knowing?

Your father brought you up.
He loved you.

You were his daughter.

Oh, Chloé.

Chloé.

Oh.

Chloé?

Oh, Chloé.

You're the reason
he hated me!

- Mathias?
- No!

My father, your husband!

He didn't hate you.

You were his daughter.
He loved you.

There was no love!
No love!

Perhaps that's why
Mathias and I
detested each other.

Because somewhere deep inside,
we both knew the truth.

Why didn't you
tell him the truth?

There is no other truth.

Do you know where I slept
last night, Mother?

I don't think the world
will come to an end
because of that.

I see nothing catastrophic
in the two of you
comforting each other.

No virtue in two of you
being lonely.

That's sweet.

Insane, but sweet.

Well, you're certainly not
going to have children
at your age.

Oh! No.

You're certainly right,
Mother.

I certainly
can't have children
at my age.

It certainly stops
with us.

People like Mathias
and me--

we keep telling ourselves
that none of this matters,

that childhood is just,
um, a human invention.

It's not God's invention.

There's nothing natural
about it...

and we should
just let it all go.

But we can't...

because...

our pain tells us
that we're cursed...

and so we go through life
thinking--

Oh, my God!

Oh!

I shot the pig.

You shot the pig?
I shot the pig!

You shot the pig.
He shot the pig!

He shot the pig?
What pig?

One of us had to go.
It was him or me.

Listen. Last night,
after we stayed awake
together...

and our souls clapped
their hands and sang,

we made a clean breast
of it,

I was thinking
about you saying...

"I'm not beautiful.
I'm nearly old."

And I wished
I had a better answer.

And I think I've thought
of one, so would you mind
saying it again?

What are you asking me?

What you said yesterday when
you said, "I'm not beautiful.
I'm nearly old."

Just could you
say it again? Please?

I'm not beautiful.
I'm nearly old?

A perfect flower
is nearly old.

It's good, isn't it?

No. You hate it.

No. It's over the top,
but I like it.

I like it too.

Oh. Talk to me, Mrs. G.

Well, I don't know
what to say.

Well, try saying,
"I'm sorry I lied."

Well, I am sorry I lied.

And I forgive you
for selling my chairs.

Please, Mathias.

Don't leave.
Please stay.

I don't know.

Negative.
Not family.

Not family?
Not at all.

Merci beaucoup.

Hey! Monsieur Gold.

Lefebvre!

Would you like
a glass of wine?

You live on this thing?

Yes, yes. I do.

It's like an old barge.

Exactly.

Oh! The blood of Paris!
I get it.

Right. Come, come!
I'll show you.

Whoa. Watch out.

Got it.

Merci.

That's my place.
Wow.

My yard. My garden.

Come.
I show you inside.

Pretty cool.
Really nice.

Yeah. I--

I love it. Yeah.

I bought it as a viager
many, many years ago.

Oh. And the person died?

Six days after we signed
the contract.

Oh. You're kidding?

I was lucky.

It's a crazy system
you've got here.

Betting like that
on people dying.

It's a game of destiny.

If the person dies quickly,
it's your destiny
to replace them.

And if they don't
die quickly?

Then it's your destiny
to pay to help them live.

Hmm.

I-Is Chloé here?

Oh, no.
She'll be here soon.

I'm going to stay.

But don't tell Chloé.
I want to tell her myself.

Oh, I'm-- I'm so pleased.

You need never worry
about money.

You'll soon be able to sell
this apartment as a viager.

You won't get full value
because you're both still
quite young,

but you'll always have
a roof over your heads.

Phew.
Oh, Mathias?

This is yours.

I gave it to your father,
but he wanted you to have it.

Thank you.

Where are
my father's ashes?

You did a good thing
sending me here, Max.

Thank you.

On a scale of one to a 100,
you've just gone
from a one to a three.

Wow.

I have the check.

Um, we're not selling.

I'm sorry?
It's a family thing.

You understand.

Wh-Where did you
study English?

Ah, I never studied
English.

I learned it
from watching
American movies.

"Frankly, my dear,
I don't give you a damn."

Oh. Yeah.
Clark Gable.
Right.

I'd know that anywhere.