Original subtitles

I must be mad. I must be mad. I falsely testified for that woman.

Since then, she's never mentioned the subject. Not even the jewels.

Every time, I try to approach the question. All she wants to talk about is her husband.

He lies on top of me, crushing me with his weight, he tries to spread my thighs

I clamp them together as tight as I can. His fingers move up to my throat.

He tears my blouse, etc. etc.

What are you thinking of?

I think she's trying to awaken in me the desire to kill.

It's insane. I should stop seeing her, but I can't.

I've been had and I'd like to understand.

Go on...

And I'd like to explain why I keep falling asleep more and more frequently during our sessions.

Now, I fall asleep every single time.

I fall asleep while she's talking about sex. It's ridiculous!

I can hear her voice in my sleep.

It blends with the reality. Very strange.

I dream about her... I mean, about the things she's telling me...

The other night I dreamed that Max was on top of her on the couch...

that is, on my couch,

he was hitting her, with such violence!

Incredible...

And the more he hit her the more she laughed

the more she mocked him, his desire for her.

When is it going to stop?

When is it going to stop?

Very well, Michel.

Thank you.

Prozac for fifteen days, one a day

It's just to help you out. Normally I don't prescribe drugs for someone who's in analysis with me.

Thank you very much, doctor.

Thank you for everything.

It's all right

Here...

Thank you.

Good bye. See you next week.

Everything started with a phonecall from an old friend who's a police inspector

Yes

Hello, Durand? Inspector Chapireau.

Yes, how are you?

Very well. Listen...

Could you come over to the station? What's going on?

No time to explain. Let's just say that it concerns you personally. It's important.

Do you know this woman?

Ever heard of Bernstein's, the diamond superstore?

Mme Kubler's been stealing there, openly, for weeks.

I've been unable to catch her.

No thief comes back twice where he's been uncovered.

She does. Crazy, isn't it?

A real pro. Impossible to catch.

Perverse cleptomaniac.

I imagine I'm not telling you anything new?

I'm sorry, that would be a breach of confidentiality.

But she is your patient, isn't she?

Yes, she's a patient.

Fuck you, shit, I'm working my ass off here.

Here. Look.

A crook developer and a perverse cleptomaniac. Nice couple.

Four days ago, a security guard saw Mrs Kubler pocket a 40,000F ring

What exactly did you ask me here for?

'At the time of the alleged crime, I was with my analyst, Michel Durand' -- That's you, isn't it?

You can answer this one. It's not medical.

Anyone else, I'd ask to see his appointment book.

I'm sure it's not a big deal. Appointments are made in advance and missed sessions are billed.

So, was she there?

Yes.

Are you sure?

False testimony... Think about it.

You don't believe me?

That's pretty nasty, coming from a friend.

My God, why are you covering for this nutcase?

Something going on between you two?

Olga Kubler was in my office the day the security guard thought he saw her.

You're making a foolish mistake, Michel.

You'll be in deep shit because of her.

Two days later, Olga came in for her session.

I was curious to see how she'd react.

Thank you for what you did.

I wanted to talk to you about it, but it seemed of no consequence.

If I talk about Max's violence, penis and vagina, you won't flinch.

If I told you I was a thief, it wouldn't make any difference.

Very well, Madam. Good bye, Madam.

I was wondering what you were going to do:

turn me over to the cops or...

lie.

You're involved, doctor Durand.

Well...

Olga was a fascinating case.

I've observed her for three months, and with each session, spiraled deeper into her madness.

I should have stopped seeing her.

I didn't realize that it was already too late.

I must remind you that we agreed you wouldn't smoke during our sessions.

I see.

May I?

You're punishing me, doctor.

I'm a thief, and so what?

Max is loaded. I've got all the cash I want.

I love stealing.

I discovered it quite unexpectedly.

I stopped in front of a pair of stockings.

A revelation.

I was all wet.

Black stockings.

With a back seam and glitter around the ankle:

a vulgar touch to excite men.

Impulsively, I took them out of the package and stuffed them into my bag.

Better than an orgasm,

than a man's violence.

Well, it's not the same.

I still put them on from time to time.

Yes...

Lingerie had no character.

I branched out into jewerly.

Bernstein's.

That was perfect.

Rolex Oyster Perpetual.

Yellow gold, 18K,

32 diamonds.

Bracelet of the same metal.

Obviously, I get caught.

Total body search.

I love it.

Afterwards, they have no choice but to let me go. So, to annoy me, they call Max.

What did Max do? Hit you?

Fortunately.

A wife who shoplifts, that's in poor taste when you rub elbows with cabinet members.

It's unforgivable.

What I know about his schemes could put him behind bars for life.

He wants to skip the country. He's afraid I will compromise his plans.

So he beats me.

When is this going to stop?

When one of us dies.

Very well, Madam.

Thank you.

Good bye, Madam.

Good bye, doctor.

Four months earlier, I met a young artist, Helen Mayer.

A large painting caught my attention.

Pardon me. I'm very sorry.

What do you think about me?

Not me, my painting...

You're the artist?

Well?

Well...

Works without any composition, without affectation, and yet very effective and well-composed.

A sort of instinctual chaos: forms and colors comingling in a conflictual coherence,

bodies cohabiting in a harmonious but unstable questioning,

in short, instinctive,

cacophonic and, paradoxically,

controled painting.

That's what I think.

And you don't give a damn.

Right.

Right.

Well... It's funny what you say.

You must be a psychoanalyst.

It's bullshit, I've heard it a hundred times.

Invite me to a dinner.

This is a drag.

Hurry, or else I might have to listen to Boris tell me

how many paintings he's sold, how much money I've made,

then have a dinner with him, and drive back, and him wanting to sleep me with me, and...

Yes?

What's your name?

Boris. No, Michel. Michel Durand.

Michel? Like my father! Yes, that was on purpose.

That's funny.

