Original subtitles

HEAVY DUTY

I find myself here in a traffic jam,

and in this traffic jam

I push a cart.

Why do I push a cart?

What's in it? Fuck this cart!

So don't push it!

- But it's my life. - How so?

- I push my life! - In a cart?

I push my life in my cart.

There's nothing in it. Not a smile, not a memory.

Your life is shit.

Listen to yourself.

Sorry if I hurt you.

You've hurt me a great deal.

I'm truly sorry.

Not my fault I fucked up.

You fucked up?

I fucked up a lot.

First time I fucked up was with a friend.

My best friend.

He had a charming wife.

I couldn't resist her charms. I desired her.

One day my friend asked: "Are you screwing my wife?"

And then, instead of lying,

instead of saying "No, I'm not screwing her",

I answered him.

And that's where I fucked up.

That's where I lost my best friend.

Am I boring you?

I fear we're running late.

How so?

- We can't keep Mr. Réveillé waiting. - Who's he?

The man we're meeting.

Why are we meeting him?

To kill him.

I won't kill anyone.

Even Mr. Réveillé?

Even Mr. Réveillé!

Unfortunately we have to.

Why is that?

Because it's written in the script!

The script? What script?

Don't tell me they didn't give you a script!

How will I manage with no script?

Come, I'll explain how it works.

"Scene 14. The two men walk down a quiet street,

"then turn left."

- Doing this on purpose? - Doing what?

Slowing down the rhythm.

I'm a man out of breath.

We'll rest later. Scene 17.

What's scene 17?

We're in 14 now. We're getting there.

Next... we'll be in 15. We'll go up.

And after that,

we'll be in 16...

and we'll kill.

- We'll kill Le Réveillé? - Exactly!

He may be a big guy.

He may fuck us up.

It's 2 against 1. I doubt he'll fuck us up!

I want a script!

Excuse me, old chap.

Got a script?

Sure, everyone has one.

Can my pal borrow it? He's doesn't understand the story.

Then I won't understand.

Are you dumb?

When I get confused, I check it.

- And you understand it? - Not always.

You're dumb.

Sometimes.

Where is your script?

I forget. I think my wife was reading it.

- We don't care about her! - Me neither.

- About your wife? - Yes!

Don't badmouth your wife!

Check his bag.

Killing a man is totally stupid.

It's not stupid. It's great.

Are you sure?

Absolutely.

What if he's a nice guy?

It'll be his unlucky day.

Ever killed anyone before?

Why? Haven't you?

Never?

Never.

My name is Foster.

I'm Taupin.

Do you feel sympathy for me?

Not at all.

Too bad.

We could have been pals.

Let's go kill Le Réveillé.

Got his address?

Of course I do.

Jerome Le Réveillé, yes?

We're your 6 o'clock appointment.

Mr. Taupin?

Taupin and Foster. There are 2 of us.

3rd floor, left.

Jerome Le Réveillé.

Foster.

Taupin.

Please, have a seat.

Why are you here?

We have in our possession a script.

And on page 35 of this script,

scene 16...

the two heroes

named Foster and Taupin, us,

pay a visit to Le Réveillé.

Are you Mr. Le Réveillé?

Jerome Le Réveillé, yes.

You didn't prepare a drink?

I never do.

That's not very nice.

We came to kill you.

Really?

That's right.

What for?

The script says so.

Scene 16: we kill you.

How will you go about it?

There are 2 of us.

My script says: "Takes out a gun".

What do you do now?

We say goodbye

and sorry to bother you.

Got any money?

He's asking for money.

I don't have any.

I may have...

a little bit.

Just a minute, I have to...

But this is all I have.

This is all I can do.

There, you see?

When you want to...

We're in deep shit now.

Why deep shit?

We have a corpse.

Who cares? It's not our problem.

We just leave.

Leave for where?

Anywhere. To drink a beer. You don't want one?

A good beer, why not?

- Let's take the stairs. - Great idea!

Stop!

- Should we get the money? - You bet we should!

Make sure he's good and dead.

Yeah, he's good...

Good...

- It's well-deserved. - What?

Our beer.

Bastard!

Scene 17.

- We're in the street. - Beer in 5 minutes.

