All language subtitles for Le.bel.age.1960.TVRip.x264.AC3

You don't like hunting, do you?

Not really, but it's good
to lose weight.

In winter, my belly turns
into a big tire.

- This won't let you be a hit?
- Not at all, I seduce with my soul.

- And it's only a tiny tire.
- You're lucky if you know how to seduce.

How many drivers understand how a motor
works? The cars are still running.

- Girls are not exactly mechanical.
- I didn't say that.

But I'm amazed by the amount of illusions
we have, the number of stories we invent.

But you're not unhappy in love.

Don't judge too fast.
It requires virtue and work.

That's true! Tell me, how did
it start between Alexandra and you?

- Don't unnecessarily insult your eldest!
- Don't be modest.

I want to know!

And it will lead us to the action.

Look!

I think love and doubt
are bound to one another.

I never experienced it so greatly

as last year, when I was working,
if I may say so,

with our friend Boris.

I never understood why,
but it was a fact.

Women liked me.

Every morning, may the weather
be good or bad,

I would always go out for a walk.

I was walking along the quay like a
fisherman going upriver with his net.

At the end of my walk, I'd almost
always have caught a fish in my net.

It was just a matter of technique,
my morning exercise.

But I was wise enough
not to become arrogant.

At the age of 38,
tennis, some excesses

and the habit of being
consumed with passion,

had handed a decent
appearance down to me.

I never thought it was merit, but luck.

But that was the work of the amateur.
There was also a professional side of it.

My life suited me.

A life for those who don't like glory

and always prefer the coincidences
brought by fate.

Boris' store was closer to a women's club
than to a business.

A small elite of customers would
buy furniture, books and records,

in the muted ambiance of art critic.

Boris' nonchalance,
barely working two hours a week,

and the presence of accountant
as laborious and invisible as an ant,

had turned the place into a paradise
for me and the two accomplices of mine.

Jean-Claude, struggling to hide
under his seeming arrogance

a true kindness and taste for pleasure.

And Steph, whom ten renowned writers
- his best friends -

considered as the best of them all.

But instead of writing his work,
he had decided to live it.

He was our model.
The adult specimen of a type of man

that Jean-Claude and me
were previous stages of.

In life, one thing
interested us above all.

Ladies.

But miserable passion, tragic jealousy,

or need of property
that people often confuse with love,

we didn't want that.

Miracle or luck,

we managed to establish
with our visitors

a type of relationship
that doesn't exist in books.

No tragedy, no consequence.

Just like relationships are
between cousins, or uncle with nieces.

There was, amongst us,
no competition and no rivalry.

Not even that challenging emulation
one discovers in college or in the army

every time lone souls are gathered.

Just like wine
in Champagne or Bourgogne,

there are in Paris,
good years for girls.

When a wine of fine variety and year
would come to our place,

we had already renounced these ridiculous
battles males of every species get into.

We had invented
a little optical telegraph.

It would let us know which one of us
had more chance to succeed.

The shop had been built by
a master in strategy.

A succession of cards, deeper and deeper,
and only one section per floor.

But no-one was assigned
to a specific section.

The chosen one was leading
the captivated visitor.

This scientific method had brought us
only pleasure and success.

In three years of practice,
we had only encountered one real failure.

We called her Ursula,
the inaccessible beauty.

We didn't understand, at that time,
she was one of our feminine colleagues.

No love philter, no secret charm.

Masculine vanity put aside,
we were laboratory men.

We were Claude-Bernards,

for a question absurdly overlooked
by the faculty of medicine.

Jean-Claude had his appearance for himself.
He just had to make himself visible.

As soon as he was seen,
most of the job was done already.

But when kids of his age
would be satisfied to be handsome

he was as inventive as a captain.

He was loved for his soul.

I had for myself the infinite lassitude
of my generation.

A mixture of cynicism, knowledge of
cooking, wine, girls...

and a substantial erudition of
the literature of the second section.

That worked wonders on the puritanism
of the following generations.

Steph was such an obvious genius,
it was discouraging.

Since Man is the only
animal able to speak,

he created an infallible
method of seduction.

He made up a number

about the links in Paul Klee and
Bela Bartok dis-symmetrical compositions.

It could have given him
a huge artistic prestige

but he decided it should be
a tactical love exercise.

Experienced explorer of the world map of
tenderness he chose to overvalue it.

One would admire his intelligence and
vocabulary then fall in love. It was easy.

Fran�oise was his latest experience.

His latest triumph.

Thus our life was going by.
This was probably happiness.

But happiness is fragile.

One morning,
our charming boss came to me.

He looked like a messenger
bringing bad news in a tragedy.

There was an obvious embarrassment.

He looked like he was
trying to carry a mountain.

All these precautions just to announce me
our accountant was leaving us.

For a week, we had to
take care of the shop ourselves.

I couldn't find
anything dramatic at first.

Then I thought about it.

I started to evaluate the consequences.

We had to actually start working.

The human race is divided in two kinds.
Working, successful men.

And pleasure seekers.

We were not working men.

Our paradise island had turned
into a branch of hell.

A labor camp, a galley.

Everything started at the end
of this painful week.

But we didn't realize right away.

In the morning of historic days, the little
people don't make history but live it.

They unworriedly go about their business.

