All language subtitles for In_the_House_2012.1080p_Blu-ray_Remux_AVC_DTS-HD_MA_5.1-THEWIND

- Hello, Germain.
- Anouk!

- How are you?
- Fine, you?

- Good summer?
- Yes, you?

Brittany, as usual.

The meeting's starting.

- Get your schedule?
- Yes.

- Happy?
- Form teacher for Year 10.

Sounds good.

Yes, fine.

Read the memo?

Equality triumphs once again
in the Republic.

Another populist initiative.

- It's early to be so pessimistic.
- I read Schopenhauer all summer.

- Hello.
- Hi, I have to leave early...

Hi, Robert.

How's it going?

Dear colleagues, let's begin.

Come closer, please.

Don't be shy.

Can everyone hear me?

Yes.

You will have received a memo

outlining this year's new policy.

We're no longer just any high school,

we're a pilot school

and we should be proud.

We'll be establishing new foundations

and exploring new directions
in education,

whilst returning to tradition

by reintroducing uniforms
for all our pupils.

In a school with adolescents
from such diverse backgrounds,

the uniform is a bold step.

That's right, a bold step

towards finally getting all our learners

on equal ground.

IN THE HOUSE

How did it go?

You could've come with me.

I haven't been to mass in ages, dear.

It was Bruno's funeral.

He wasn't family or a friend.

I would've appreciated
a little support.

I saw the twin sisters.

They're just like Bruno said.

I didn't know whether
to offer my condolences.

As I was leaving,
one of them came up to me.

Who knows which,
impossible to tell them apart.

They're coming to the gallery tomorrow
to discuss the future.

- Are you listening?
- Yes.

Anyway...

Shall we go to the cinema?

OK, I'll just finish
marking these essays.

F, D, D-, C...

- Are they that bad?
- Worst class I've had in my life.

Terrifying.

You say that every year.

Here...

Listen to this.
'Saturday I ate pizza and watched TV.

Sunday I was tired and did nothing.'
Full stop.

30 minutes, 2 lines.
48 hours in the life of a teenager.

Saturday: TV and pizza.
Sunday: nothing.

I didn't ask for Alexandrine verse.

I asked about their weekend.

To see if they can write
more than 2 lines. They can't!

Here's another.

'I don't like Sundays.

I do like Saturdays.

But on Saturday,
Dad grounded me and took my mobile.'

You know, Jeanne,

I chose teaching
to give them a taste for literature.

What do I get?
Mobile phones and pizza.

It's not their ignorance.
It's imagining tomorrow.

These kids are the future!

Reactionary philosophers
predict a Barbarian invasion.

They're already among us,
in our classrooms!

'My Last Weekend.'

Claude Garcia.

'Saturday I went
to Raphael Arto|e's to study.'

Thanks, dear.

'I got the idea
because for a while now,

I've wanted to get in his house.

All last summer,

I'd stare at it
from a bench in the adjacent park.

One night,

his mother nearly caught me
spying from the pavement.

On Friday, I took advantage
of Rapha failing his math test

and offered to help him
with the homework.

Just an excuse, of course.

I knew we'd go to his place,

as Rapha would never set foot
in my neighbourhood.

At 11 am, I rang the bell and the house
finally opened itself up to me.

I followed Rapha to his room,

which was exactly as I imagined it.

I got him going
on a trigonometry problem,

made an excuse about getting a Coke
and snooped around.

Here I was inside this house

I'd imagined being in so many times.

It's much bigger than I thought.

Four of my houses would fit inside.

Everything is neat and tidy.

'Enough for today, ' I said to myself,

but just as I was heading back to Rapha,

an odour caught my attention.

The singular scent
of a middle-class woman.

I followed the scent to the living room.

There, sitting on the sofa,

perusing a home improvement magazine,

was the lady of the house,
Rapha's mother.

I stared at her until she looked up,

revealing eyes the colour of the sofa.

'Hello, are you Charles?'

That voice! Where do these women
learn to talk like that?

'No, Claude, '
I said, holding her gaze.

- 'Looking for the loo?'
- 'The kitchen.'

She took me there.

'Like some ice?

'Help yourself, ' she said.
'Make yourself at home.'

Then she returned to her sofa
and her magazine.

Back in Rapha's room,
I solved his trig problem.

He'll need a lot of help
to pass math this year.

To be continued.'

He wrote, 'To be continued'?

Yes. In brackets.

You're giving him a B+?

No spelling mistakes.

His vocabulary's good
compared to the others.

Who is this boy?

Let's see...

Claude Garcia.
I don't know them all yet.

B+ for making fun
of his friend and the mother?

This year we'll be studying
the great French authors.

La Fontaine,

a great master
at reconciling form and content.

You'll learn to write,
develop your ideas,

express yourselves, tell stories.

Don't forget the adjective assignment
for Monday.

Try to read a little!

Spend some time with books.

Forget your phones.

I'm counting on you.
Read books.

Be curious.

- You wanted to see me, sir?
- Yes.

The essay about your weekend...
Did you write it?

Yes, Why?

It troubles me. May I see it?

Is it my punctuation?
Semi-colons confuse me.

No, the punctuation is fine.

I'm better at math, but this year
I want to improve my writing.

I'm concerned about the content.

You write about a classmate
and his family. Could be hurtful.

Did someone else read it?

Not yet, but I could show it
to the headmaster.

I wrote it for you, not him.

How would your friend Rapha feel
reading this?

'An odour caught my attention.

The singular scent
of a middle-class woman.'

What's between the lines is worse.
The tone.

If you read it in class,
how would he feel?

I don't know.
You told us to write about our weekend.

I don't know what you're up to
but let's turn the page.

Sir, can I give you
the adjective assignment?

- It's due Monday.
- I did it yesterday.

I know we had to use adjectives
from the list in a text.

I wasn't sure
if they had to be in the same order.

Doesn't matter.

I didn't know
if we could use other adjectives.

Look it over, hand it in on Monday.

Now's better.
I'm on maths this weekend.

Goodbye.

Write a text using
the following adjectives:

happy, different, normal,

good, focused, little, fantastic.

Hi, Rapha.

On Monday I suggested to Rapha

we continue doing
trigonometry together.

Happy, he invited me to his house
that very afternoon.

Come over later.

Rapha. Why Rapha?

Why him?

This ordinary, affable classmate?

Because he's different. He's normal.

Others are too,

but something made me
zero in on Rapha.

Last year

I noticed his parents
often came to pick him up,

hand in hand.

Most boys would be embarrassed

if their parents picked them up
at our age.

Not Rapha.
He has no problem with it.

I wondered,

'What's his house like?

What's a normal family's house like?'

- Hi, MrAndré.
- Hi Rapha!

On the way
we talked about what boys talk about.

Girls, sports, basketball,

cars, our future plans.