So, apparently, you just finished it last night? Yes, at midnight.

With a toothbrush, like a madwoman.

It isn't even dry yet.

Anyway, there's still work to be done.

It's for sale, you know.

I like it when you brush aside a stray hair with that movement of your head.

You paint the same way.

Answer my question.

Do people still lie down on the couch to tell their life stories?

Yes. More and more. That is, rather to understand what makes their lives unbearable.

And does it work?

Sometimes.

On occasion. You have a hard time believing it.

If I were certain, you would criticize my certitude, Helen. Now, when I lie down,

life ceases to be unbearable.

You should let me give your couch a try.

Perhaps you would manage to convince me that I need to lie down.

It's stronger than me.

I'm attracted to violence. It's in my blood.

Men who can really make a woman suffer don't grow on trees.

Women dream about it,

but it stops there.

Max was different. I sensed it right away.

That is why I married him.

For worse.

I excite his desire and await his violence. I'm very good at that.

What was I to him: a docile passion, or just a plain neurotic. That's it. Lock her up.

Men are wimps.

You disapprove, or what's up with your silence?

...you with your red socks

Yes...

I have his love marks all over my body.

If I got undressed, you'd see.

Max cares about appearances.

Pretty face and a cashmere coat are for Paris Match.

He's sick.

I don't like him to have orgasms.

I don't let him.

Max must be crazy to think he can fuck me.

Why him more than any other?

Just because we're married?

He's beating me more and more often.

His blows have become deadly.

This morning I got really scared.

He was shouting that I was a whore...

that I wanted him dead.

But that is what you want, isn't it?

Well, go ahead...

call me a whore, you, too...

Hit me, I know you want it...

In your little chair, you don't have the guts.

I've felt it, since the police.

You despise me.

You were had.

I push him over the edge.

I love driving him mad.

He has crying fits right after...

Since he went to court, he's been nuts.

He functions on antidepressants and whiskey.

He's becoming dangerous.

A mad animal.

I love him.

I thought he was going to kill me this morning.

I ran away.

He chased me down the stairs.

I lost my shoes.

I had to get to the gate.

I fell several times in the snow. It was like walking on broken glass.

I had to get to the gate.

But it was locked.

I pounded like mad.

Max was getting close.

I couldn't open it. Like in a nightmare.

He thought I stole his money. It drove him insane.

He dragged me to the bedroom and threw me on the bed.

He lay on top of me...

I thought he wanted to rape me...

I fought with all my strength.

I tried to free myself.

I said every filthy thing that came to my mind.

He was beside himself,

kept hitting me...

He kept hitting me

His fingers clenched around my throat...

tighter and tighter

I was suffocating.

Very well, Madam.

Very well, Madam.

Oh, shit...

You have reached the voicemail of Dr. Zlibovic

if you're calling to make an app...

Criminal division, how can I help you?

Hello, I'd like to speak to inspector Zlibovic, excuse me, Chapireau...

Please hold

I'm sorry... Hello.

I'm very sorry, I know I don't have an appointment today, but I must talk to you

Please...

Wait, wait... Just a minute... Have a seat...

I'm gonna finish with a patient...

I'll be done with her and ...

... and then you can come in...

Please, come in...

I'm stuck.

Always the same thing,

I want to talk. Then nothing comes out.

Perhaps you'd like to talk about your students.

It was horrible. They started with the bee.

A bee that swallowed Gaucho. Gaucho?

You know, it's an insecticide that drives bees mad.

It's an American product.

Just imagine, 40 morons going "zzz"

for three minutes.

I couldn't move.

I faced the board so those jerks wouldn't see me cry, and couldn't turn around again.

I kept writing my equations. In any case, they suck at math.

Then it was Verdun, bombs, Stukas. Stukas at Verdun!

They confuse everything.

Even CNN commentaries.

With their grades in English!

They're killing me. I'm scared.

I want to die...

to disappear under your couch...

Time to go, Madam.

What's going on? We're done.

Time to go, partir, to leave, left, left.

Thank you, Madam.

Goodbye, Madam.

"You're making a foolish mistake, Michel"

"You'll be in deep shit because of her"

"You were had."

"Are you sure?"

"That's it. Lock her up."

"You're involved, doctor."

"Hit me, I know you want to."

"You're punishing me, doctor."

"Better than an orgasm,"

"than a man's violence"

What's wrong?

It's one a.m. and I don't feel like making love any more.

One a.m.?

Forgive me, I'm very sorry...

The conference must have ended late, I just got back and was about to call...

Right! You don't give a fuck about your seminars. I called and no one had seen you.

Better admit you're with another woman. It's not at all what you think, Helen.

I wasn't the first or the last to spread on your couch.

I'm not an entry in your book. Stop making dates with me. It's very amateurish.

Hello. You have reached Helen and Boris Yeltsin

Boris is having a siesta and I went to fetch some vodka.

Please leave a message at the beep.

Helen, this is Michel...

I wanted to tell you that I strangled a woman... I think... Maybe it wasn't me...

I don't know what I'm doing...

Strangulation is supposed to calm you down? Idiot.

What are you thinking of?

Olga dead

Have you ever seen a strangled woman?

It's disgraceful.

Impossible to revive her.

I wanted to call the police. Instead, I dialed your number.

Nice Freudian slip...

It means I don't want to turn myself in, but instead try to understand what happened

In your opinion...

I've no idea...

I blacked out. When I came to, she was dead and my arms were sore.

If I told this to the cops, I'd be screwed.

Crime or temporary insanity, either way, I'm screwed.

You expect psychoanalysis to give you an answer?

Yes. No. Well, that's what I thought coming here.

And now the question is whether I'm going to leave Helen for the prison or for an insane asylum...

I'm coming to realize how much I care for her.

Even if she as crazy as her pictures.

When I bought her painting, she laughed and said I'd better make love to her.