But there's no bar.

Don't be so negative.

Can't you look on the bright side?

Where's the bar? I don't see the bar!

Know a bar nearby?

Sure I do.

Can you tell me where?

For a drink?

No, to drop off pages.

Pages? What pages?

- New pages. - There are new scenes?

They keep writing, so yeah.

No one will understand.

On the square. Just one bar, the Boyard.

Here they come. Read your scene.

I'm reading.

- Read it well. - I'm reading, dammit!

Can we have 2 beers, please?

Nice and cold.

Can we have 2 beers, please? Nice and cold.

You fucking with us?

Excuse me?

We asked for 2 beers.

I won't serve you beers.

- Really. - I won't serve you beers.

Why not?

It's in the scene. The added scene.

That you just received?

The two assholes order beers.

The owner says: "I won't serve you beers."

You like this scene?

Something's going on?

Something's going on.

What do you think is going on?

Something devious.

Something vicious.

Something that seems like a conspiracy.

For the time being...

everything is normal.

That's when you must be twice as wary.

Careful.

Car approaching.

Are you Mr. Foster?

Foster and Taupin. Two of us.

- Get the bakery scene? - No, we didn't.

- Want it? - Of course we do.

Exterior. Bakery. Dawn.

We love bakeries.

There isn't an address!

They all bake bread. You'll find it.

- Do you know a bakery? - Of course I do!

The bakery is closed.

Of course it's closed. It's 4am.

There's a light in the back.

The baker is making his bread.

What does your script say?

"The two man wait, immobile, fascinated."

Fascinated by what?

The night.

The silence.

The cold.

It doesn't say they're a little bored?

Yes, it says: "They're a little bored,

"but overwhelmed by what will happen."

- What will happen? - They don't know.

They know waiting means something will happen.

You don't wait for nothing.

So something will happen.

Could be something bad.

Yes, it could.

It'll be good.

Something good is not excluded.

Nothing in the script? No harbinger of things to come?

It stops here. "To be continued. Don't move, stay put."

I'm not moving.

Me neither.

Piece-of-shit script!

She didn't pay for her croissant.

Maybe she forgot.

Is your croissant good?

You could answer us.

You didn't pay for your croissant.

You're offering her coffee too?

Not everyone is a scumbag.

Are you saying we're scumbags?

Give me a break. It's early. I'm sleepy.

I don't have the energy to be rude!

You following me?

I'm following him too.

I'm following you both.

What do you want?

What do you want?

We asked you a question.

You don't answer questions?

I didn't get my lines.

What's that music?

When a woman disappears in the night, there's music.

Sad.

What's sad?

Sad music.

When she comes back, it's happy music.

No, music is never happy.

Music is sad.

Fundamentally.

Where is she going?

Where are we going?

Probably to the same place.

You got an apartment?

A room.

In a halfway house.

A halfway house for who?

Lost people.

I have 800 square feet in a residential area.

Why don't we go?

You want to?

To my place?

What for?

Have a drink. Talk.

Discover each other's secrets. Show interest.

Do you like music?

Depends on the music.

For sure.

Because I went through...

all of Bach.

All of Beethoven, all of Mozart.

All of Schubert.

All of Debussy.

All of Ravel.

I roam the streets to escape the music.

Do you have a wife?

I wasn't spared a thing.

Not love, not those assholes who hand out pages every day.

They have my address. They kill me with their pages!

Fuck their pages and their script. I know mine.

All scripts end the same.

Same end for everyone.

We die.

Is your wife sick?

Why would she be?

You keep talking about death, so...

She seems to be fine.

Do you knead her breasts?

That's the first thing I knead.

What does she do? Work?

She has a lingerie shop I bought with my parents' inheritance.

They died?

Inheritances usually result from death.

Interesting?

What?

Lingerie.

Each time she undresses...

I need a tranquilizer.

- Mr. Foster's pages! - I'm Mr. Foster!

Mr. Taupin's pages!

I'm Mr. Taupin.

- Mr. Labouze's pages. - No Labouze.

I have his pages. He must exist.

You can see he's not here.

I'm tending to my wife. Can't you respect my private life?

Your new pages!

Lots of dialogue. Get to work!