As the sun rises on Waterloo, The Gronards
are peacefully playing Manille.

- Miss.
- I'm the new accountant.

Mr Boris asked me to come.

We were opium addicts in withdrawal.

Knocking over our ritual, we raced,
all at once, to her.

I had more self-control.
I scored the first point.

Thus, Alexandra,

young Canadian freshly arriving
from her native forest,

stepped in our life.

A sensible mind would have understood what
was going to happen as soon as he saw her.

We were wise and well-balanced,
but we were not gifted with double sight.

For three years we had lived in happiness,
rigorously following our principles.

In a matter of hours,
everything was reconsidered.

In spite of ourselves, we started,
around Alexandra,

a ballet as ridiculous as the
courtship display of flying whales.

As soon as one of us
had found a pretext,

a professional reason to
separate her from the group,

another one would come up with
another legitimate reason to abduct her.

Alexandra was a nuclear weapon
against our scientific happiness.

The green-eyed monster of jealousy
had entered our shop with her.

We stopped being brothers
and started being competitors.

Each one of us wanted her for himself.

What?

Not for you.

Pretentious!

We had laughed so hard among us
about the concept of property.

What a wasted effort. We too were,
caught with passion.

Steph made up his mind first.

His error was to treat Alexandra
just like any other girl.

As an excuse, he indeed had
a long streak of wins behind him.

He just made his usual tricks
one more time.

Just like a crooner, every night,

fascinating his audience with the very
same tune he sang the day before.

He roughly learned, at his expense,

that love is neither a show
nor a science.

When he had to invent,
he went for his routine.

In theater terms,

the result Steph got is named a flop!

We were so used to picture Steph
as the Marshall of Seduction,

the living embodiment of
Vittorio de Sica,

that we were surprised
by his failure.

Actually it meant the battle
was now circumscribed

between Jean-Claude and me.

I didn't think Jean-Claude was
an opponent worthy of me.

Sandra...

What are you doing on Saturday evening?

Pretty skilfully, I pretended to
clear Jean-Claude's way.

He had youth and audacity going for him,

I had skills.

There were no doubts about the result.

It's indeed with me that Sandra
accepted to go to Deauville.

It was the first Sunday of that Spring.

The campaign started
under favorable auspices.

I began to polish my weapons
for the final battle.

My program was simple.

Picnic on the beach, with my renowned
recipe based on Champagne and caviar.

Then sunbathing.

Swimming in case of hot weather. Then
trip back to Paris, diner and nightclub.

The rest would, of course,
only depend on me.

Borrowed my uncle Marcel's car
because of the circumstances.

Was the little extra touch
showing the work of a true artist.

But even the greatest virtuosos
experience failure.

Usually, I drive fast and smoothly.

Maybe I wanted to be
too good that morning.

During a difficult turn to park the car

I came close to a young man
fixing his motorbike.

My iron contempt was opposing
his deluge of words.

The sight of Alexandra
probably revived his inspiration.

I was hit in the heart by some kind of
punch. A little murdering sentence.

You're too old for this kind of thing!

Even before I could react,
Alexandra was here.

"Too old"? Ridiculous...

If he had burst out laughing,
I'd have forgotten everything.

But excessive thoughtfulness
and too much kindness

suddenly made the impression the iron
curtain fell between our generations.

There was only was one thing
I could think about.

What if I really was too old
for this kind of pleasure?

I couldn't wish for more
favorable circumstances.

Everything was reunited.

Still, I was missing
the most important.

Conviction.

I was in the grip of
horrible obsessions.

We didn't exchange
more than 3 sentences.

But I made the 210 kilometers in 1h45min.

At least, there was
no mechanical failures.

I didn't change anything
in the plan I had made.

Like for a military operation
precisely timed,

as soon as we got off the car,

we were caught in the classic spiral
of a wonderful Sunday at the beach.

While setting this trip to
the countryside up, I had an idea.

Accepting to come with me,

Alexandra seemingly had one too.

She couldn't understand anything.

I was prisoner of my obsession. This
sentence wouldn't go out of my head.

"Too old..."

I was seducing her,
in a childish and naive way,

that should have filled me with joy.

She was staging the classic
little ritual of feminine seduction.

It went on all day long.

I was to blame, of course.

When she came close to me,
I didn't know what to say.

So I couldn't blame her

for playing with friends
the same age as her.

We went home early,
in theory to avoid traffic jam.

In reality, to end a torment
I was bearing with affliction.

A delicious consenting girl

for a whole day only waited
for a little gesture from me.

All the pleasure of the Earth
close to my hand.

I really wanted to answer her call.

Still, a strange paralysis held me back.

In spite of her, in spite of me.

How sad! A girl I liked and
who undoubtedly liked me.

And the outcome is this failure.

One is supposed to drowns his sorrow..

What do you do then when you have
no sorrow and no reason to have some,

but, still, pointless bitterness and
regrets seize your soul?

I was not having joyful thoughts.

In principle, I'm against
lonesome drunkenness.

But it was not a day
to respect principles.

I knew one is never really fresh
when waking up with a hangover.

But to this extend...

I could only assess the damages.

That ridiculous little punk was right.

The time had come for my retirement.

Naturally, I fell ill.

Not really ill,
only struck by obviousness.

I only loved one thing in my life.