These subjects kept us talking
until we got there.

To his house.

THE MINOTAUR'S MAZE

Do you think this is art for perverts?

I don't know.

The twins do, as it's not selling.

If it were, they'd change their tune.

Those two philistines might as well
have inherited a butcher's!

You know how I feel about this stuff.

I need faces, people.
I feel so lonely surrounded by...

Germain, I'm about to lose my job.

I don't need your theories on modern art.

I need you to say the twins
are fucking bitches!

Your fucking bitches
want to close the gallery?

I have a month to prove
it's a viable business.

Find something that sells.

If I don't they'll surrender the lease
and it's curtains for me.

How was your day?

Mine? Nothing special.

- I spoke to that boy.
- And?

We talked and he gave me
his adjective exercise.

And?

He's at it again.

He gave me Chapter 2.

He warned us, remember?
'To be continued.'

You have it?

Yes.

You don't want me to read it.

I'm not sure it's a good idea.

I've been reading your pupils' essays
for 10 years.

It's cool you're helping me.

When we entered,

Rapha's mother was in the living room
with a magazine

and a ruler.

Hi, Mum.

She didn't see us right away,
she was so focused.

How are you?

On the TV,

next to a Chinese dragon,
a photo of the Holy Family.

The dragon staring at them hungrily.

- Your friend...
- Claude.

- Did you do well?
- B in math.

Said Rapha, 'Thanks to Claude!'

Fantastic!

Like a snack?

- I bought bread.
- Cool.

There's chocolate in the cupboard.

I'll leave you to it.

She went back to the living room

with her magazine and ruler,

floating like a phantom,
in a dress

which gave a glimpse
of her middle-class curves.

To be continued.

- I feel uncomfortable.
- Why?

Don't you find it shocking that
a 16-year-old is writing this?

- With such irony?
- No, I don't.

No more than your sex shop blow-up dolls.

It's not a sex shop,
it's an art gallery!

I know, it's subversion.
Sex and dictators.

That's right.
The dictatorship of sex.

You should speak to the headmaster.

Because of 'middle-class curves'?

Or talk to his other teachers.

And the parents.
Talk to the parents.

So they'll ban him from the house?

Not Rapha's parents.

The writer's parents, this... Claude.

He needs a shrink.
He could be dangerous.

He's just a rebel.

Angry at reality,
who can blame him?

Better to vent with words
than set fire to cars.

Maybe he has a problem
and wants to get your attention.

- What does he look like?
- I told you, average.

His behaviour in class?

Quiet, no trouble.

He always sits in the back row.

So did you.

It's the best spot.
You see everyone, no one sees you.

Morning.

- Hi, Anouk.
- Ah, Germain

- How are you?
- So-so.

September's rough on us all.

I need information about a pupil.

- Which class?
- Year 10, Form C.

Let's see...

- Which pupil?
- Claude Garcia.

Doesn't ring a bell.

Wait, I remember.

Claude Garcia, a shy, blond boy?

He's been here two years,
seems to have moved a lot.

Only child. Mother absent.
Father unemployed.

A labourer on disability.
Probably injured on the job.

'Well' with 'do' is an adverb.
Understand?

'Did you do well'?

Not bad otherwise.

I brought you some books.

Not from the library, they're mine.

Don't underline anything,
dog-ear the pages

or leave them, face down.

All this? Got anything shorter?

Try them.
If they don't interest you, return them.

If it doesn't interest you,
return it.

Back in the normal family's house

I help Rapha,
my ordinary, affable friend

who is clueless in math.

What?

This is negative infinity zero,

this is zero, positive infinity.

Teamwork, right, boys?

Share information.
Divide responsibility.

Delegate.

We pass each other the ball
and together we score!

Grizzlies vs. Clippers tonight.
Pizza?

Great!

Four cheese, chicken wings!

- Join us, Charles?
- Claude.

Shower for me. Work hard.

Later.

I accept the offer
from tight-tracksuit-man.

- Your dad's nice.
- He's pretty cool.

As Rapha grapples with his x,

I imagine Rapha Senior
lathering up in the shower.

They're both called Rapha.

An hour later, I hardly recognise him.

Without his tracksuit, he's someone else.

But his way with the remote control

leaves no doubt
he's head of the family.

He's a sneaky one.
The Chinese say Koreans are sneaky.

The Clippers have a Korean player,

an excuse for him to talk about China,
his obsession.

Fucking unbelievable!

Respect is important in China.

They look after their elders.
Koreans couldn't care less.

A week in China ten years ago
makes him an expert.

Oh, no!

15 minutes in, The Grizzlies'
power forward is sent off,

and Rapha Senior
gets a call from work.

Hello? Maurice!

It's Maurice, his boss.

Asking him to pick up
a Chinese client, Wong Lee.

At the airport?

'Now? What a drag!' says his wife.

Rapha Senior gets changed
to pick up Wong Lee

as The Clippers rally back.

Fucking hell!

To be continued.

' '5 it a parody?
— Parody?

The way you describe
Rapha Senior entering the room,

the ridiculous things he says,
his tracksuit...

You're exaggerating
for comic effect, right?

No, that's how he is.

So it's realism?

What do you mean?

Like having a hidden camera.
Peeping through the keyhole.

No.

Stylisation?

Are you writing what you see
or transforming it?

I don't include every detail.

I don't care if the tracksuit
is green or blue.

Why the present tense?

Why'd you switch?

For me, it's a way to stay in the house.

I see.

The first question a writer must ask is
who am I writing for?

Who are you writing for?

It's easy to show the worst
in characters,

so mediocre people who feel superior
can mock and scoff at them.

It's much harder to look closely,

without judging.

Flaubert is a perfect example.

He doesn't judge his characters.

Same time tomorrow?

Yeah.

Why are you helping me?

I'm your teacher.
It's my job.

Why me and no one else?

I don't care for compliments,
but you write well.

You deserve encouragement.

Thank you, sir.

- See you tomorrow.
- See you tomorrow.

I don't get it.

The boy has a gift for writing.
I'm just trying,

though it may sound pompous,
to teach him literature.

And thus, a bit about life.

Literature teaches us nothing about life.

Is that so?

The nutcase who killed John Lennon
carried a book,

The Catcher in the Rye.

What did literature teach him?
Nothing.

Obviously your art exhibits
teach us much more.

My art exhibits are the same.

Art in general teaches us nothing.

It awakens our senses to beauty.

Wine?

Version 2. Back in the house.

In Rapha's room I help him study
for the maths test.

Come in!

Rapha's dad enters the room,
in a dark green tracksuit.

He invites me to stay
and watch the Grizzlies game.

Minute 2, second quarter,
a 3-point shot.

The Raphas go wild.

- Beautiful!
- Did you see that?

Good game, boys?