Can't you let my husband finish?

He'll finish later. We have a script emergency.

Who sent you?

Who wrote this crap?

No idea! I get pages and addresses and I dispatch.

- I need to work. - I have no address.

Just the street.

How did you find me?

You're Raoul Taupin?

Yes, Raoul Taupin, a man wrecked by life.

Can I tend to my wife now?

What's her name?

Josette.

Everyone runs up!

What for?

Josette's ass! It says so.

"Scene 22. Everyone runs up into Josette's ass."

It can't say that.

Have a look. "Everyone runs up into Josette's ass."

It's a typo. The scriptwriters were tired.

Where are your scriptwriters? I'd like to see them!

Careful!

I twisted my ankle.

You didn't twist your ankle!

Lean on me.

That hurts.

Josette's ass.

What the hell is this?

What the hell?

We're being pestered!

By what?

By sickos who hand out pages!

We must hand them out if we write them.

I twisted my ankle.

Your assistant threw me down the stairs. I fell and hurt myself.

I didn't see Josette's ass.

And I really wanted to.

Where does Josette come from?

Whose idea was Josette?

It's you, Edouard.

Not me.

I see it on your face.

She came naturally.

A dream character.

I figured I'd dump her on Labouze.

He'd become a killer.

Why would I become a killer?

When a man adores his wife,

he becomes a killer.

How about Foster? What becomes of Foster?

I'm Foster.

- You killed Le Réveillé. - Not me. Taupin.

Who's Taupin?

It's you!

I'm not Taupin!

So who are you?

There are tons of Taupins.

Did you get your pages?

Not a single one.

So how do you manage?

I improvise.

Where did she come from?

What's she doing here?

A friend of yours?

Never saw her.

What's your name, ma'am?

I can't remember my name.

Are you French?

Can you give me some pages?

Pages... What for?

To be part of the story and have...

a character.

What kind of character would you like?

I don't know.

To start from scratch.

From childhood.

Get rid of the nightmares.

What nightmares?

Like when I was a kid.

Yes, we were all kids.

Were you beaten as a child?

- By who? - Your mother, for example.

My mother was strict.

She didn't beat us.

Our mother beat us.

Why?

There were 9 of us.

She raised us by herself.

So we wouldn't become whores or dealers, she beat us.

Preventively.

With our father's belt.

He'd disappeared.

Disappeared? Where to?

Far away.

At school, around 4:30, when the bell was about to ring,

and we had to go home,

I used to start shaking.

Once it rang and everyone left with their book bags,

I stayed seated at my desk.

I didn't budge.

I sat alone in the classroom with my teacher staring at me.

He didn't look at me as usual,

with his nice, big eyes.

He looked at me differently.

It was when my breasts started growing.

I'd taken a bra from one of my older sisters.

"You're not packing up?"

said the teacher, stepping closer.

"I don't want to go home," I answered.

"I want to stay here, to sleep here.

"Tomorrow I'll sweep up."

"Why don't you want to go home?" he asked.

"I'm afraid to be beaten,"

I said.

"To be beaten with the belt.

"The other day she burnt me with the iron.

"Look." I showed him my burnt arm.

"Who did this to you?"

"My mother."

"I have a guest room," he said.

"I can make the bed. My wife is away."

I found myself in his old embroidered sheets.

Probably his wife's trousseau.

He looked at me like you look at a miracle.

I gave him my breasts.

I opened my thighs to him and...

with my teacher, I played the schoolmistress.

Two months later, with a nurse friend in Montélimar,

we got rid of the baby.

He thought he couldn't have kids, yet squirted one inside me.

I fled to America with some musicians, and he,

one Sunday morning...

was found hanging in the school gym.

You don't need us to invent you a life.

Yours is magnificent.

We'll call you Esther Combasse.

We'll see what happens to you.

Esther Combasse?

I was just given that name.

I'm your husband.

My name is Arthur Combasse.

Do we have children?

Three.

Are they well?

They're doing great.

Isabelle just got married.

Isn't one good at tennis?

Yes, Benjamin.

Last summer in Touquet he almost beat Dulac.

I'll say goodbye to my friends.

Invite them to dinner.

I don't know them well.