Girls.

I had to accept calamity.

It was now over.

Three weeks later I was resigned.

Even after the death of Hamlet,
life went on

and we heard Fortinbras' bells ring.

It was a different life, that's all.

On the doorstep,
Boris was waiting for me.

In his hand there was the most unusual
accessory he could bring: flowers.

He laughed at my surprise.

Actually he was giving me a surprise,
and a big one.

During my absence,
Alexandra got engaged.

"Youth should go to the youth", he said.

She had had enough of us old people.

That son of a bitch of Jean-Claude!

No respect for the human kind!

I didn't feel like fighting.

I stepped forward to look
in the eyes of the unavoidable.

Well, well!

Actually, Steph had won the race
during my absence.

He was receiving the winner's bouquet.

The triumph of the youth of his heart,
the only true one, was amusing Boris.

Then the idea came to my mind
that I may have been totally wrong.

If, at his age, Steph could still
achieve such a brilliant victory,

all my morose thoughts
were just a silly joke.

I was thinking my future
with Alexandra was compromised.

But the outcome of our destiny
is unpredictable.

I had lost a battle, maybe not the war.

And I learned all of a sudden
of the the boundary is

between melancholy,
indulgence and illusion.

- Miss.
- Excuse me.

I don't want to bother you.

I'm hear to apply for
the accountant job offer.

It's here, but...

Let's not disturb the party.
Please come with me.

I'll explain everything.

So what?

Well Steph has been happy.

- Haven't you been?
- Of course I have.

- What about Alexandra?
- She stayed with Steph for some time.

I see, as engaged as in Cin�monde.

When Steph went for his world tour
she became part of the family.

The family?

It was summer, she was alone. Boris took
her to Saint-Tropez to stay with us.

Philosophizing instead of hunting?
May I join you, Sir?

Great menu. Phenomenology
of seduction as a starter.

Illusion of passion as main course.

Well, well!

We were starting dessert.
"What is love?"

Most of the time, somebody who has never
heard the word "jealousy" can't know.

He never had to learn.

- A map is not a territory.
- A new logic of passion!

He had it all figured out!

It was precisely the hidden motive
of Claude and Fran�oise's story.

The boundary between
play and sincerity is indistinct.

Fran�oise was the living proof

that men should never
pretend to understand women.

The way a girl uses
her feminine arsenal

is always somehow fascinating.

Fran�oise would confront the obstacles in
her life like a knight going to a battle.

She would inspect her coat of mail,
her shield, her sword and her charger.

- Bernard, where is the luggage?
- Mr Claude will bring it, Miss.

It's possible

that a secret weakness is hiding behind
the armour of certainty their beauty is.

But I have never witnessed that.

Thus, when Fran�oise
decided to go on holidays,

it was no pleasure cruise because an iron
soul was living within her fragile shell.

Be careful with the crocodile suitcase.
Mom gave it to me.

Out of delight, or tactic maybe,

Claude had decided to
go the submissive way.

Are we ready?

Hurry up with the moving farewell.

I hate station platforms.

So it's a no.

Of course it is.

Why would I change my mind?

- Do you realize what you're doing to me?
- I'm not doing anything.

You had illusions, I can't help it.

Fran�oise...

Fran�oise, our story
can't end up like this.

Boys can be capricious.

Why can't I?

- But Fran�oise, I...
- Enough!

Your sentiments are annoying.

This passion is tiresome.

And so are you.

You can't know.

I bet too much on our story.

- I won't bear it.
- Only words!

One doesn't die easily.

Make inquiries, broken hearts
are things of the past.

- What will become of me?
- You lack imagination.

I'll tell you,
what you are going to do.

In one minute and a half
I will be gone.

And in three minutes,

you will be a romantic, desperate walker,
meandering under the trees.

In five minutes, your great heartache will
arrive on the corner of Rue de la Pompe.

There is a caf� there.

From where you took the horrible habit
to call me every night, after leaving me.

You will come in, and in six minutes
you will be having a drink with...

sadness and bitterness.

In seven minutes, you will mechanically
play a slot machine.

And in ten minutes

you will decide to go on holidays,
like everyone else.

So let's start being simple at once.

Bye, and happy holidays.

Claude supposedly had
everything going for him.

Handsome, romantic, smart
and a successful career.

But, strangely, he was
miserable with girls.

We knew about twenty girls that would have
surrendered themselves for a guy like him.

But he needed dramatic exaltation.

A glass of white whine please.

Here you are, Sir.

Another one!

You seem overjoyed all of a sudden.

I'm going on holidays!

Heartache is a delicate plant.

The gardener never knows if
he should kill it or grow it.

Claude probably thought the climate in
Saint-Tropez in summer would kill him.

His encounter with Boris
gave him his lifebelt.

Indeed, it was out of the question
not to stay at Boris'.

He let himself be dragged
with docility and a bit of surprise.

He considered Boris and his clan
as his own family.

An old group of friends that
have known each other forever

and that a newcomer
could hardly understand.

Four or five boys, about ten girls,

of whom it was impossible
to understand the relationship.

Boris didn't host him in the villa.

He took him sitting apart
in a remote bungalow.

A bit disappointed but without
a suspicion of mischief for Boris,

he stayed in quarantine
but did not regret it.