It's true that my wife and me used to be such prudes.

If you bought it just to please me...

it was a faulty action.

I'd rather...

I love you a little

a lot...

passionately...

madly...

It's over...

Your sketch was quick and well done.

Dick.

And come.

I think I'm in love with her.

That's why she was so upset yesterday on the phone.

She thought I was with another woman.

In fact, she wasn't entirely wrong. Feminine intuition, unbelievable.

No, I'm finished.

... finished...

I'll call inspector Chapireau as soon as I'm home.

Here you go.

I also found these.

This one is the best.

Yes... It's the last one.

Lists dozens of crimes committed under hypnosis.

Take the case of the strangler from Notting Hill.

The blackout lasted only a few minutes, but it was enough to strangle...

... his wife, his two kids, and Jack Russel as well.

And Jack Russel as well?

No recollection of his crime.

But it kept haunting him in the form of a horrible hallucination.

He was terrified, poor fellow.

What is it you're saying?

Oh, if I could strangle my wife and remember nothing...

... especially her dog!

Victor Durand?

Yes...

Max Kubler.

I think we need to talk, doctor.

Are we going to stand in the doorway?

No, come in, please.

You seem surprised to see me.

No, not really, I mean...

it's not customary to visit one's wife's therapist.

Are you a man of habit, doctor?

I'm not sure, but psychoanalysis has some customs, in the patient's best interest.

I should hope so.

"Murder and Amnesia"

And what is my wife's best interest, in your opinion?

She was in your office yesterday.

I waited for her the whole night, through the morning...

You must know that I've been busy lately.

This might come as a surprise, but...

there's nothing a worried husband wouldn't do for his wife.

Clearly, she's not altogether... normal...

but that's your daily bread, isn't it?

My wife and I... we love each other in a somewhat...

special way...

She told you about it?

She tells everyone.

And then she steals.

I was hoping that you'd help her get rid of this nasty habit.

In my position...

a wife who shoplifts is more than I can afford.

Have you ever been in jail, Mr. Durand?

I have.

Frankly, I wouldn't recommend it.

Nowadays, the world is full of indoctrination and hypocrisy...

Money gave me everything...

That's why they leave me alone...

And then, I married Olga...

a bitch who thinks she can clamp her thighs when she's being fucked, now that...

Turns life into hell.

She likes nothing better than...

blows ... thrashing...

I'm a husband in despair, appealing to you, Mr. Durand.

If you know anything about her...

you must tell me.

This is inspector Chapireau... Please excuse me...

Michel, I know you've been trying to reach me...

Planton said it was urgent...

Olga told me you had friends in the police...

I'll be at the station tomorrow morning if you'd like to come... Sorry I missed you... Hope that nothing serious...

If it's about her, let it go.

And tell me where's my money.

What? What money?

Yesterday, Olga cleaned out my safe.

Seven mil

It's not like a shrink's pen.

She must have stashed it somewhere.

Tell me what you know.

Listen, it's ridiculous, Olga didn't tell me anything, I've no idea what happened to that money.

Now, please be kind and leave, I'm expecting a patient.

Olga loves this.

You want to keep it to yourself, huh? I don't want to keep anything, I told you, damn it!

You want to screw me over with my wife, admit it.

That's why the police are calling, huh?

Listen closely...

if you as much as breathe a word...

I'll shove it up your ass.

You've got an ex-wife, a lover,

nice clients and some debts.

Happiness is fragile.

Think about it.

Tomorrow night, my place, Montespan Av., 10 pm.

With the money.

Or a pick-up location.

I can help you get out of this shit.

And don't play stupid.

Mark my word.

Olga had only 40,000F cash in her purse...

...and my yellow pen.

I'd been looking for it everywhere.

Where were the seven millions?

Nice wheels.

The Germans know how to make cars.

What's your problem?

And yours?

Searching your clients' cars at this hour?

Who said it's a client?

You can learn a lot hanging out in a neighborhood.

Tomorrow, I'll be Santa Claus in the department stores.

It's clear, you've never been Santa Claus.

Have you?

Sure.

It's going to snow.

I'm training for the cold.

And what are you training for?

Avoiding parking tickets.

Good night.

I was pathetic in front of Max.

My father couldn't have been any worse.

After Kubler left, I had a dream.

This dream had been haunting me for days, even for years,

I think it has to do with my questions about Olga.

A dead tree bathed in light,

wolves perched on its branches.

Perhaps you've read too much.

"The History of an Infantile Neurosis."

Of course I know the dream of the Wolf Man:

primal scene, a child catching his parents making love... But it's not like that.

Rather, I thought we lived in a jungle...

where there was room only for wolves like Kubler.

My father always used to say that if business was going badly, it was because of wolves.

IRS wolves, competition, corporate wolves.

My father would never stop whining.

He was a born victim.

Max makes millions, while he could barely make ends meet with his hardware store.

How could I have identified with such a father?

When I look in the mirror, I see him.

And I resent him even more.

What about your mother?

My mother...

When it comes to being mean, my mother and I were a perfect tandem.

We never missed a chance to humiliate him.

She enouraged me just to crush him by my success.

Anyway, it was to spite him that I chose medicine.

Yes...

It was a very hot day in June or July...

The hardware store would reopen at 4.

My father put up a sign on the door

Later on, when I learned to read, I found it said something like:

"To provide you the best service possible, the store is closed between 12:30 and 4 PM."

My mother thought it was ridiculous.

That afternoon, he went upstairs to the apartment.

When I woke up, they were in the kitchen.

My mother was very affectionate towards my father.

I felt terribly betrayed.

I think this memory continues to haunt me.

It took years of therapy to realize my father loved me in his own way:

with sadness... awkwardness...

perhaps mixed with admiration...

It's freezing... It numbs the brain...

But it didn't keep you from coming to see me. Force of habit.

On Tuesday, you got back around 12:30.