We don't want to eat with you.

They seem charming.

This guy scares me. I don't know him.

I can't be alone with him.

How about with me?

Yes, sure. I'd love to... Let's go.

I'm very attracted to you.

Why do women always go off with awful men,

when there are great ones nearby,

dripping with tenderness.

So take my place!

Fine, as long as I'm desired.

All women are desired.

And men commit suicide.

You're committing suicide?

I think about it.

Get in your car. Beat it!

- When? - Right away!

Move it!

What was that shot?

- A guy killed himself. - His car wouldn't start.

Got your scripts?

Yes, we do.

Show us your scripts.

Do you have a script?

No, I don't.

- Are you sure? - I don't have one.

- What do you have? - A beating heart.

- Beating for who? - Not you, shithead.

Stop! I forbid you to hit her.

- No script. - It's not an obligation.

Yes! Or it's lights out.

I've had a script from the beginning!

A guy in the street gave it to me, a very nice guy.

It's a very high-quality script.

It casts light on some very obscure zones.

We need to be enlightened!

By talented writers who hold the keys to poetry.

As for him...

he says he's my pal.

But beware!

He's a covert agent!

I saw him kill a man barehanded.

His name is Taupin.

Beware of Taupin.

Beware!

You're still here?

Will you be sticking around for long?

Go get Edouard, fast!

Fast!

Who is this Esther?

She put her hand on my shoulder.

She said: "Take me away. I need to travel."

Time to get rid of her now.

Who?

This woman.

Get rid of her how?

With both hands. Squeeze her neck till the final orgasm.

You're scumbags.

At least we tie up our stories.

They don't fizzle out.

People don't jump ship. They go all the way. Then what?

They ask for more.

I won't kill that woman.

- Do Foster and Taupin ring a bell? - Nope.

Get in touch with them.

How do I find them?

They're easy to find. The city's biggest idiots.

Where are you going?

I'm leaving your shitty script!

It's not my script!

I'm not a scriptwriter!

What are you?

An average guy! Ordinary!

A semi piece of shit!

You're the one who accosted me!

I accosted you?

I was fine in my traffic jam.

You asked me to join you in killing a certain Le Réveillé.

Why kill that nice guy?

Admit it gave you pleasure.

Yes, it was pretty fun.

Bakery! Scene 2!

Not the bakery!

A bakery doesn't scare you!

Yes, I'm very scared!

No, I'm scared.

Enough! I won't go.

Your script is a pain.

The bakery scares me.

Life's too long. It's boring.

Where is your bakery?

And where is the love of my life?

Who stole the kids that I never had?

Who'll give them back?

I miss them.

We never met, but I miss them.

Can't you shut up?

I'll shut up when my heart stops beating.

That won't be long.

I won't die in a bakery.

Foster, you're a motherfucker.

Lovely.

I'll say it again: a rich motherfucker!

Take this exit.

Not the bakery. It scares me.

You'll see. It's a very nice bakery.

I don't want to.

I don't want to.

- It's set. - I don't want to.

I don't want to go there.

We have to go there.

Foster and Taupin?

How did you find us?

I spotted you immediately.

How did you spot us?

My job is to look at people.

To guess what they're hiding.

Are you part of the clique?

I'm a story inventor.

Funny stories?

He doesn't look like he invents funny stories.

Right now, for example,

I was asked to kill a woman.

Will you give me a hand?

A woman you love?

If it were a woman I loved...

I'd have no problem killing her.

It'd be a piece of cake.

Where does she live?

She makes rounds.

What kind of rounds?

Like rounds of bakeries.

She lives off croissants and coffee.

Let's try the Calypso.

What's the Calypso?

A club, open all night.

- Are there girls? - Yep.

Let's go.

Good evening.

Debuting at the Calypso,

an artist who has done several world tours

has stopped by to say hello

and sing us a few songs.

It is my honor and my privilege

to welcome and introduce to you

Esther Palmyre!

To music by Francis Lopez and lyrics by André Hornez,

I'll sing "Dance with me",

first sung by Suzy Delair in Quai des Orfèvres,

a film by Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1947.

Why are you sobbing?

I wanted to sing so badly!

You'll sing later.

I wanted to sing now!