Claude opened his eyes on a practical
application of happiness

that seemed a bit strange
from his angle.

They were living a quiet life.

Alexandra, for example,

after Steph had left,
she had met with Jacques again

without ulterior motive or sentiment,

in an indistinct area
between love and friendship.

Cute!

So early in the morning?!

Here, have a taste.

Where did they go?

Swimming. It's the time.

Ping-pong?

I haven't played in ten years!

People always say that. I bet you will
crush me after a few balls.

Oh shit!

Not bad for a tormented soul!

Tell me, it seems it didn't
turn out well with your Fran�oise.

Don't be so emotive.

Let's play a match,
I will focus better.

Since you like suffering...

I'll give you what you deserve.

1-0.

I think you go the wrong way with girls.

2-0.

What a joke! What about
you and Alexandra?

I didn't want her.

Take this.

3-0.

The thing is we don't want
to cry all day long.

4-0.

Are we playing or chatting?
I can't play like this!

Oh, okay! Let me crush you.
Then we will talk.

5-0. You serve.

We came to the point where

everything I was saying
turned against me.

I don't understand why it took you so long
to realize you were on the wrong track.

Yes, I know...

Passion!

May the one who has never sinned
throw you the first stone.

But, Claude!

These girls from the 16th arrondissement
never jeopardize their comfort.

Easy to say afterward.

What I love in coffee
precisely is its caffeine.

I'm not interested in
unrisky love stories.

You know, I need some kind of gravity.

Your libertinism makes me laugh!

You don't get it.
Nobody is somebody's everything.

This is only agonizing column talk.

What we are looking for...

is simplicity.

Not to be bound by senseless words.

I know your logic. A map is not
a territory. But aren't these words too?

Not exactly. Not the same.

Childishness, here is what it is.

Don't remain a child
or you will not enter God's kingdom.

You dirty Protestant!

You'll see.

Claude felt like he was
a space traveler exploring a new planet.

Because it is very uncommon

to encounter people enjoying the pleasure
of the flesh without the need of revenge.

At first, he didn't understand a thing of
this fraternal community he was observing.

He was as surprised as

Captain Cook discovering the wild and
savage life in the Fortunate Islands.

No lies and no jealousy!

A nice dream for uncles and
nieces enjoying perpetual holidays.

No drama, what a strange family...

- You want me to believe this?
- Only childishness, as usual.

I wish I had nieces in Paris.

- With their claws ready to attack you.
- They are as you want them to be.

Here, look!

The difference?

They eat out of my hand.

Just like Mausolus' wife,
I remain faithful and mournful.

You know I don't like Apollinaire.

Come on, shake it!
What are you waiting for?

Here, look.

Charming.

Not only have you been
a pain for eight days,

telling the never-ending stories
of your broken heart,

but you also don't want
to take any medicine!

If you don't make up your mind
I'll be angry!

Don't have a long face,
it's not that serious. It's very easy!

You are a Capricorn.

She is an Aries.

Come on, go!

Maybe Claude thought at first

that his dream
was too good to be true.

The first consultation
had not been successful.

The patient was obviously
disgusted by the medicine.

He would not admit
that he could be treated.

Chasing a girl is not
a matter of ideology.

Claude has a natural tendency to

cast doubt on the functioning of
the universe, as often as he could.

I don't understand how people can
still be interested in astrology.

Such sabotage could
only be intentional.

Claude was persisting in his failure.

He even went beyond his reputation
and missed his opportunity.

A delight.

Maurice and Jacques
did not give up and

tried to wake up Claude
from his hibernation.

They thought a demonstration
would be a good propaganda.

They were living uneventfully.

Claude was a man of principles.

He realized he could
change his principles

like he changed the engine of his car.

Moral conventions change
with the circumstances.

The metric system is neither more nor
less moral than old measuring systems.

But it is more convenient.

Claude discovered unexpected appeals
to work as a surveyor.

After a few days of this idyllic life,

Claude put aside his beloved morose
delight and he seemed to be cured.

Hello!

Barbara was an excellent medicine.

Claude was not surprised by what
would have shocked him two weeks before.

It was the paradoxical
transformation of a game partner

into a sophisticated
but friendly little animal.

Hello!

He had complacently suffered from girls,
continuously irritating his pain.

It was over now.

He had accepted happiness.

We would only see him downtown early
in the morning. Claude loved the dawn.

It was the moment of the day he felt the
most his new condition of a happy man.

But one morning

his brand new happiness was
put to the test, as fate would have it.

At school, a new student entertains the
pupils at the back of the classroom.

This is not maliciousness.

The reasons that made Anne come
to this place for her holidays

were rather obscure.
She knew nobody there.

And she did not look like
a regular summer vacationer.

This is precisely
what attracted Claude.

By the way, where are you going?

I don't really know.

Let's have a seat.

Excuse me.

What would you like?

- A tea.
- A tea!

I thought it was stupid
I never came here.

Now I wonder what I'm doing here.

I am the man you need.

First, I will accommodate you.

Then I will take you
to visit Saint-Tropez.

She had arrived
5 minutes earlier but yet,

he felt like he had met up
with an old friend.

Oddly enough, she felt that too.

Claude had changed, of course.

But one doesn't easily change his habits
when they satisfy his anxiety.