There was a parking space open, naturally, for you. Oh, yeah, you expected me?

Well, you know, I have to kill time. I work only evenings.

And if I go to a bar, I'll drink. And if I drink... I won't be in shape to be Santa Claus.

The department stores take it very seriously.

Have you noticed? She still hasn't come to pick it up.

It's bad for the battery.

You should tell her when you see her. It's tomorrow, isn't it?

A shrink doesn't waste time on cars. He is busy with ... this.

Excuse me? Words, words are formed here....

That's your thing, isn't it?

I know a thing or two about psychiatry. That's why I'd like to talk to you.

Is this you? Is this your car?

No. Your patient, tell her about the battery...

A dead battery can't be revived.

If you see what I mean.

Congratulations, Mr. Durand, you've won a three-star deep freezer. Press the pound key...

You still can win...

Try again. Buzz. Wrong again. Too bad. Start over.

Hello, you have reached Helen Mayer and Rocco Siffredi.

Rocco's shooting a film. Me, too. Leave a message after the beep.

Helen, last night really wasn't my fault. Forgive me, I messed up. I'll tell you about it.

I miss you, Helen.

I'm in my office the whole afternoon. I'll be waiting for your call. Bye.

Yes, thank you, I'm coming.

Please, come in.

It's not like you to be late.

Yes...

What are you thinking of?

There's one thing on their mind.

People say it's men who are obsessed with sex. Hypocrites.

Just see what women are wearing.

Now it's winter, but just wait till the sun comes out...

Explosion of low-cut blouses,

skin-tight shirts and skimpy dresses...

Same in winter... Even on a bus, an outburst of see-through lingerie...

Then again on the metro.

Flesh on display at every stop and on the trains.

Yesterday, I almost slammed into a bus. I stepped on my breaks to avoid landing face first in a big blonde's thongs.

Or take the internet....

They've not wasted any time!

When you meet a woman,

even before you finished your Campari,

she's already flushed, her neck covered in red spots,

she grabs your hand,

and tries to palm off her arousal on you.

This intimacy... makes me uncomfortable...

It's a wet intimacy.

I hardly touch her lips with my tongue or innocently brush her breast...

and... snap... i'm finished.

Even before having started... I climax with no pleasure.

Take that elegant patient of yours wearing a fur coat

whom I pass sometimes in the stairwell...

She drives a yellow Porsche...

Whenever I see that car, I know she's in your office. So I wait.

And now, funny thing, I think I can smell her perfume. Very well now.

You can't smell it?

I'd like to speak to inspector Chapireau.

The inspector will be back later this afternoon.

You're going to leave a message or call back?

I'll call back. Thanks.

I decided to meet with Max Kubler.

I wrote two letters: one to my ex-wife, the other to Helen.

It was the time of Olga's sessions.

Mai Li, Thank you for mailing these two letters if I'm not back by tomorrow.

I wanted to be early for my meeting with Max.

I suspected a trap. I prefered to make the first step.

I was an hour early.

During one of her sessions, Olga had given me, most likely to taunt me, the door code to her building.

Bitch!

I don't give a shit about your story!!!

She thinks she's clever? To rob me and run away with that asshole!

Get lost!

Fuck off!

You shouldn't have come, doctor Durand. What's happening here is none of your business.

You know the story of the Wolf Man?

It's not me who goes telling it to the shrink, is it?

This is Chapireau. Come immediately. Max Kubler was killed.

Are you working or what? Haven't you heard on the radio?

I'm waiting for you, Michel. Don't make me send the cops.

You haven't seen Olga Kubler since Monday. It didn't worry you?

No, it's quite normal to skip a session.

Last time you were less neutral.

Ok, no need to be ironic. I'm just saying that skipping a session is trivial. Any analyst can tell you that.

Was it to share trivialities that you tried to call me?

No, I... just wanted to invite you to lunch, because of last time...

And why didn't you reply to my message?

I was going to. Ahem, makes perfect sense.

And Olga Kubler's car downstairs makes sense, too?

A zealous colleague brought to my attention these parking tickets. All paid. By whom? You or Mrs Kubler?

This is absurd. What is it to me if her car is parked downstairs?

And I don't see why I would take care of my patients' parking tickets.

Admit that you're covering for that woman down to the murder of her husband.

Mr. Kubler's murder, any thoughts?

I think she killed her husband.

He abused her. She had bruises all over her body.

We told her to file a complaint, but she wouldn't.

I figure she must have told you about it. Otherwise, one might wonder what the hell she was doing on your couch.

She said that he wanted to get rid of her...

... because she knew too much about his schemes.

Her cleptomania was a cry for help, see? Familiar with that?

In any case, jewelry theft is not murder.

I let her go because of you, Michel.

But, listen, if it was my mistress, I would have done the same thing.

What?!

Olga Kubler was never my mistress. Liar.

What? Liar!

Your Camodian housekeeper caught you with her. She was half-naked and you were kissing her...

like a... "carnivore."

Here, see for yourself. It's ok.

So now you're interrogating my housekeeper.

She caught you with her or not?

You can sleep with anyone you want.

But the fact that Olga is your mistress explains a lot:

you wanted to spare her from jail, and now you're helping her escape.

That's not it. So where is she?

I have no idea.

She didn't tell you anything? No.

So you've seen her?

I haven't seen her since the last session. What she did afterwards is not my problem.

Sorry, I don't believe you.

You've got other evidence?

Max Kubler's account statements.

7 million francs stolen. It wasn't for charity donations.

She took it. His safe was empty.

Either he hid it somewhere else or she robbed him.

In her mind, this must have been a compensation for her suffering.

It all fits. Right, it fits.

She told you about it during your ... "sessions"?

She must have confided in you? Must have.

So, you help her hide until the murder...

Her car must not be found in your neighboorhood, so you pay her tickets.

And when Olga killed her husband, you helped her escape. Am I wrong?