Minute 3,

Rapha's mum joins us for the game
but can't get into it.

Minute 7, she opens Edition 215
of Ideal Home

and admires a dream house
she'll never own.

Minute 8, Rapha Senior
wants to buy a plasma screen.

We'll put in a plasma screen.

Minute 10,

Esther draws plans
to remodel the house.

She's always at the house.

But she's not happy with it.

Minute 12, she stares into space,

haunted by the existential question,

'Where shall I put the new bathroom?'

Minute 15,
The Grizzlies' power forward is sent off.

The Raphas applaud.
His personal score is amazing.

The phone rings. Rapha Senior checks
his watch, not wanting to answer.

Hello?

Maurice!

Not at all. What can I do for you?

I'm writing it down.

10 pm, Terminal 2.

A Sign?

Right, with his name.

Wong Lee? Wong with an '0'?

Convention Hotel.

No worries. Get some rest.

Bye.

Rapha Senior changes
and heads for the airport

as The Clippers come back from behind.

The middle-class woman joins us.

Obviously she knows nothing
about basketball.

- Who's winning, boys?
- The Clippers.

Not happy?

Dad and I are Grizzlies fans.

I thought you liked The Clippers.

Mum!

To be continued.

You're right. He's gifted.

But this version is even more
snarky and disdainful.

- You think?
- Yes.

He's manipulating you.

He's the one teaching you a lesson.

You know Dostoyevsky's secret?
His genius?

Turning normal... I mean pathetic,
wretched human beings

into unforgettable characters.

But if you'd rather do caricature...

You said look close.
I write what I see.

If all you can see is ugliness, fine.

But transpose it, transform it.

Maybe you're not cut out for this.

I brought you more books.

Chekhov, Dickens...

And the genius, Flaubert.
Madame Bovary.

What do you think?

Ordinary objects.

A kitchen clock, a fan.

Yes, but they've been altered
to create surprise.

The clock goes to 13.

Not bad.

And this. Listen.

What is it?

Listen.

Verbal painting.

The artist attaches headphones
to a blank wall or frame.

He describes the painting.

The person listening becomes co-creator.

Imagining the painting,

projecting his imagination
into the blank frame.

The paintings existed,

but after describing them,
the artist destroyed them.

There are thirteen.

The artist is poking fun

at the culture industry's obsession
with tangible objects,

giving us something poetic,

ephemeral, devoid of materiality.

I'm not sure it'll sell.

Germain!

The opening's in three weeks.

If I don't succeed
the twins will throw me out.

If you need me naked
in the gallery window,

I'll do it.

Want to read it?

I give Rapha three exercises.

An easy one to start,
a hard one,

then a really hard one
so he'll get stuck.

While he grapples with imaginary numbers,

I explore the normal family's house.

Wong Lee got drunk last night.

He feels Maurice disrespected him.

He's not happy with his cut.
He wants at least 15%.

It got me thinking.

Maybe I should set up my own business.

You've got a good job,
everyone likes you.

But they don't respect me.

Maurice gets all the credit
for my ideas.

You always say teamwork suits you.

Yeah, but on a team,

some pass the ball, others score.

Wong Lee told me about
these dolls, like Barbie.

Three euros to make.
They sell for 10 times more.

We send him our product specs
and he makes them.

Better yet,
we send a photo and they copy it.

We'll need an initial investment.

I was thinking,
with our savings and a small loan...

What about my plans for the house?

We just decided to turn the terrace
into a veranda.

At my age, I need motivation.

Something's got to give.

Look what Maurice makes.
Why not me?

You could help me.

Choose products, establish a clientele.
You're good at that.

You're proposing I work with you?

Yeah.

Let's work together.

Rapha's older now,
I want to get a decorating job.

I know, but this will be ours. Ours!

If it works, and I'm sure it will,
you can decorate all you like.

You're wearing me out.

What are you doing here?

I have to finish helping Rapha.

Hurry up, it's dark out.

Does she suspect me of spying?

Or think I was admiring
the Klee watercolours?

He hears all that or makes it up?

He's not really there.

He's in the hall looking at paintings.

He just hears snippets.

- It doesn't add up.
- What?

Klee watercolours
in a middle-class home.

I think they're reproductions.

No!

Rapha has a big maths test next week.
He's nervous.

Maybe we should get him a tutor.

He's got Claude.

He needs a real teacher,
not a classmate.

They're not helping each other.

Rapha's so glad to have a friend.

He makes me nervous.

He was looking at the watercolours.

He's strange.

I'm sick of having him underfoot.

I'll tell Rapha to stop inviting him.

To be continued.

Know who your pupil reminds me of?

Who?

My Yorkshire cousin, Andrew.

At marriages and baptisms

he gets off on
dishing all the family dirt.

Some people love that.

Peeping through the keyhole.

The surprise is waning.

You're like a provincial cousin
dishing family dirt.

If someone read this in a book...

ls someone else reading it?

It's not good enough,
I've shown no one.

Don't show anyone.

I'm telling you,

if someone read this, they'd say

Hlacksu.

Conflict.

After you.

A character

desires something.

There are obstacles
to attaining his desire.

Rivals and adversaries.

Ulysses wants to go home
but the Cyclops is after him,

the Sirens hypnotise him,
the Witch sequesters him.

Sometimes,

the conflict is not
between the hero and someone else

but within himself.

I don't mean redecorating,

building a veranda
or scheming with the Chinese.

I'm talking about deep inner struggle.

Achilles!

Do I march on Troy
or stay with my beloved Deidamia?

Now the reader wonders

how the hero
will overcome his difficulties

and attain his objectives.

That's the key question.

You must lodge it in the reader's mind:
What will happen?

Whether mystery or Shakespearean drama,

ask yourself this one question:

How do I solve the problem
of what's going to happen?

No respite for the reader.
Maintain suspense.

The reader is like Shahrazad's Sultan.

If you bore me, I'll cut off your head!

But give him a good story
and he'll give you his heart.

The Sultan or anyone else.
People need stories.

Life is nothing without them.

Bravo, maestro!

Don't call me maestro.

I don't know if I can keep writing.

Why not?

Rapha and I have a
maths test on Thursday.

If he fails,
his mum will fire me and hire a tutor.

- So?
- Well...

If you want me to keep going there
and writing...

I don't get it.

Are you asking me
to steal the maths test?

I didn't say that.

But Rapha's no whiz at maths,
and his mum doesn't like me.

You don't need to go there any more.

- Imagine.
- I've tried, it's no use.

I need to be with them.

Get going-

Hi, Bernard.

Any problems with Year 10, Form C?

Not particularly.

And Raphael Artole?

How are his maths skills?

Uneven, but he's trying.

When's the next test?

Thursday.

I suppose you know
what you'll put on it?

Sorry, but...

Since when were you interested
in maths?