He didn't think that if a girl goes
to a date, it's because she wants to go.

He took her to the city
as he would take her to a test.

He loved that she was visiting the city
as one would visit a zoo.

Incidentally, he learned
everything about her.

Anne had a vocation for seriousness.

She was managing an arts periodical
very famous with 500 persons.

She was often writing in newspaper
columns that specialists adored.

Her life was her job.

She was laughing without contempt

at the fate of this little harbor
that had become the place to be.

Don't be impressed.

I showed you the Paris-Match side of it.
Everything is like like this.

You told me earlier
only your job matters to you.

I don't know many journalists.

But I never thought
they were like this.

You are focused on romantic press.

You think so?

Precisely when Claude recovered
a liking for constructive talks,

falling back to his old and bad ways,

fate winked at him.

But he could not see it.

The passage of Ursala, however,
should have helped him understand that

in love, today's hunters
are tomorrow's games.

Naturally, he started
seeing Anne everyday.

Every day a bit longer
than the previous day.

Instead of being natural,
he was looking for a tactic.

He wanted to seduce her.

Come on, let's have a drink.

- Charming.
- Yes.

- Do you think?
- Don't be an idiot again.

- Why do you say so?
- Shut up. You know what I mean.

- Don't you agree with me?
- I agree with trivia, not drama.

- No drama in sight.
- That's what they say!

And as soon as it's possible,
all set for romance!

Don't worry.

We're watching you, you know.

No words. Acts!

It sounds like an advice to
a newlywed bride.

Yes, I can't give the horse its head!

I am an adult.

No way!

Let me tell you what to do.

Invite her to a diner.

Pick her up.

But instead of taking her to
a restaurant, you bring her here.

I will organize a nice supper.

In the pocket!

Here.

The keys of Joe's car.

It will be nice with the landscape.

Yeah...

The engine is a Julietta's
but it's been tweaked by Conrero.

- 8.000 rpm instead of 6.000.
- I can't drive.

Where are the others?

I don't know who you think I am.

But now I can see who you are.

One has many things to say

but all of a sudden feels
he came at the wrong time.

I was expecting a lot
from this evening.

One should be blind not to notice.

- But... I have the right to know.
- You have no right at all.

Since you're insisting,
I'll let you know.

From the day I met you, I felt
closer and closer to you every day.

It was a mistake.

Believe me, Claude.

You didn't need a tricky diner
to bring me here yesterday.

And have me stay.

But then...

No, Claude. It's definitive.

But why?

Everything was against you tonight.

You kept talking about your cars,

your relationships,
your drinks, you lovers...

Things I don't care about.

You're mistaken. I need gravity too.

- It doesn't seem so.
- It was a game. A folly.

I'm the contrary of what you think.

I thought I needed to seduce you.

Distract you, I don't know.

They always say so.

I'll talk to you brutally, Claude.

I saw you with your friend Jacques.

You looked like two hustlers
trying to buy a horse.

Your words won't change this fact.

Let's stop talking.

Take me back to my hotel.

And don't drive so fast, I'm not
impressed by this kind of performance.

He decided to leave.

The new thing was that Claude
found no delight in this failure.

It was only the pursuit of success
that stimulated him.

These familiar rendez-vous were lacking
the main guest: lenient melancholy.

He did not have any way to find,
as he used to, delight in his pain.

His successive failures
were mocking him,

tainting with a bitter futility
the memories of his past pleasures.

Still the same.

His happiness was a gift,
he was definitely not gifted.

Or not yet, maybe.

The problem with Claude
was his naive belief

in the existence of
one universal method.

- I'm not an intellectual.
- Don't foolishly insult your comrades.

Anyway! True seducers, and I know some,

need to be sure of their success
before they start chasing.

Okay, but what Claude enjoys is the risk.

Understandable,
one needs to feel safe first.

Life itself gets rid of
useless problems.

- Hey, Jacques. We should go.
- So soon?

You're leaving?

- Family problems.
- Here?

Why not? Is there
a special place for that?

When I say "family",
I know what I mean.

Oh, I won't say a word then.

If he knew, he would never
forgive us for hearing this.

Listening to men talking about women
is always a pure delight.

In fact, they are all short-sighted.

They have eyes, but they can't see.

But feminine intuition,

you know, this little special soul?

- Does it exist?
- Of course, there is a feminine mystery.

But it's not like the one
men invented for their own good.

But better remain silent.

I often wondered

about what makes people
an unsolvable mystery.

The thickest mask

covers another mask,
even more indecipherable,

a face.

Last winter, we decided to spend a nice
girl-only moment in the mountain.

In another century,
we would have said "go on a retreat".

I usually don't live without an armour.

The more men talk about my mind, the more
careful I am about my appearance.

I don't enjoy athletic performances.

I was spending most of my time
preparing my return.

Trying hard to have my regiment
walk in marching order.

Carla had just joined our group.

She had remained the most
conventionally feminine of us all.

How strange that the Greeks
pictured Narcissus as a man.

To go on with mythology,
if I were to be Juno,

Carla was Aphrodite.

Ursula, without a doubt, was Minerva.

She was living in wisdom.

Intelligence was ruling her life
up to the slightest details.

She was not eating,
she was feeding her body, rationally.

She was even challenging the discovery
of an Helvetian nutritionist

the Bircher m�esli.