Let's go sing at my place.

- I have no pianist! - I'm a pianist.

Dance with me

Let's both make the most

Of this marvelous moment

Close your eyes

Dance with me

Let's enjoy the harmony

That makes our bodies quiver

Let's dance some more

Let destiny

In our hearts

Give birth

To what tomorrow

We may still be searching

In vain...

Dance with me

Let the night disappear

Nothing matters today

But you

And me

How beautiful, a woman who sings.

As long as she keeps it short.

Get to it or she'll start again!

Ugly.

Music is dangerous.

A doorbell.

- A doorbell? - Someone rang.

Go open. It's your place.

What's it like opening the door only to find me?

Unpleasant.

Detective Bonito.

Is the body still warm?

- Not the type to cool quick. - Where's the piano?

My two witnesses, Taupin and Foster.

He killed her for no more than singing.

An artist. Double penalty.

I'm an artist too.

- Musician? - Writer.

Me too.

- What do you write? - Crime novels.

I'm on a good series.

The title's a secret. It'll slay.

- She's pretty. - She was pretty.

I'm not dead.

What do you mean?

She is dead!

No, she's talking.

- A bell. - Doorbell.

You didn't hear?

I need my episodes.

We're extremely behind!

We had setbacks. That doesn't help talent.

Is this woman dead?

I'm dead.

What is it like?

We're in a fog.

Are your feet cold?

You feel cold all over.

I'm shivering.

I'm shivering too.

- Some cognac? - No thanks, no cognac.

- Coffee? - No thanks, no coffee.

A cookie?

No thanks, no cookies.

Because we have good cookies.

I said no thanks, no cookies!

It's weird to insist.

Why keep insisting?

What would you like? What would make you nicer?

Finding an end to my story!

How does my story end?

I'm the showrunner. They want to know how it ends!

We want to know too, to get out of this mess.

Got an idea?

For what?

The ending.

I'm not a writer.

I'm a character.

Manipulated from the start, forced to run around hostile streets,

even though I'm overweight.

I asked for nothing.

I was pushing my cart.

- Is pushing a cart interesting? - Very.

Even empty?

It wasn't always empty.

When I was young, there was a girl.

In the cart?

She was in the cart, skirt hiked up,

undies visible, smiling at me.

We played in the Géant parking lot.

Near where I lived there was a Géant supermarket.

The girl worked there.

Jennifer was her name.

She was a cashier. She loved me. I loved her too.

She was my first girl.

I wanted to spend my life with her, but when I was in prison,

she left with an American soldier because he had a Buick.

I never got over it.

Ever since, I push my empty carts.

No one cares about your story.

A life is quickly ruined.

Yes, but now you have a good pal.

A pal trumps a girl with visible undies.

You need both.

The undies and the pal.

Hear the doorbell?

It keeps ringing.

Did you ring?

I'm looking for my old friend Taupin.

Know where I can find him?

Near the piano.

Remember me?

I've been waiting 30 years.

I parked my cart in front of the building.

You can't just leave like this.

How else?

You could say goodbye!

Goodbye.

- That's all? - It's enough.

We forget the friendship we've begun?

If we meet again, we'll do dinner.

So what becomes of me?

Sorry, old chap. Our mistake.

We don't need you. You can go.

You mean I'm useless?

Useless.

Totally useless.

I want to see my pal again.

I want to see my pal.

I want to see my pal.

I want to see my pal.

You know,

your death...

set off a big explosion in me.

I mean a feminine explosion.

You know,

when a woman lets loose.

Indulges herself.

Seeks to do what she'd forbidden herself.

Acting crazy.

Going off the rails.

Night prowling.

Friends came to the shop, worried about my state of mind.

"You should get out," they said.

"Resurface."

"You're pretty, you're young."

"People would love to see you."

"Want to have dinner?"

"I know a nice, quiet restaurant."

The first time was with Jean-Charles.

He stroked my legs under the table. We went to a hotel.

A quiet little hotel.

I jumped on him.

At 3am he wanted to drive me home.

I said...

"No thanks.

"No one's waiting for me."

I stayed in that awful little room.

I lounged in the dirty sheets, happy.

Feeling raw.

The next day was Michel.