Wait a second.
Go ahead.

Where was your text yesterday?

I can't write if I don't go.

Go sit down.

NO STUDENTS ALLOWED

- Who've you got now?
- Year 11.

- Coming, Germain?
- I'm not done yet.

See you later then.

Bye.

Ten more minutes.

An A?

An A in maths!

See? Just takes work.

- And you, Claude'?
- 8+.

That's good too.

My work with Rapha
is starting to pay off.

Now I'm a potential teammate.

The housewife joins us,
a tea towel in hand.

- Well done, Rapha.
- Thanks, Mum.

Esther...

Thanks for helping him, Claude.

You should play basketball with us.

We play Saturdays, 6 to 8 pm.

You'll love the team.

Basketball's not really...

So what? P|aying's the main thing!

We get drinks after,
yell at the ref, it's fun!

Say yes. We'll be gentle.

I'm not sure I'm free.

I'm busy on Saturday.

But I see Rapha's disappointed.

I risk no longer being his best friend.

A and C make an average of a B.

- Yeah?
- Good boy!

- See you tomorrow.
- Yeah.

At school...

everyone's talking
about you and Germain,

how you stay after class.

He's helping me improve my writing.

Did he give you the maths test?

Why do you say that?

Careful, he's weird.

I hear his wife
has a porn shop in town.

What are we doing in the story?

I don't know, he's losing his way.

What about you and this maths test?

I don't believe it!

- What?
- You gave it to them?

It was lying on a table.

Do you realise what you've done?

You're a teacher, not a delinquent!

It was wrong but I had to,
to keep Claude tutoring Rapha!

- And writing like a voyeur.
- Yeah, so?

- Loosen up a little!
- Germain!

OK!

I admit it was risky,
but no one's the wiser.

It'll never happen again.

Saturday, 5:30 pm.
I'm in the park,

near the bench
where I sat last summer.

The coast is clear.

I ring the bell.
Of course, it's in perfectly bad taste.

The door opens and she appears.

Claude!

Esther, the world's most bored woman.

They just left for basketball.

Shall I call them?

No, I just forgot my maths book.

Come in, we'll find it.

Alone at last with Esther.

In the house.

Strange, I can't find it.

Of course she can't, it's at home

in my backpack.

My mum had the same earrings.

I said, indicating her earrings.

She left when I was nine.

She couldn't stand my dad.

I guess she couldn't stand me either.

My words hit the bull's eye, as ever.

The story about my mum provokes sympathy.

- Something to drink?
- Sure.

- A bond is created.
- Coke'?

She wants to protect me.
Be my mother.

She pours me a Coke.
We talk about Rapha, basketball,

her difficulty with maths.

I left college to take care of Rapha.

Now he's older,
I want to study architecture.

Or find a job in art or decorating.

I like being with her.
It felt like she wanted to talk.

Time passes and I think,

I'll come back next Saturday
for more alone time.

Curtains, wallpaper, paintings...

- Did you see the watercolours?
- Yeah.

- Pretty, aren't they?
- Very.

Let's go look at them.

Rettung.

Unterbrechung.

Hoffnung.

- Scary angels.
- Angels? I never thought of that.

Like the Rapha males,
she speaks no German.

These watercolours
are just decorative to her.

When she repaints, she'll change them.

Rettung means redemption.

Unterbrechung, interruption.

Hoffnung, hope.

Zerstérung, destruction.

I should go.
The Rapha males will soon return.

What if they found me in their house

with Esther, Rapha's wife,

Rapha's mother?

To be continued.

This'll end badly, mark my words.

- No.
- It will!

Imagine they stop playing,
come home early

and find the mother
and son's friend on the sofa.

What sofa? Where's the sofa?

No sofa was mentioned.
You're imagining them on the sofa.

Whatever.
If Rapha finds them he'll kill him.

- Father or son?
- Both! They'll kill Claude.

You're taking it too seriously.
It's harmless.

He's making most of it up, imagining.

He's got some imagination.

It's more and more believable,
and dangerous.

I don't want Claude getting carried away,

but with supervision,
he could be great.

- Give me a break.
- What?

So he's the new Kafka?
Your model student in the back row.

Hope you don't plan
to get him published.

Why not? It's better than most
of what gets published.

Sorry.

Riveting dialogue, exciting situations...

I explain imaginary numbers
for the umpteenth time,

give Rapha four exercises

and take advantage
of his parents' absence

to get a better look around the house.

I enter the parents' bedroom.

The intoxicating scent
of the middle-class woman fills the room.

A Chinese man smiles at me
from Rapha Senior's screen saver.

Bianjan Doll Project...

Junjin Jewellery Project...

Property deeds...

Postcards from Rapha on vacation...

Then, suddenly...

an X-ray.

A spinal column.

The X-ray seems to be of a woman.
Yes, a woman.

In the cupboard,
seven pairs of women's shoes.

I imagine Esther walking in the park
in the red shoes.

Then I enter the bathroom.

I spritz on Rapha Senior's cologne.

'Eau Sauvage'.

Razors, anti-stretch mark cream,

paracetamol... Xanax!

It's me, babe.

Hi, honey. How was your day?

- Guess what the Chinese guy did?
- What now?

Fought over his cut.
Left without signing.

Oh, dear!

Maurice called me in,
pulled out the bill

and yelled at me for choosing
such an expensive restaurant.

He told me to impress the guy!

- How much was it?
- 268 euros.

- Pay it yourself.
- It's not the money.

He didn't sign, they're screwed.

If he'd signed,
the fucking bill wouldn't matter!

What will you do?

Wait for it to blow over.

They'll forget Wong Lee
and the 300 euros.

300?

Yes, with the tip!

To be continued.

- She's not well.
- Who?

Esther.

He's the one who's not well.

Xanax treats anxiety.

I take Temesta.
Half the teachers are on tranquillisers.

They could be his.

He seems more balanced.

He has problems,
but he's obsessed with work.

Whereas she has nothing.

He's neglecting her,
he no longer sees her.

I wonder why Claude

didn't take a peek
on Rapha Senior's computer?

Maybe deep down,

what he's really interested in
is Esther.

Esther's secret.

Esther has no secret,

she's completely transparent.

Maybe I'm missing a scene,

to explain Claude's transformation.

Nothing's missing.
There's too much going on.

Too much Esther...

And that X-ray!

Sentimental manipulation.

What's next, Claude, cancer?

The Claude character desires Esther,

but obstacles arise.

Rapha Senior, Rapha Junior.

The key question: What will happen?

So what happens?
You meet Esther in some sleazy hotel?

No. In the house.

Everything must happen...

in the house.

I see.

You've lost your way.

What do you want to write?

A middle-class satire?

A photo-novella parody?
A Bildungsroman?

- A what?
- I thought you spoke German.

Zerstérung, Hoffnung?