Tireless, always in motion,
but hiding, maybe,

a mysterious soul
behind her physical strength,

our Alexandra was completing this
small Olympus with the figure of Diana,

the huntress.

Mail, children!

We used to get
as much mail as a Minister.

Boys like to write.

Our boys were intellectuals,
to say the least!

Just like buying several lottery tickets,

they would write to
each one of us, randomly.

Jacques and Hubert wanted to entertain us
but Claude wanted to move us.

Their manuscripts were kilometers long.

This epistolary comedy amused me.

I was waiting for my friend Roger,
a writer. My hobby of the moment.

The sentimental excesses of this poor
Claude, erased from my life last summer,

were not even teasing me.

"The 4th of every month
is my private birthday."

"I'm having a medieval literature lesson."

Poor Claude.

He doesn't know how
I hate courteous love.

I do want to have a soul.
But not a soul only.

I'm sure he's not like that.

So Claude's tactic was not that bad.

At least one of his arrows
had hit its target.

But none of us, then, wanted to
pay particular attention.

This old Jacques is in Gabon!

Jacques wrote to me too.
He will be here tomorrow.

In a girl's mailbox,
only one letter really interests her.

She barely reads the other ones.

A coincidence opened their eyes.

They realized that Claude, Jacques
and Hubert were actually coming.

They would be here the following day.

I jumped at the chance and
went to wait for Roger at the hotel.

I didn't want to welcome him
as a fellow citizen of our community.

What is it? Are you leaving?

- I'm going to the hotel.
- Are you kidding? Why?

Do you think I want Claude to look at me
with his deep and aching eyes?

You love it, usually.
A bashful lover at home.

You're hiding something.

Once your find room for all your friends
in here, it will become a dirty corrida.

You don't seem to
understand the situation.

You will poke each other's eyes.

You're right.

If we were reasonable,

or if we were men,

we would share.

Beforehand.

My word!

You're not just a pretty face!

This is a great idea.

When women look serious,
they are sometimes actually joking.

Or you can sometimes detect
seriousness in their jokes.

This is one aspect of the mystery.

I don't know what's got into me.

I felt like taking Ursula's word for it

and actually plan
the sharing she suggested.

I established myself as play-maker,
despite myself,

and almost started the auctions.

At first, it was kind of a board game.

But I was surprised to see
parts of reality stepped in.

I assigned a boy to each girl,
according to my intuition.

Then I chose a simple tactic
for her to chase him.

I gave Claude to Ursula
and Jacques to Alexandra.

My mistake was not to understand that
Carla's shyness would trick me.

I neglected her soft spot for Claude.

And so I went to the H�tel Du Pays.

Firstly, to avoid Claude.

But also because I thought
I was better than them.

As a rule of the game, I had decided
that each girl, one after the other,

should begin by discouraging,
with the method of their choice,

the two boys who were not for them.

Thus, the last one would have
the feeling that he chose his partner.

Naively, I felt we had overcome
the greatest of the feminine curse.

Our habit to lie to each other
because of men.

And these dear little angels
threw themselves into our arms.

Hubert and Jacques showed up first.

Claude, as secretive as he used to be,
hadn't told the others he was coming.

At another time, Hubert and Jacques would
have laughed to catch him red-handed.

They were generous this time.

Because they were cheerful,
the innocents.

Here is our love nest!

Hey, Hubert, you old slacker!
Are you coming?

- I have to go.
- So soon?

It's life...

Ursula was playing along too.

By welcoming Jacques to her room, she
had found the easiest way to startle him.

Jacques is the kind of man who hates
authoritarian and skilful women.

They are on the lookout for
anything that may betray themselves.

In front or Ursula, Jacques was
as cautious as a fox.

If you don't make hospital corners,
there will be creases.

You will probably not make
your bed again before eight days.

Your jackets, you must
put them on hangers.

Go get some next-door.

Maybe it's giving small things
too much significance.

But Tristan himself would be irritated
if Iseult was such a good housekeeper.

But God knows nobody thought
Jacques could be the new Tristan.

- Hurry up, Hubert!
- Yes, I'm coming, I'm coming...

Alexandra did not have the will
nor, probably, the ability

for a psychological fight.

To be greater in number,
at the right time,

at the right place,
such was her secret strategy.

Hubert was burly, for sure.

But she made short work of him.

A townie who's put on skis only
a few minutes after his arrival,

is like a boxer caught unprepared.

It was a massacre.

I could see it coming.

Angelo, a Viennese hot chocolate.
I'll have some cake too.

You are a bunch of lions! Kisses.

You are not afraid of anything.

The mountainous air
can settle everything!

You eliminate more than in the city.

- Because of the oxygen, you know.
- Do you think so?

Indulge yourself!

I heard you're moving here.

Did the two of you fight?

No, not at all.

We're making this terrific trick.

Let me tell you.

I like Virginie.

But she's not my best friend.

In Paris, I'd probably not
have told her a single word.

Confidence obeys mysterious laws.

Circumstances and chance
play a crucial part.

I was in holidays,
I had no reason to be on the lookout.

I told her everything.

The principle is very simple.

We do what boys would
have done in our situation.

It's not that simple.

But it's funny.

Deep down, if I were mean,

I may scuttle all your plans.