You are.

You'd better tell me where you'll going to meet.

Listen, it's settled: I'm guilty. Arrest me and call my lawyer.

Calm down, Michel.

I've no intention of persecuting you. What do you think? We've been friends for 30 years.

For the moment, I can only presume.

If you should go anywhere, let me know, I might want to reach you.

Now you can go see your patients.

The murder of the developer Max Kubler. The businessman was shot last night in his home in Paris,

Montespan Av., with several 35-cal. bullets. The perpetrator(s) have not yet been identified.

His wife Olga Kubler is currently wanted for questioning...

The police were already towing Olga's car. I had to dispose of her body as soon as possible.

All this resembled a bungee-jumping act. ... Without the bungee rope.

You think that this is going to take care of your problem?

I don't know any more what's going to take care of my problem.

In any case, it's better she's in my trunk than under my couch.

In a way, it's fascinating.

Sort of an erroneous strategy, a series of faulty actions.

Including going over to Kubler's and witnessing the murder.

At least there, I've done nothing wrong.

The police will think that I killed Olga for the money.

But...

If I get rid of her body, I still have a chance.

A few years ago, I had a patient whom I called the diamond cutter.

He was a jeweller.

He was a satanist sex-swapper. He used to go to the P�re Lachaise cemetery.

He felt so guilty that he gave me his key.

I kept it, not knowing why.

Last night, everything was ready, but my car wouldn't start because of the cold.

See, even my car has Freudian slips. Can you explain that?

This story with the graves makes me think of my blue giraffe.

I must have been about 5. My father had never given me any gifts.

And then, one night, he shows up with a blue giraffe.

I was dumb-struck.

No 'thank you', nothing.

I think he was really hurt.

It was just a plush animal, but I wouldn't part with it.

Its plastic eyes frightened me.

To conquer my fear, I hit it and threw it against the wall.

I wrung its neck.

I remember that one time I even branded it with a fork heated over the stove.

And then one day I found it headless on my bed.

I accused my friend Benjamin. But I got punished for destroying my father's giraffe.

I felt a terrible sense of injustice.

Even forty years later, I still remember.

To this day I don't know who did it.

Of course, I suspected my father.

I couldn't bear to look at my giraffe any more. Headless, it was revolting.

Yet at the same time, I was somewhat fascinated.

Finally, I placed my giraffe in a box... a bisquit box...

... and buried it near the Sacr� Coeur...

... under a tree at the foot of the hill.

It might still be there, by the way.

That's what will happen to Olga if I get rid of her.

Don't you think?

Hello, chief, over here!

How's it going? I thought you were going to fall inside.

A glass of wine.

So now you're following me? You're joking.

This is not a job for an intellectual. Thank you.

Only I know that you're a psychoanalyst.

Enough to see the characters coming through the door.

I used to be in psychiatry.

I can spot patients right away. You have a table by the window.

What did you do in psychiatry? I was diagnosed as a maniac.

Because of the lotto. The lotto?

Precisely. You are looking at a victim of the lotto.

I won the jackpot.

At the time, I worked for DPE-12, Teaching Faculty Administration. We were in charge of payroll and allocations.

So you quit?

They told me I should, I didn't listen.

And then? Then I just sat around.

I bought an apartment with a fireplace.

I needed paper to get the fire going.

Perfect: the files.

I burned stacks of them. Seeing them curl up in the flames...

gives you a damned good feeling of power.

There was no file left to process. The thing was, the professors didn't get paid.

It was then that I thought of Herostrates...

the guy who set temples on fire in Ephesus. Him...

He burned down one of the seven wonders of the world.

Me, I was burning down DPE-12. We were two of a kind.

After I got fired, I started drinking, couldn't get Herostrates out of my mind.

One day, I was watching TV and saw Gainsbarre burn a 500F bill.

Drunk, I went straight to the bank. There were over 15 millions in my account.

I withdrew everything.

I had a hell of a time warming my toes with bundles of 500F.

A true high-roller.

I spent four years in a psychiatric ward.

When I got out, the treatment was strictly enforced.

They feared I'll burn all my dough.

So they would let me have only coins.

Too bad.

...that I've got nothing left.

It's the season to light a fire.

Luckily, there are more obliging people. Your housekeeper, for one.

Your Chinese workspace technician. Cambodian.

Ok, Cambodian... who does your house chores?

When I told her my story, she agreed to give me two 200F bills for my loose change.

But you can't warm up the house with 200F.

Sorry, Herostrates, I must run along. Give me the keys to your car.

Excuse me?

Your battery, I'll change it for you.

I have to pop the hood.

Don't worry, whatever mess you've got inside, it's not my business.

I'll be free at 7pm.

Ok, let's meet by the car at 7. I'll lend you a hand.

But, remember, 7 o'clock.

You got a new bedspread?

You weren't in the other day.

Was it because of her?

You were summoned by the police?

I read all the papers, watched TV, listened to the radio...

Olga Kubler...

I never made the connection with the developer.

You'd always see him on the TV.

An upstart. In all his glory.

Go on. What are you thinking of? What does a classy woman like her see in that brute?

Fact is, I might have been unconsciously attracted to rabble.

A stunning woman.

I must confess something.

The other day, after our session, I came back to the neighborhood.

I saw her little yellow Porsche downstairs.

I figured she was with you.

I was hoping to see her when she comes out.

I had waited for her before.

Even very late.

In short...

I was hanging around by her car.

There were parking tickets on the windshield.

One of those hysterical officers was passing by.

And... I thought it would be a nice gift to secretely pay them for her.

You must think I'm stupid.

I thought of you when I found out who she was.

It was a gift.

Very well, sir.

Why did you get a new bedspread?

You know what time it is? Of course, it's seven.

No, it's 8:30. You can't be serious.

You've seen your trunk? It's been broken into.

I can fix that.