I asked my dad.
He used to live in Berlin.

He told me about Klee too.

Oh, really?

Then he probably told you a Bildungsroman
is a coming-of-age story.

I thought that's what you were writing.

The passage from youth to adulthood.

Now I don't know any more.

Claude, tell me.
What do you want to do?

What you said, maestro.
You're the Sultan, I'm Shahrazad.

Don't mock a woman
who could be your mother!

And stop calling me maestro!

Come on.

Hello Germain, how are you?

Fine, thank you.

See you later.

Bye.

Doing overtime. That's good.

I'm helping the boy, he needs it.

- Claude Garcia, right?
- Yes.

What do you think of the uniforms?

Pathetic.
They seem even more like sheep.

So, this Claude Garcia...

black sheep or lost lamb?

Hello!

Great, you're here!

Come in, please!

I've discovered
a wonderful Chinese artist

for next week's opening.

She's getting a lot of buzz,

but her work hasn't been
shown in France yet.

She's Chinese?

Yes, but born in Los Angeles.

She revisits calligraphy
from a gender perspective.

This is Shanghai Sky 1,

Shanghai Sky 2, Shanghai Sky 3

and Shanghai Sky 4.

What's the difference between
Shanghai Sky 2 and Shanghai Sky 3?

No two pieces are alike.

She creates infinitesimal,
random variations

on the computer.

What do they represent?

To me, they represent...

clouds...

The horizon.

Yes. A presence.

Yes.

Presentation, not representation.

Anyway-

I'll show you my favourite,
Shanghai Sky 7. Sublime.

So?

I think they liked it.

Your Chinese artist?

Yes. They listened to me,
looked at everything.

What did they say?

Not much, but they seemed keen.

They're coming to the opening.

But Rosalie or Eugenie, whichever,
gave me until 30th.

The pressure's on.

The gallery's problem is not the art,
it's the name.

'The Minotaur's Maze'
scares people, no?

They invited me to dinner
to celebrate Rapha's A.

Chinese food, of course.

At the Great Wall
they served this little fillet.

We didn't know if it was meat or fish.

- Guess what it was?
- What?

Duck feet.

Germain, the lit teacher,
loaned me Kafka's Great Wall of China.

Rapha says he's weird. Kind of bitter.

I think he'd rather write than teach.

He could do both.

I think he lacks talent so he's bitter.

Bitter! Aren't you upset about that?

He's not wrong.

Masochist.

After the news,
Rapha Senior goes out for a smoke.

Last summer I'd watch them
eating on the terrace.

Now I'm here, gazing at the park,

on the terrace with Rapha's dad.

You know Claude,
people fear China.

Really?

But China is the future.

The population is huge.

With his son he talks only
about sports, cars, basketball.

- With me it's different.
- Over a billion.

And growing by 6 million a year.

Before they had the one-child rule.

Now they're like rabbits.

I spot the alcoholic
who feeds the ducks and pigeons.

If he looked up and saw us,

he might think I'm...

Rapha's son.

You're a good friend to my son.

I'm bonding with that man?

To take his son's place.

Provoking jealousy from Rapha Junior.

A hollow character without conflict.

Look at him, at dinner, watching TV.

What does he think and feel?

You don't know what to do with him.

I'll be honest with you,

you've got a serious problem
with the son character.

- Do you have children?
- Why do you ask?

Your experience might help me
understand father-son relations.

I have no children,
but I have imagination.

- Didn't you want them?
- None of your business.

The important thing
is to develop Rapha Junior.

Saturday.
Though dying to be alone with Esther,

I decide to join the Rapha males.

There they are, in shorts,

chasing after their ball.

I watch them for a long time,

trying to imagine me and my father

prancing around
aiming a ball at a hoop.

No. I can't imagine me and my father

prancing around
aiming a ball at a hoop.

But they do it.

Every Saturday,
Rapha Junior and Senior

are happy when the ball goes in
and sad when it doesn't.

Rapha, look who's here!

Cool, you came!

- Nice shot!
- So you do play basketball?

I look him in the eyes and say,

The day Mum left,
Dad stopped playing basketball.

And so did I.

Come on, Claude, you're on my team!

You're better in the house.

Why did you go to the court?
It's like a cheesy sitcom.

You want to write for TV?

Stop explaining.
Let the reader fill in the blanks.

Rapha Junior still worries me.

He's just a foil for Claude.

Yet you want to take his place.
Too obvious.

Find something which reveals
who he really is.

Start with the father playing alone,

end with Claude telling Rapha Junior...

The clay Mum left,
Dad stopped playing basketball.

So did I.

That's the key.

Gently drive the action,
then surprise the reader.

The last paragraph is pure filler.

I don't understand.

If you know how, why don't you write?

To tell you the truth,

I tried, a few years ago.
I wasn't good enough.

Neither are you.
But you could be.

You have a gift.

If you work hard,
one day you'll be a writer.

A Simple Heart
by Gustave Flaubert

I asked you to write
about your best friend.

Who'll read theirs aloud?

Who'll read theirs aloud?

As brave as ever.

I'll pick someone at random.

Let's see...

Raphael Artole.

Come and read us your essay.

Come on, Raphael.

My best friend...

- Louder.
- My best friend, Claude Garcia.

I didn't know him last year,
we weren't in the same class.

This year we made friends over maths.

He helps me revise and do exercises.

Maths-Match.com!

Quiet, please.

I wanted him to play basketball
with me and Dad

but he's not into sports.

I respect him.

In sport, you must respect
your opponent

Hurry UP!

Quiet, please.

Before, my dad was my best friend.

Now I know it's weird
to have your dad as a friend.

- My mum told me.
- She was jealous!

Last Saturday, Claude made an effort
to play basketball.

That's when I knew he truly was...

my best friend.

Quiet.

Please.

Copy it on the blackboard,

and we'll correct it.

- I felt like a piece of shit.
- Forget that asshole, concentrate.

See why it's an imaginary number?

I think so.

How do you know?
Because it's the plane, not the axis.

It's like he undressed me.

Obviously he's upset.

- You shouldn't have.
- I just corrected his mistakes.

You should've stopped
when they started laughing.

I want him to know what it's like.

I could smash his face in.
And burn his car!

- I don't think he has one.
- I don't drive. My wife has a car.

I'll smash his ugly teacher face!

- You could do better.
- What?

Write an article in The Torch.
Tell your side.

You want him to criticise me
in The Torch?

Why not?

The Rapha character needs to exist.

Far be it from me to sully The Torch,

with its field trip photos,

tributes to retired teachers
and soppy poetry.

I won't have anyone saying
I censored The Torch!

Then why don't you talk to Rapha?

I'm not supposed to know.

There's no article, as far as I know.

Raphael, can I see you?

I need to talk to you.

He wanted to talk
but didn't say much.