And your poor guys...

I would make them mine.

One after the other.

Yes.

But you are not mean.

The first encounter between Virginie and
our prot�g�es did not draw my attention.

Straight away, I started to
question coincidences.

The idea started sprouting in my mind
that my dear Virginie

may have made, in her pretty head,
her very own plans.

I met you somewhere already.

Quai de Bercy!

- I know you too. You're an uncle.
- The most beautiful.

- That's one opinion.
- Let's discuss it with a drink.

Why not, let's give it a try.

I don't believe in slyness.

But this...

With three clues, Sherlock Holmes
can find the culprit.

With this third try,

Virginie went from suspect to criminal.

There was no doubt about her intentions.

She was an external threat to our tribe.

Also, Carla's discipline looked doubtful.

It's was time for me
to leave my ivory tower.

Can I prepare you something?

Tea? Hot chocolate?

Some whiskey?

No, thanks.

We have a great recording of??????

No, but this Brahms is tempting me.

Now I realize how absurd
our behaviour was.

We were not children.
But I thought I was very strong.

But I was so annoyed by the irruption
of Virginie in our familial game,

and by Carla's attitude,

that I was as angry as a schoolgirl
disturbed while she is playing.

I decided to put everything
in order in the chalet.

Oh, a conspirator!

Don't joke around with these things.

We need to have a serious talk.
I just saw Virginie at the hotel.

I think she declared war on us.

Feminine intuition? Tell me.

What's wrong, Carla?

I'm glad you came, Sandra.

I wanted to talk to you but...
I didn't dare.

But we're friends!

Come on, tell your dear uncle.
Is it Claude?

Yes.

It's Claude.

- What are you doing here?
- And you? Stealing our boys?

No. Answer me.

I was with Carla. She's not well.

- What is it? Is she betraying us?
- Don't joke, she is unhappy.

It's all the same. Tell me.

Can you hear that?

Is it them or Claude?

A flurry of elephants!

- Go get Carla, and come to Ursula.
- Okay.

- I was wondering...
- Are you questioning my virtue? - No!

This partition is
as thin as cigarette paper.

- Say! The feminine mystery seems
to be in action. - Yes, it's strange.

- Okay, bye.
- Will you check?

Sadly, no. I'd get myself noticed.

- No trouble the first day.
- Have a good end of night.

Bye.

Jacques was the only one
to suspect something.

On the blackboard where I usually
organize the variation of my wardrobe,

I had written, as a joke and without
actually believing in it,

series of fantasist equations
summarizing our sentimental ballet.

This arithmetic worried Jacques.

But at the same time, meeting in
a conclave, we changed our plans.

We didn't know it was already too late.

Anger had left me.

I wanted to arrange
everything, for Carla.

I liked her.

What will we do with Hubert?

I can handle him.

See?

If this is that serious,
I can make an effort.

I'll talk to Claude.

- My dear, someone loves you.
- What is love?

- You know it very well.
- Yes, but I'm used to being unhappy.

So you think it's the same thing?

I am not hostile to the idea of
being happy to love.

But we live in a jungle.

There are always hunters and preys.

I can't picture myself as a hunter.

No lies.

Carla is my friend.

No, it can't be her.

I can't stand watching her suffering
because of you. She loves you.

What? She is marvelous.

Divine.

But one cannot choose.

She has no mystery for me.

Don't tell me you believe in
love at first sight.

I do...

Ursula.

- Hey, are you coming?
- Yes.

Give me one minute and
we will have to talk again.

Did you think about it?

My mind is made up.

She is charming, but it's beyond me.
I'm not in love with her.

There is one solution.

But with Carla, it can't be
a one-night stand.

You surprise me, Ursula.

A boy speaking in favour of another boy,
it happens all the time.

Why?

Because boys are afraid of refusal.

Sincerity is mixed with vanity.

But girls...

Even if they feel a bit flattered
by a declaration,

They don't have vanity.

For a girl to speak in favor of
another girl, admit it's unusual.

I don't believe in your
skating rink philosophy.

- So you don't believe in anything.
- I do. I know.

Now you are going to
untie my ice skates.

Ursula...

Starting from today...

I will wear your colours.

I'm too hot!

Jacques, take my scarf.

Here.

Like in tournaments.

Miss.

Alexandra had a lot of fun that summer.

But without saying it and
maybe without admitting it

she had never forgotten Jacques.

You know, I usually only compete
with opponents of my own category.

Seniors.

You know, when I was
a little girl in Canada,

I had an old uncle.

You can't imagine
how deep in love I was with him.

Jacques had never really managed to
veil with cynicism and irony

a profound self-doubt.

He was simply blown away
by this declaration.

The idea that, since Spring,
Alexandra was still thinking of him

had never come to his mind.

Facing the evidence,
he was still tempted to hesitate.

The most well-conceived plans of men
and mice often remain unrealized.

We had tried our best.

Ursula loyally fought
a glorious battle she lost.

Now, there was no game for nobody.

In the end, love is a serious thing.

After a catastrophe,
every man for himself.

You're alone? I thought
you were with Virginie.

No, she went skiing.

And our chalet is Hell.

- This is not how I picture Hell.
- You can't know!

There was a huge racket all night long
and everybody left this morning.