Go ahead, start it up.

Now the trunk?

No, no need. I'll take care of it in the morning.

Martini?

Here you go. Thank you, highness.

Very impressive, this painting of yours.

Your client with the Porsche...

Yes? It seems she killed her husband.

I'm not surprised. He was a beast, insanely jealous.

This was painted by a mental case, I can tell.

Sometimes, he would come by your office to pick her up.

He came up here?

Well, I don't know if he came all the way up. He'd enter the building with her.

If you never saw him, it's because he must have waited downstairs.

Where we just were. It was your office, wasn't it? Quite so, an adjoining room.

Two entrance doors? Yes, two.

I'd very much like to see it.

Because I didn't really get a chance...

Ok, perhaps some other time. Now, I'm sorry, I've got work to do.

I insist. For old times' sake. Please, it'll make me happy.

No, it's out of question.

No, but...

I'd like...

... a place on your couch...

In return for small favors.

Herostratus on my couch, that was unexpected.

Was burial one of those small favors he was alluding to?

Was he threatening me?

I had spotted the grave of abbott Raymond when I was a med student.

I relieved the stress of my first dissections by roaming in the cemetery.

Abbot Raymond had strangled hundreds of women.

This seemed like a good omen to take in Olga's body.

There was little chance that anyone would be looking for her here.

What is it like to be dead, Olga?

Where do we go?

Please forgive me.

Everything all right, man?

Bravo! ... I'm awed.

I have only a blow-up one.

May I?

What's your name, princess?

What's her name?

Olga.

Olga...

Princess of the night.

Wait, I'll warm her up. What are you doing?

Leave her alone. Don't take it so personally.

If you want I'll lend you mine. Listen, if you touch the High Priestess, you're doomed.

Even the devil won't help you. You're done for, screwed, my friend.

You're full of bull. Am I?

Olga is the High Priestess of the last eclipse

the Strangler's mistress... Strangler's?

Paco Rabanne! Paco Rabanne?

If you touch her, your penis, your dick, your balls will fall off.

Come on, we'd better lay her to rest.

It'll bring you good karma. Wait!

Wait! ... I'll be right back. Don't move.

We need a bit of music.

Go on...

XBS system, 8 heads... Shut up and push, push!

But I'm the DJ!

If the Strangler doesn't get back her before dawn, we're lost.

You think she'll come back? Of course she will. You know, I think you're her type.

You should wait here.

Now that you know her, you might get lucky.

Be quiet. Think of your balls.

200 for a job, 400 for safe sex.

Asshole!

Must have lost control.

It's your fault.

Go ahead, ask her about the 7 mil.

What the hell are you doing here? What am I doing here?

Is this becoming a habit?

How did you get in? Let's see. Through the window. Straddling my broom.

You can have it back.

I'll never set a foot here again.

Helen, let me try to... There's nothing to say.

Only that you got the wrong partner.

As soon as I undressed you, you grabbed your pillow.

Ok, so you were drunk, but even so, to get aroused by a pillow!

You were rubbing it, calling it "Olga".

Looked like an orgy with bedsheets.

What is Olga? A pillow you mount while I'm waiting like an idiot?

And then, you went completely crazy. You wrung your pillow like mad.

If you were really with a woman, you'd have broken her neck, or...

You called out to some Max, your other pillow, I suppose, and shouted something about 7 millions.

It freaked me out, so I started screaming louder than you.

At this moment, things aren't looking up for you, Michel.

I wanted you.

But if I had known you were busy with your pillow, I would have stayed home with my knitting.

I'll go shopping to BHV. They have a white night sale.

Time to find yourself a new girlfriend. Ciao.

I've just made an important discovery: I find violence irresistible.

Oh, no...

Yes.

There was a strange atmosphere in your office last time.

When I lied down on your couch, I heard as if a voice whispering in my ear

But I don't fancy myself Jeanne d'Arc...

That voice tried to convince me that violence was the path to pleasure...

I wanted to talk to you about it Thursday, but you weren't there.

Now it's everywhere. In class, in the teachers' lounge...

It's incredible, this feeling of fulfillment.

I'm a thief... I exist.

Are you going to specialize?

This morning, just to see, I picked pockets in the teachers' lounge.

Pockets can be very arousing.

Still, 1000F in a colleague's wallet.

I also found a condom.

Go on...

Tell me... What the hell am I doing with a married man?

I can't expect anything from him. Besides, he said so himself.

Apparently, he is unable to love. With me, it's just sex.

Saturday night, I had a friend come over for dinner. I gave him a blow-job. He enjoyed it.

Afterwards...

I phoned my lover, the married guy, and told him everything.

He was furious. He said that I was demeaning myself, punishing myself, taunting him...

Is that what you wanted?

Don't know.

He told me: "Every time I look at your mouth, I'm going to think about the other guy's penis"

And then he gave me 200F.

And told me: "Suck me."

But I liked it.

My colleague's money.

Thank you.

Good bye. Good bye, Madam.

Are you thinking about what happened to Olga?

Yes.

In the end, what was going on with Olga and Max was madness, of course...

but also love...

I imagine her telling him: "Look, look"

"I have his key, I'll tell him everything. It'll be arousing."

When I was a kid, I would take refuge in sleep.

My mind reconstructs everything in dreams.

Max was probably eavesdropping.

And then, one day, he snapped.

He came in while I was sleeping and strangled her.

It took but a minute. Later, he thought about the money and he came back.

But if Olga had said anything, he would have heard since he was in the waiting room.

Perhaps he came in afterwards?

Yes, that's possible. What can I say?

Only where are the 7 million francs.

Excuse me?

I swear, this time I'm not going to fall asleep.

You have the money. Olga told me.

You know Olga?

Olga told me that you became partners and you helped her steal the money.

What? That's bullshit! Really?

You killed her to keep it all to yourself.

Whom do you think you're fooling, Michel?