He gave me this.

'Don't underline, dog-ear the pages
or leave it open, face down.'

- Maybe I shouldn't publish my article.
- Why not?

This book is like saying sorry.

No, you have to.

Hello.

I haven't slept for a week,
wondering,

Why did Mr Germain
humiliate me in class,

making me read my paper
while everyone laughed?

He's the one who said to write
about our best friend.

His cruel streak not satisfied,

he made me write it on the board,

supposedly to correct it.

But once I wrote it,
Mr Germain undressed me.

Yes, undressed me.

Erasing each sentence, one by one,

until the board was naked.

Desperately naked.

'I wanted to share my story

to stop such humiliations

and calm the knot in my stomach

next time I get called
to the board.

Raphael Artole.'

- He's right to be angry.
- Why?

It's like undressing him in public!

You take off his shirt,
pants, underwear...

I call a spade a spade.

Correcting bad writing
is correcting bad writing.

This is well-written, well-argued.
He's a bright kid.

I'm sure Claude wrote it.

What does the headmaster say?

Frankly, you fucked up.

You know the rules.

Teachers must place learners
at the heart...

of learning, I know.

Don't say pupil, say learner.

Don't punish the pupil...
excuse me, learner.

Gently guide him with praise.

Use green pens, not red.
Red makes the learner anxious.

I know all this new
mumbo-jumbo by heart.

So spare me.

This pupil writes...

that you undressed him.

It's a joke. You don't think...

With those stupid uniforms!

Just tell me one thing.

Why did you humiliate that boy?

I didn't humiliate him.
I corrected his homework!

That's what you pay me for!

Just be aware that as headmaster,

I'm meant to inform
the head of the district.

Come in.

Mr Artole.
Please have a seat.

It's about my son's article
in the school magazine.

Don't worry, it's already forgotten.

Rapha didn't tell me.

But he seemed strange.
I was shocked to read this.

Listen. I'm his teacher.

I was just doing my job as a learner...
I mean educator.

What matters in education,
politics, sports,

life in general,

is respect.

Respect for pupils,

partners, bosses, employees, workers!

I understand,
but there's no need to get upset

over this admittedly awkward incident.

Teaching is teamwork.

Share information.

Divide responsibility.
Delegate.

We pass each other the ball

and together we score.

You humiliated my son in public.

My son deserves your respect.

I want you to apologise in public.

' People ukesfii.
A m

(A")! buyers?

Not yet, but I can tell it's a hit.

Well done, dear.

- Have you seen the twins?
- What do they look like?

Twins.

I hope they come
and see all these people.

- I don't believe it.
- What?

- That couple.
- Who?

Rapha's parents.

You don't say.

Them?

I'd never have pictured them like that.

She's quite pretty.

You've seen them before?

The father came
for a parent-teacher meeting.

- Let's talk to them.
- No, stop!

- Why not?
- What are they doing here?

The middle class is interested in art.

And he's interested in China.

All he's interested in
is cheap lab our.

- I'm going home.
- Already?

I start early tomorrow.

Wait for the twins at least.

So?

They never showed.

And Rapha's parents?

They didn't stay long.

- You didn't speak to them?
- No.

- How did they end up there?
- I don't give a shit!

It was my opening, Germain.

The twins didn't show.
They'll sell the gallery and fire me.

All you care about is that family!

I'm sorry.

Spare me your hypocrisy!

I invited them.

Raphffs parents?

Yes.

I sent an invitation.
I didn't think they'd come.

I wanted to see them.
And I thought you'd be happy.

Wrong, as usual.

They're fictional characters, Jeanne.

I don't want to see them
in your gallery.

Am I a fictional character?

Of course not, dear. Come here.

Of course not.

What are you doing? It's late.

These maths problems are really hard.

Claude, you can stay if you like.

- OK.
- Want to call home?

I don't need to.

Midnight strikes on unsolved problems.

And I'm finally sleeping over.

My aunt sleeps here at Christmas.

The room is strange.
Suddenly I think,

I'm at the epicentre
of the family's private life.

My mum's childhood toys.
She couldn't throw them out.

Armless, headless, blind.

Esther's dolls are all mutilated.

Poor dolls.

Sleep in this.

Thanks for helping with the article.

You help me so much.

Only normal.

Rapha lends me his jersey to sleep in.

It's way too big and he laughs.

You're a real friend.

Know what I feel like sometimes?

Going wild like the rioters,

burning cars and stuff,
I get so pissed off!

Rapha goes to his room.

I'm not sleepy.

A strange sensation comes over me
and I wonder,

When it's stormy outside,
don't all children have nightmares?

I walk blindly down the hallway

until my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I enter my best friend's room.

Rapha sleeps soundly

but fitfully,

making strange movements.

What is he dreaming?

Who is he dreaming of?

Powerful stuff.

Claude wandering through
the sleeping house

like an angel or a vampire.

It's powerful, but not believable.

It's true though.

Doesn't matter if we don't believe it.

And what's Rapha's kiss about?

The latent desires
of the normal family?

The father, the mother, the son...
Is this Pasolini?

I'm developing Rapha,
I thought you'd like it.

Hang on... You think I like
teenage boys snogging?

I don't know.

Forget my desires,
think of what excites you.

She's smiling.

Her skin is very pale.

Her feet are like a child's.

As I watch them sleeping in the dark,

I imagine them earlier,

making love, clumsily, hurriedly.

Rapha thinking about work,
the Chinese guy,

Esther staring blankly,

feigning a desire that died long ago.

Maybe my mother pretended too,
that's why she left.

Why she left dad and me.

To stop pretending and start living.

Oh, honey!

A strange sensation comes over me
and I wonder,

When it's stormy outside,
don't all children dream

of slipping into bed
between their parents?

To be continued.

He watched them make love.

No, he imagines them.

It's normal to have fantasies
at his age.

This one's pretty tame.

Germain, do you desire Claude?

What are you talking about?

Since you started helping him write,

we've stopped making love.

Really?

It's no big deal.

Teachers often fall in love
with their students.

He's a boy, Jeanne.

I like women.

Maybe with age
you're discovering new desires.

He's sixteen.

It's just that the boy touches me...

I mean he's got talent, that's rare.

I'm just trying to help him.

Together again, gazing at the park.

Esther bites into an apple
and looks at the sky.

I love this weather.

Reminds me of a Chinese artist.

Her work is beautiful, simple.

The sky in a myriad of shades.

The park is different in the day.

I remember Saturday afternoons,

my mum took me to play
on slides and swings.

Now dealers deal in the daytime

while retired people do Tai Chi.

See that bench?

I saw you there a lot last summer.

You like this park too.

I like how it's surrounded by houses.

You sit on a bench and look around.

There's so much going on.

I loved this house right away.

We're right in town
yet surrounded by nature.