It was in the country. We fucked in the car.

Then it was Jean-Claude, Jeremie...

I did them all.

God, was my asshole sore.

Even Jean-Louis came.

All shy. He came.

You didn't screw Jean-Louis?

Yes.

He was my best friend.

We went to school together.

He wanted me.

He always wanted me, since our wedding day.

He made me cum like never before.

And how is my dog doing?

Hanging around.

He's in your office.

Thinks he hears you,

stares at me with his big sad eyes.

- You give him a biscuit at night? - Of course!

Because he likes his biscuit.

I have to go.

Pascal is waiting.

We're sleeping in Deauville.

"Sleeping"...

Figure of speech.

With Pascal, nights are pretty short.

Take care, honey.

Don't get eaten by dogs.

Sabine?

Was there one time,

one day...

once during our life together...

that you felt love for me?

Why did you rob that jewelry store?

To give you a present. I was broke.

I wanted to give you a watch.

There was one I liked a lot.

I didn't need a present.

The present was you.

Running with you in fields.

Jumping into the river.

The watch was waterproof.

I've followed you for years.

I saw you sleeping in doorways.

Reaching out your hand for a coin.

I saw you being a whore.

Going upstairs with men.

I wanted to snuggle against someone.

Where is your hotel?

At the port.

Your former friend!

Oh yeah.

Good old Foster.

How are you, Foster?

He's dead.

He's pretending.

You're not funny, Foster. You're a pain!

Got any money

for an old movie producer without a cent?

I thought producers made tons of money.

Not when they're flops.

What movies did you produce?

I started young, with a youthful film.

It was called Bad Lungs.

It didn't interest anyone.

Then I did a crime thriller,

The Maggots Will Thrive.

Another flop.

Then I gave a love story a try.

Spring Cleaning.

Based on Turgenev.

And then...

Delicate Fabric.

A film about fashion.

Gentleman's Delight,

about a courtesan.

Not one did well.

Not even Tragic Ball, which went to Cannes.

Cannes, ma'am.

It was booed at Cannes, whistled at Cannes.

They called it anti-French cinema.

Cinema is tough.

Tough.

Life is tough too.

You know the difference between life and the movies?

Sometimes I do.

And sometimes I don't.

In life, you die.

In the movies, you never die.

Never.

For example, Mastroianni will never die.

Okay, well...

we're not going to linger. We have things to do.

It was a pleasure meeting you.

Same here.

I have a question.

May I ask it?

Is there...

among you all...

in this...

noble gathering,

is there anyone...

who is proud?

Proud of what?

The work we've done.

We brought it to a close.

You mean this story is finished?

A story is like life.

There's a beginning,

then an end.

And the audience?

Ever think about the audience?

Will the audience be happy with an ending like this?

One of them dies on a bench

and the other disappears? Where did he go?

The fat one?

Where is he?

With his childhood sweetheart.

You think that's enough?

In a room at the port?

No idea.

You're the writers. You should have ideas.

The story isn't over.

Does anyone have an idea?

He can get run over.

Who?

The fat one.

Run over by who?

A car. Someone who drank.

Who drank?

The person driving the car.

How original.

He can die of a heart attack.

Doorbell.

I came to see what's up.

Do you want...

to live?

Jennifer...

your childhood sweetheart.

What happened to her?

She's asleep.

She fell asleep in my arms.

She won't wake up.

Go open the door.

I tried to die.

No fun.

I tried to live. It was pretty hard.

We were afraid.

You bet we were.

Did you fuck up?

As far as fucking up goes...

I fucked up, yeah.

I really fucked up.

To start with...

my wife disappeared.

Up and vanished.

Without even... leaving a note.

I got worried.

I went to the cops.

They told me...

"Disappearing

"is the last freedom we have left.

"Lots of people claim it."

So I ended up all alone.

In the lingerie shop.

Studying the horse races behind the counter.

And then one day...

the door chimes rang.

And a woman came in.

So I was immediately...

very pleasant.

Very, very, very pleasant.

She was beautiful.

A fiery brunette, very...

very Mediterranean.

Bursting at the seams.

Those hips, those breasts...

her waist, her mouth.

"I'm looking for a bra", she said.