Would you tell the police or a judge that the murder was committed in your office,

while you were sleeping, and that you failed to notice anything?

Then try to explain to them that you hid the body in the cemetery. We'll see if you're acquitted.

But you, too, have fallen asleep. You didn't even realize I left.

Don't push me.

I'm warning you.

Tell me, where is the money? But I don't know anything, damn it!

I needed that money.

I'm wanted by the law.

But it's me who's supposed to have killed Olga.

It has nothing to do with Olga.

I don't think you're responsible for her death.

It was Max Kubler who killed her.

Indeed, she made a copy of your key so that he could listen in...

The rest must have been happened more or less the way you described it...

They were the most neurotic couple I had ever seen.

A fascinating case.

It's pathetic. Pathetic.

That's what it is. He's only good at terrorizing his flunkies and cheating bankers...

... and on taxes...

I have seen him cry. He was crawling at my feet.

I had to hit him, you hear me, hit him and insult him...

just to make him lie on top of me

And he pretends to have lovers. I wonder what would he do with them!

I'll show you what he does to women.

Look.

That's love, huh?

I love.

The next morning, Max was in my office.

He told me: "I've tried everything with that bitch."

"With my connections, I could have her committed."

"The problem is that I cannot live without her."

"I would be capable of scaling the hospital walls to be with her."

It's him that should have been treated. But what does Max Kubler have to do with you?

Without Kubler, the Psychoanalytic Association would have ceased to exist.

When I first met him, I was on the brink of bancruptcy.

Max Kubler offered to invest. I thought it was a miracle.

Don't try to find out any more.

And Olga? She came here...

She was in therapy with you? Yes.

Olga was capable of anything just to exasperate Max, push him over the edge.

That's the only reason she was here. He sent her in order to be humiliated in front of me.

That gave him a reason to hit her.

Finally, he agreed that I refer Olga to someone else.

You got rid of her by planting her on my couch? Michel...

You didn't send her away, either. You, too, fell into the trap.

You even perjured yourself for her.

You wanted to know what it was like with Olga, huh?

Perhaps.

I was...

...fascinated...

... by this experience. Or rather by Olga.

I was fascinated by this experience.

It was unorthodox.

To have both points of view: the therapist's and his patient's.

I continued seeing her.

I should have kicked her out the door.

I thought I was in control. What an illusion!

The bank alerted me to large withdrawals from the Association's account.

I went over to see Max, to negotiate before he took off.

He accused me of being her accomplice.

Perhaps it was you? Olga was dead.

You could have retrieved the money.

I didn't know what I was doing anymore.

Perhaps Max lied to you? No.

Olga did take that money.

And took her secret with her.

Our session is over.

We won't see each other again.

This time... it's for good.

If you only knew... everything that I heard in this office...

I was afraid to end my days in my chair.

So, I joined in a sort of dance of death...

with Olga.

I was no longer an analyst.

I hope you won't do the same, Michel.

You were saying that we lived in a jungle...

It is perhaps our vocation to listen to that jungle...

To allow men to feel a little less ashamed...

to belong to the humankind...

It's not necessarily an enviable position...

In the end...

the analyst is a saint...

According to Lacan, the closer we are to sainthood, the more we laugh...

Now, go, Michel.

And you?

Don't worry about me.

Rather, take care of that young woman painter...

Make her happy...

And be a worthy analyst...

If, one day, you get hold of those millions...

try to put them to good use...

Thirty-six years of certitude ruined.

My giraffe wasn't blue, but green.

... won't take place. The psychoanalytic world is in mourning

following the suicide of the famous analyst Armand Zlibovic

A committed Freudian, Dr. Zlibovic was an uncompromising advocate of the analytic cure.

The reasons for his action are unknown, but his age, solitude, and depression might have been the cause.

OK, I'm coming.

I must leave. I'll be back.

Michel, I wanted to see how you were. I'm sorry for the other night. You really scared me.

Helen, I'm sorry, no time right now. I'm off to BHV, they've got very warm quilts.

But that's why... Excuse me, police!

I was here before you. Police!

What nerve!

I'll call you, Helen.

You did it, don't deny it.

She didn't climb into the grave by herself, your doll didn't push her, so...

I didn't touch her, I'm telling you, she was the wife of the Eclipse Strangler.

Me, I've got my doll.

A plastic doll is not the same as a real dead woman.

A woman, that's cool. But a dead one, that gives you goosebumps.

It's like looking into eternity.

You're close to the mystery, the big unknown...

...the world of silence...

All, right, very well. And him: do you recognize him?

It's him. I helped him put her in the grave.

So, what happened?

Well, my friend, we found Olga Kubler.

And guess thanks to whom? That gentleman over there.

You've got balls, man!

Let's move on. Is it him? Him, I said. I helped him put her in the grave.

Confession of Dr. Zlibovic. Mailed before his suicide. That's why we were able to recover Olga Kubler's body.

He buried her at P�re Lachaise.

Are you sure it was him who wrote this? We analyzed the handwriting, a perfect match.

He got into the cemetery using the key of his former patient, some sort of necrophiliac.

It all fits.

And what's funny is that he put her body into the grave of a strangler.

We brought in a character who helped him out...

His little helper... You've got balls, man!

A punk who hangs out around the graves at night, with a blow-up doll.

Have a seat.

He identified Zlibovic at the morgue, but given the state he was in, he would have identified your grandmother.

What matters, as far as your grandmother is concerned, is that his testimony corroborates Zlibovic's confession.

Can you imagine?

At the age of 80, to fall in love with a woman like Olga?

Some extra-strength Viagra!

At first, she was his patient...

He was spellbound: an impossible love...

Do you remember who referred Olga to you? No, to be honest, I don't.

Ah, it was him, buddy. Surprised?

You got stuck with his hysteric unawares.