The sky, the park...

I look at Esther.
Her skin seems soft.

Like the skin of an apple.
Delicious.

- Are you ok?
- It's my spine.

I had an operation
but it still hurts.

I used to run in the park with Rapha.

I can't run now. Or dance either.

As the day draws to a close,
I imagine her dancing,

barefoot,
on the yellow leaves of autumn.

'...on the yellow leaves of autumn'!

Did you shoot up a can of peaches?

Is the apple a symbol or just an apple?

Barefoot', 'yellow leaves'...
A contemporary art catalogue!

- What do you mean?
- Never seen one?

I'll show you.
Feng Tang - Presences.

'What do we see in the work
of Feng Tang?

Silence, born in the space
between East and West.

Hushed presences battle
the noise of the world,

the deafening clamour of time,
sensorial, blah blah blah...'

Words are used in the worst way
in contemporary art catalogues.

Anything to sell it.

Just look at that!

Unbelievable, art for perverts.

I say 'art', that's what they call it.
I call it shit.

- Do you say that to your wife?
- Of course.

'I imagine her dancing,

barefoot,
on the yellow leaves of autumn.'

You're off track and you know it.

I didn't say, but after dinner

we went to this place
and Wong Lee lost it.

He was so drunk,
he hassled this girl.

I had to risk my neck
to get him out of there.

Now he says I disrespected him
and that's why he won't sign!

- Had you been there before?
- Never.

You have to keep the client happy.
Some like museums,

some like football
and others are just pigs.

You took him to a whore's bar?

It's not a whore's bar!
It's a bar with women.

A bar with women? That's clearer.

I'd never been there,
I don't go to those places!

Maurice does, all the time.

It's his thing, not mine.
It was for work, I had to.

So you were forced to go,

you didn't drink or dance
with those girls?

I had two drinks, to be polite.

I don't believe you.

- Honey...
- Don't touch me!

You disgust me.

I'm sick of this, Esther.

Always the same,
you never trust me.

Now's my chance.

I know it is,

but for the first time, I'm scared.

Here.

I couldn't sleep last night.

'Even barefoot, the rain won't dance.'
What does it mean?

Nothing. It's something you feel.

It affects the reader.

You help my son, he likes you.
My husband does too.

What if they read this?

'Even barefoot, the rain won't dance.'

I didn't write it for them,
I wrote it for you.

I think I get the rest.

But this thing about the rain...
I don't get it.

'Even barefoot, the rain won't dance.'

You clever bastard.

You gave her a poem.

Yes, I wrote her a poem.

Nice.

No one ever wrote her a poem.
She's practically illiterate.

There's no poetry in this house.

Toss her some verse and metaphor,

it's like dropping an atomic bomb.

I see her differently now.

I see.

Our young iconoclast has fallen
for the middle class.

You said look close
without judging.

I did. I'll get Esther
out of this house.

You no longer mind

the way she talks, her perfume,
her love of decorating?

You'll get a job, a loan,
buy her a prefab home?

I think I get the rest.

But this thing about the rain.

'Even barefoot, the rain won't dance.'

He's all we needed!

We're in a bad farce!

Ludicrous.

You're off track, Claude.

You told me to follow my desire.

I like kissing her.

To be continued.

What do you think?

It looks like a bag.

It is a bag. Hand-crafted from a tyre.

Fair trade. They also do backpacks,
bedspreads and wallets.

Not bad, nice.

- From China?
- No, obviously from Africa!

They're nice, they should sell.

Do you think I want to turn
my gallery into a bazaar?

As the sun slides lower,

its rays caress her legs, her neck.

Esther, Esther...

The world's most bored woman
has fallen asleep.

I watch her sleeping peacefully,

listen to her shallow breathing,

and once again feel
a deep desire for her.

- What happened?
- I'll go and see.

Raph a,

why did I choose you?

Because I thought you were different.

A normal boy.

SO Why?

For a kiss?

Morning, sir!

- Is Raphael Artole here?
- No, sir.

- Do you know where he is?
- No, sir.

- Are you sure?
- Yes, sir.

Be right back.

Anouk!

- What's wrong?
- Did the Artoles call about their son?

No.

Hello, Madam.
Anouk Mayer from school.

We noticed your son is absent today.

Right, right.

OK, “wank you. Goodbye, Madam.

So?

The flu.

Class is over. You're dismissed.

- It's not time.
- I don't care. Class is cancelled.

Claude, stay a second.

I knew you wouldn't like the suicide.
Ichangedit

You've gone too far.

You enter the house,

eliminate the son, seduce the mother...

- You confuse desire with story.
- So? That's what you taught me.

If someone from school
or Rapha's family sees it,

you'll be in big trouble.

And so will I.

Want me to stop?

Yes.

Isn't it a bit late?
You pushed me into it.

The exercise is over.
I'm...

I'm sorry. I may have been wrong.

I remember
the first day of school,

I wanted to throw out my books
and leave.

You told us to write an essay
and you gave me a B+.

Now I can't stop.

You can't stop?

Then write!
About yourself, your family...

Anything you like, but...
Forget the Raphas.

I like those characters now,
you taught me how.

I don't want to stop.

Then I'll have to stop reading.

Asshole.

We need to talk.

Maurice brought up Wong Lee's bill again.

He humiliated me.

Doesn't respect matter?

Yes, Rapha.

- Esther...
- Yes?

I burnt his car.

- Whose car?
- Maurice's.

- Why?
- I don't know.

Something came over me, I had to do it!

I can't take it any more,
this job is killing me.

Did anyone see you?

I don't know.

I'm sorry, I know what you'll say.

Please give me one more chance.

Please.

I have news too.

What?

I'm pregnant.

That's wonderful.

Why didn't you tell me?

I wanted to be sure I wanted it.

I love you.

- Feeling better?
- I wanted to ask you something.

What?

I want a real maths tutor.

What about Claude?

I don't want to see him any more.

They smile at each other.

The normal family is united again.

Come here.

For a year,
I dreamt of entering this house.

I got inside.

I observed a normal family up close.

I even thought I could be one of them.

Now there's no room for me here.

To be continued.

What happened to you?

What happens when a rival
hurts his own teammate?

Noidea.

If someone hurts my teammate,
I fight back.

- My dad and I are teammates.
- I know.

And my mum...

She doesn't play basketball,
but hands off.

Right.

Know what I do if some prick hurts her?

I smash the prick's face,
and his dad's face too.

And if the prick says a big queer fairy
kissed him on the mouth?

Then what?

I thought it over.

The happy family reconciliation
just doesn't work.

You must resolve the story...

I've stopped writing.

- You stopped going to their house?
- You said there'd be trouble.

I work alone now. Only on maths.

Maths never disappoints.

Option A,

the Rapha males kill Claude.