"Aren't you wearing one?"

"Yes, but...

"it's a basic model...

"an everyday bra."

"What kind of model are you looking for?"

"Something special?"

"A killer bra", she answered.

"One that blows you away."

"I'll check my stockroom to see if I have

"one or two Glossies."

"What are Glossies?" she asked.

"Glossies by Gossard!

"They're both tight-fitting and transparent!"

"You have a pretty shop."

"Thank you."

"I have an...

"an apartment upstairs.

"You go up those stairs

"and you're there."

"What a pretty shop!"

Second time she said it.

So I go...

to the stockroom

to get her... her Gossard.

I go to the dressing room.

Her breasts await me.

So I put on her Gossard...

and then...

The next morning,

after a wild night with that woman,

I brought her to a lawyer's office...

and I put the shop in her name.

Total happiness.

I watch her take possession of the premises,

change the window display,

tend to customers like princesses.

Except that...

unfortunately, happiness

doesn't often last long.

One night, I wanted to go home.

Impossible to open a door.

She had every lock changed.

I went to the cops.

They said: "Careful. You live in her home now.

"You signed it

"Toe the line because she can take you to court."

There you have it.

That's how I met the cold,

and how come I sleep in the streets now.

Gather your stuff and come warm up.

Warmth is meant to be shared.

You could help me!

You don't need all that crap.

Blankets can save a man's life.

Your life is saved.

How about you?

How did you rise up?

Love.

Love?

Love.

A rich woman?

Very rich.

Old?

Very old.

80?

90.

You live with her?

She sticks to me like glue.

She has nonstop deep vibrations.

She lounges for hours on my chest.

It's wild with old folk,

their frenetic search for pleasure.

Is Madame dead?

She came very close.

She almost choked to death on her yogurt.

- You turned her over? - Yes, and shook her.

Does your wife...

have any children?

Not the shadow of a child.

I'm the sole heir. Billions will be coming my way.

Good going!

I make her happy.

She likes to laugh and I make her laugh.

This foie gras isn't great.

It's not that bad.

Yesterday's was better.

Yes, it was semi-cooked.

More expensive, but tastier.

Not the same thing.

For me the best was Monday's.

Yes, but it had truffles. You can't eat...

foie gras with truffles every day.

Still...

What I like is chicken.

Roasted, with potatoes, but under the chicken, truffles.

Under the skin?

Yes, of course. You need an excellent chicken.

From the Landes is best.

But cooked simply.

I'm not a chicken fan, even a good one.

I prefer rabbit instead.

Rabbit is very good, but chicken's amazing if you find one.

An excellent Bourbonnais, for example.

Put it in a Dutch oven with rock salt,

inside the chicken, salt and pepper,

not at all sparingly...

And you surround it with garlic.

Spring garlic is delicious right now.

Unpeeled.

You leave it in the Dutch oven.

Nothing else, not a drop of oil, nothing!

You add thyme

and rosemary.

You cover the Dutch oven,

put it in a pre-heated oven,

350, 400 degrees...

How long? 1:20?

An hour and 15 minutes, 30 if you want...

Maximum.

How big a chicken?

A big chicken, 4 and a half pounds.

And it roasts?

Not only does it roast, it cooks perfectly.

Remove the cover. To die for.

Rabbit is different.

A Gatinais, for example.

A very good rabbit.

I also do rabbits from Garenne

with a red wine sauce.

You cook your rabbit

in its wine, its juice and vegetables,

then you remove the pieces of rabbit,

you pour the sauce into a strainer into the pot,

then you reduce

your sauce a little.

You add the blood.

To thicken the sauce?

No, to thicken it, you add chocolate.

- For the sheen. - Chocolate?

Dark chocolate, of course.

3 or 4 squares of chocolate.

It will give it a pearly sheen.

Sir?

Your wife just died.

I was here. You're my witness. Natural causes.

I didn't pinch her nose or put a pillow on her head.

I can confirm he didn't leave.

Call the lawyer, Mr. Pont.

I'll see him tomorrow morning.

Yes, sir.

You went to the bathroom for 5 minutes.

No.

Upstairs.

There's a bathroom down here.

Subtitling: ECLAIR V&A