Only he couldn't stop seeing her. In short, one night...

overcome by a murderous passion, he strangled her...

The autopsy confirms it.

He kept her in his house for four days before burying her. Can you imagine?

What a nightmare. He went completely nuts.

He killed Max Kubler.

Do you have a proof? He killed himself with the same gun.

He was your analyst.

Yes. Also my friend.

I've always had a week spot for suicides.

Bullet in the head. That takes guts. No one does that anymore. They chicken out.

Here we go, the case practically solved.

What do you mean, practically? The cash. We've never located the money.

Maybe your grandmother would know?

Sorry, my grandmother is dead. Oh, forgive me, old man.

Say, let's have a dinner one of these days.

Perhaps you can explain why you called me several times?

Tell me, by the way, a little detail, how did you get a statement from my housekeeper?

I threatened to send her back to Cambodia.

You wouldn't do that.... Ah, that's privileged information...

Well, good bye.

Oh, I see, I'll let you out the other way. Thanks.

You've got enough nutcases.

Bye. Bye.

Take care of your balls, man.

Maurissette! Maalox! Cigarettes!

This delicate flower is evocative of meditation and recollection,

you notice, in Middle Ages, it was an homage to the jeweler's craft.

White gold with diamonds, this ring plays on air and light....

You don't like this ring? I can suggest something else. No, on the contrary, I like it a lot, it's very beautiful...

You like it? Yes, yes, I'll take it. Please gift-wrap it for me.

Of course. Do you know the ring size?

No. She has very pretty hands, an artist's hands. I don't doubt it.

Perhaps you would like some aspirin? No, thanks, I feel better already.

Check or credit card?

Anything in vermeil?

Cash.

Thank you, sir.

Berstein's. Yes...

There's a bomb in your store. It'll explode in less than a minute. 60 sec.

You have reached Helen and Bill Clinton. Bill stepped out to buy cigars,

and I'm at the dry-cleaner's. Please be so kind as to leave a message.

Don't forget the phone's been tapped.

Hello, Helen, this is Michel.

I wanted to tell you that I broke up with my pillow, and the quilt was awful.

Helen, life is boring without you.

Listen, I'll be at the Debilly bridge at midnight.

Helen, I know you can hear me, I know you're there.

If you don't come, I'll jump into the Seine.

What are you doing?

Don't let me interrupt.

Can you see me?

What, now? No, sorry, I'm booked. Now.

You must.

I didn't take a good look the other night.

So, the patient here...

... and you there, in the chair. That's it.

So, I'm going to lie down.

Let's start with a chair.

The chair...

Since we met, I've been unable to think about anything else.

I'm motivated, you can't imagine.

I realize that in therapy...

one doesn't just stretch out on the couch.

It's something...

... that occupies your mind.

Even when you're asleep...

or drinking.

You stop looking at others the same way.

If you want my opinion: psychoanalysis... is everywhere.

And the analyst...

well, him...

he is nowhere.

Except in his chair.

Perhaps you mind taking me on as your patient?

I could sense it the other day. It's about the payment.

Well, I'm going to put you at ease.

Paying with little favors, that's fiction.

Everyone pays. Especially when it's free.

If you offered me free sessions, they wouldn't be mine. I wouldn't feel free to say what comes to my mind.

I prefer to pay.

7 mil, will that do?

It's Olga who asked me to look after it.

Olga?

Yes, I've been trying to talk to you about her for some time.

I spend quite a lot of time in the neighborhood and, one day...

she just came up to me.

Me... and women

I'm a bit awkward, but...

it didn't bother her.

I'm not saying we became buddies, but...

more or less...

A chic girl, loaded, but...

she had to steal...

It was in her blood.

I've seen pros.

They're amateurs in comparison.

She would give me plenty of things.

Once... she gave me women's stockings.

She loved them. Stockings.

And what am I supposed to do with them?

So, I threw them into the fire.

I miss her.

It's funny that you don't ask me about sex.

She...

She told me that that's what psychoanalysis is about.

One day, I went over to her place in the 16th arrondissement.

We have a glass, and she starts telling me what she does with her husband.

That he beats her.

Incredible things.

She had bruises to show for it.

I haven't seen too many naked women in my life, but her...

holy Jesus...

God almighty....

The devil himself.

I am sure he killed her.

But, not so fast, I'm not saying he did it on purpose.

He might have squeezed a bit too hard, and ...

A careless act in the heat of lovemaking, if you will...

It's very likely. I was able to realize this because having shown me her body...

She wanted me to act like him.

"Hit me, violently," she said.

"Squeeze my throat, hard."

To make her happy, I squeezed... A little.

She went crazy, her eyes blank,

writhed in all directions, screaming:

"Go on, don't stop!"

But I couldn't.

I was too scared.

She wasn't happy.

She got dressed.

In her opinion, I had sexual problems.

She thought you might be able to help me, since that's what you do.

You really were unable to strangle her?

I really wanted to, but couldn't.

After that, we never tried again. I swear.

I am convinced...

that she liked me despite my sexual problems.

She would always repeat that I must seek help.

I must fulfill her last wish.

There's a million missing.

I burned some...

It's better to spend the rest on therapy, before I set fire to it...

This should cover the sessions...

With seven millions

I should get quite a few?

What do you say?

Deal?

Am I suitable for the couch?

Yes, you're suitable for the couch.

But I don't accept money in advance.

You'll have to manage to pay after each session.

Go on. Take all that.

No, if I keep it I will burn it.

It's up to you to decide if you really want to undergo analysis.

I do.

You know, psychoanalysis takes time.

I was afraid that you'd be gone. And I that you wouldn't come.

See, we were both afraid.

I was ready to wait for you until the year 2000.

Here. This is for you.

Go ahead, open it.

Allow me.

You have an artist's hands.

Kiss me. Wait.

Your hand.

What is this?

The key of the enigma.

Throw it away. Far.

Are you sure?