Option B,

Claude kills them
and moves in with Esther.

Option C,

Esther burns the house
with all three males inside.

Pick one and write it yourself.

That's your job. It's not my story.

It's not up to me.

Know the secret to a good ending?
The reader says,

'I didn't expect that,
but it couldn't end any other way.'

Option D,

Esther keeps repeating,
'Even barefoot, the rain won't dance.'

Life is unbearable in that awful house

with her awful husband and awful son.

It's meaningless, she's suffocating.

So she goes outside.

He's there,
on the park bench, waiting.

She runs to him.

Joins him.

And they kiss.

That's Barbara Cartland.

Hello, Claude.

I knew you'd come.
I was waiting for you.

Here, your poem.

I didn't want to throw it out.

I came for you.
I'm taking you away.

- What?
- You and I.

We must leave this town,
the house, the Raphas.

Impossible.

Why?

You're a child, Claude.

What happened between us never existed.
Forget it.

- It was...
- Magical!

Magical, if you like.
But not real.

We really hurt Rapha.

- Which one?
- Both.

I didn't mean to hurt anyone.

No, Claude. Stop.

- But I love you.
- No.

It's not me you love.

It's an image.

An image in your head.

I have to finish packing boxes.

- You're leaving?
- Yes.

But the decorating, the veranda?

Rapha quit his job,
we're going to China.

He has a partner there.

We're giving it a shot.

Starting a new life.

Come on.

Don't be sad.

Farewell, Claude.

Take care of yourself.

Esther!

They really need me.

Today is a different day.

I get up at 6:45, as usual.

Make breakfast for my dad, as usual.

Leave the house at 8, as usual.

It's Wednesday. I have English at 9,

History at 10, Lit at 11,

then Maths.

But today I'm changing direction.

I'm not going to school,
or to Rapha's house.

I'm looking for an ending.

An ending for Mr Germain.

An ending for my teacher.

Rapha...

You felt humiliated,
but you were just shaken up.

You're young, you're learning.

You're like the reed
in La Fontaine's fable.

You bend but don't break. Remember?

The Oak and the Reed

'The Oak said to the Reed

You're right to blame
the nature of things...

When, with fury,
comes from the horizon

The fiercest of all winds

Which the North contained till then

The Oak holds up, the Reed bends'

Yes.

Be seated.

I need to see you in my office.

- Now?
- Yes.

Is Claude Garcia here?

He's absent.

Raphael Artole?

Come with us.

She's here, looking tired.

I know her husband.
I know she has no children.

I know he thinks she shows 'shit'
and 'art for perverts'.

- You're Claude, aren't you?
- Yes.

She looks me up and down.
Did she imagine me differently?

Shouldn't you be at school?

I decided to leave.

What'll you do?

People struggle with maths.

I could give private lessons.

- Are you sure?
- Yes.

Or I could write for art catalogues.

My teacher says I'd be good.

I know.
Lots of imagination.

May I come in?

Germain isn't here.

I know.

What a nightmare.

A total nightmare.

Assholes.

So Claude wasn't at school?

How did you know?

He came here?

You let him in?

Not for all eyes to see.

I've done it, I'm in his house.

Going away?

No, I brought your husband's books.
The gallery was closed.

I start taking out the books.
We put them away.

He arranges them by period.

Tolstoy.

I hate the Russians.

I only read the first and last pages
of Anna Karenina.

Suddenly a book catches my eye.

I take it. Jeanne smiles.

Child of the Storm

Germain wrote it over 20 years ago.
Didn't he tell you?

No. What's it about?

A run-of-the-mill love story.
Not very good.

He knows it's not on a par
with the authors he admires.

That's sad.

One of Germain's rare qualities
is lucidity.

You're like he was,

but you have talent.

She's different from Esther
but just as desirable.

Keep it.

She invites me for lunch.

We talk about the gallery, maths,

how Germain and I got acquainted,
books she likes...

Then, suddenly...

Esther will never leave Rapha.

They're going through a rough patch,

but they have a solid bond.

Yeah.

They're in love.
They're having another child.

I didn't know.

Why didn't you have children?

We could have,
we never really thought about it.

Me with my work,
him with his books...

I've wondered whether

he became close to you

because he wants to be a father.

He wanted a son.

He told you that?

He told me...

you couldn't have children
because you're...

sterile.

He told you that?

Yes.

What?

Who?

OK.

The headmaster has suspended Germain.

Why?

Rapha spilled the beans
about the maths test.

The moment I met Mr Germain,

I wanted to know how he lived,

what his house was like,

who his wife was,

what she did,

did they have children?

Were they still in love?

Jeanne...

Jeanne...

Mr Germain's wife lies before me
on the sofa.

Sleeping.
I listen to her breathing.

Her skirt is open.
I see her alabaster skin.

She has beautiful feet.
Like Esther.

What am I doing here?

As my teacher's wife sleeps,

awakening the desires
of this back-row pupil...

I'm looking for an ending.

My ending-.

Perhaps I'll find it here.
In his house.

What are you doing?

Packing my suitcase.

- You're leaving?
- Yes.

- The gallery is over and so are we.
- Where'll you go?

I don't know. To my mother's.

Are you crazy? Today?
The day I got fired?

I'm like Esther,
alas, you're no Rapha...

And Claude will never be your son!

What are you on about?

You slept with that kid?

To be continued.

You slept with that kid!
Look at me, bitch!

- You're insane!
- He fucked you!

Journey to the End of the Night

Hello, Claude.

Hi. How are you feeling?

Better.

- May I sit down?
- Of course.

Did you find your ending?

No, I gave up.

I brought your book.

Your wife lent it to me.

You can throw it out.
It's worthless.

I liked it.
It's a nice love story.

Then keep it.

Funny, all the windows
we can see from here.

Pretty impressive.

When I sat in Rapha's park,

I was like a spectator
in the front row.

I looked and wondered,

What's life like in those houses?

There, for example.

Those two women. What are they doing?

Do you know them?

No.

They seem to be arguing.

Two skiers, maybe.

Arguing over an inheritance.

Two lesbians breaking up.

Twin sisters
fighting over the family house.

One wants to sell, one says no way.

Two lesbians.

Their love destroyed when the blond
had a fling with her rheumatologist.

The brunette says,
'And I introduced you!'

Watch her hands.

'I introduced you!

Now I know why
you wouldn't let me come along.'

'No way. We can't sell the house,

Dad fought so hard to keep it.'

You prefer them to be twins?

Not really.

First floor on the right.

Forget it, Claude.

I doubt they need maths lessons.

They must need something.

There's always a way in.

There's a way into every house.

And you could help me?

Mr Germain had lost everything.

His wife, his job.

But I was there, at his side.

Ready to tell him another story.

To be continued.

Subtitles by Sionann O'Neill

Subtitling by LVT - Paris