Except for Carla, who's crying
in her room. How entertaining!

Poor one!

Have a drink at the bar.

I never drink a Scotch before sunset.

Also, their turntable is broken.

- I can lend you mine, if you want.
- For the records they have here?

I can't do anything for you then.

- I have some nice ones, but they are
in the chalet. - The chalet?

I will go get them. Excuse me.

I'll be right back!

- Anything broken?
- No.

- In remembrance of Deauville?
- No, you old idiot!

In remembrance of today!

I had the feeling I was in
one of these pre-war vaudevilles.

I could see Victor Franssen in his
Bachelor flat, spraying some fragrance.

Hello?

That was quick.

You know what will be easier?
Come up and listen to them here.

It's funny how boys try so hard

to get things that
already belong to them.

- Writing to your lover?
- Of course not.

What a big copybook.

Are these your memories?

In a way, yes.

May I write a new chapter?

A chapter?

For today...

Try one paragraph.

- I'd like to ask you something.
- Anything!

Let's never be on familiar terms.

You bet, bloke!

The most terrible thing in love
is when it fades.

Lancelot met Gueni�vre.

They decided to live together.

And one year later, they are
throwing pans at each other.

I don't want such a thing
to happen to us.

I only believe in long-term.

Me too, Claude.

But life is tough.

We are forced to do some things.

Even true poets
eat sauerkraut sometimes.

Do you remember A Farewell to Arms?
Catherine is going to die.

Frederic is waiting for some news.

What can he do?

He eats his sauerkraut.

Let's try then.

Let's eat.

- Good afternoon?
- For you too, it seems.

Yes. But I don't ski.

Careful!

- What?
- It's obvious.

Not a bit of it!

They never notice.

- Do you really think so?
- I know him.

Of course! Which one of the three?

Don't worry about the two others,
they are taken care of already.

- So everything is already settled?
- Yes.

- How did you do that?
- I redistributed the ownerships.

Me and land reform...

So who's your kolkhozian?

- The most beautiful.
- They were all handsome.

Anyway!

Your have a funny method.

Don't be sad.

- You couldn't do anything against our
coalition. - I'm not sad, I'm learning.

Come on.

You are not that innocent.

I knew the theory. Now, thanks to you,
I know the practice.

With the pathological taste every
man of letters has for drama,

this is the moment my friend
Roger chose to enter the scene.

There is, between Roger and Jacques,
an annoying masculine complicity.

It's based on tolerance and indulgence.

It's very unpleasant
for women of our kind

because it irremediably excludes us.

When such a connection is made between
boys, it's almost a criminal conspiracy.

Weirdly enough, it makes them talkative,
the very way they reproach the women.

In short, they had made
their battle plan.

- They even drew it on a blackboard.
- Did you see it?

Of course. The very first night!

But, I didn't understand it immediately.

You didn't say a word
because it suited you fine.

Indeed.

If they want power, let them have it.

As long as we take advantage of it.

When you are a king,

you have buffoons.

Why would queens not have some?

My dear, we are witnessing
the dawn of matriarchy.

I don't quite agree.

In practice, I don't enjoy
libertine women.

By the way, don't you mind
about Fran�oise?

Come on, it will make things
easier for me.

You have someone in your sights?

Not exactly. Not yet.

But you know me, I'm always ready!

No! Not her.

It's her. Why?

Difficult ascent.

She just had passion.

And as far as I know girls,

next time, she won't be its victim.

- We're not that mean!
- Little angels!

Okay! Bye.

- Goodbye.
- Bye!

Aren't you Jacques' friend?

- I am, why?
- I am too.

You must be his friend
Roger, the writer.

- Did he talk ill of me?
- It furiously made me want to meet you.

I saw you skiing earlier.

You take risks.

I like that.

Living dangerously usually
is a man's thing.

- You have a strange opinion of women.
- I love them.

May I?

Love is always the same thing.

It's the flag trick.

- The flag?
- Yes.

What do you do with a flag
during the anthem?

Either you brandish it or hold it
on your heart. Then you do it again.

Well, let's have a drink.

I need your advice, I'm trying to
write the end of a story.

I didn't really like your last novel.

- But Love Is When You Make It is nice.
- Only my true friends like it.

I'd like you to be my technical adviser.

Do you think a feminine character,

a very pretty girl,

may experience a failure in love?
A real one.

A real one?

No, I don't think so.

She didn't know she was
at the same time right and wrong.

Why?

I'm sure a girl can experience
a real failure.

No?

- Only a real sorrow.
- Isn't it the same thing?

You must be taught everything!

Sorrow is when your are left.

Or cheated on.

Failure is solitary.

You are a real woman soldier.

Don't worry.

Every armour has its weak point.

You will find it again,
your dear feminine soul.

I don't know if your system will work,
but it sounds pleasant.

Why? Is there one you like?

Quite a bit.

Let me guess.

No, that would be so funny! Him?

Maybe.

No mystery.

Are you scared by me?

You shouldn't.

- If you want him, go get him.
- I'd never dare.

If you don't go,
I will never see you again.

All the better for you.

Fake mask.

Go now.

Missed.

Unlucky at cards...

lucky in love.

Very happy.

And you?

Because of him?

Not anymore.

Subtitles: tadanobu@KG
Corrections: flipflink & joachim

The end