Original subtitles

Once upon a time...

there was a girl.

She loved Elvis Presley,

but she went out with a Marilyn Monroe impersonator.

And while she had a passion for the shining stars of bygone times,

she was also drawn to the gutter.

She would climb into history

and immerse herself in the horrors of humanity.

She liked

bad things.

Once there was a boy

who came to Paris with a camera around his neck.

He'd read all about the poets

and revolutions,

the lovers and guns.

He wanted to see that world with his own eyes,

to photograph it,

to touch it.

But he hadn't understood.

You can't touch something,

if you are hiding behind a lens.

In any case,

I don't think touching things is enough.

You have to feel them.

Marie-Antoinette.

They would have cut her hair before the execution.

- You're English - American.

They would've cut it short

so that the blade doesn't get stuck, you know?

Humanitarian execution.

Where do you think they would've cut her hair?

I dunno.

Oh, actually, I do. Across the river at the Conciergerie.

I think.

Will you help me?

Why do you know so much about this?

Let's just say the guillotine has always been a subject of interest to me.

If I was to give you a spoon,

you might turn it over in your hands

and see a simple steel spoon.

I'm Paul.

Just a spoon.

But if I tell you

that Marilyn Monroe herself

ate ice cream with that spoon

on the last day of her life,

it changes.

And if you put that spoon in your mouth,

it's like a kiss across time.

Marie-Antoinette's cell.

The guillotine is the fact.

The hair is the detail.

I don't think this is the right place.

Yeah, I can smell the fear.

Do it.

How short?

How short would they have cut Marie-Antoinette's hair?

I think they would've shaved it off completely.

Definitely above the neck, so the guillotine would cut cleanly.

Okay.

Okay. Above the neck, then.

You can keep it.

- And then you step on my foot. - I step on your foot?

Yeah. And you say: "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."

That's what happened.

Oh, okay. Okay. In French though.

Sorry, sir. I didn't do it on purpose.

- I think he would've been rougher. - No, I don't think so.

He would've taken his job seriously. It's a solemn moment.

Do it rougher.

I'm sorry, sir.

I didn't do it on purpose.

Okay.

Thank you.

- Will you give me your telephone number? - Sure.

Here.

Put it in.

- Okay, thanks. - Call me. Then I'll have yours.

No.

Hey, Paulette!

My exhibition, next Tuesday. You should check it out.

Yeah, sure. Thanks.

Well, the boss isn't here yet.

We call her Gobbles.

- Gobbles? - Yeah. Like Hitler's friend, Gobbles.

Oh, you mean Goebbels?

Yeah, Gobbles. Well, you know, she's a real ball-breaker.

Like a bitch.

Yeah, yeah. I get it.

As you can see, we have a lot of different apartments,

mostly Paris.

- A bit in the suburbs. - Shit.

What?

That lady,

she works here?

Oh yeah. That's Gobbles.

Fuck.

- You know her? - What's her name?

- I told you, Gobbles. - Her real name.

- How are you? - I'm swamped.

Can you take care of Rue Daguerre?

- Is this the new one? - Yeah.

Paul!

Valerie!

How are you?

Good. You?

Great.

So I'm your new boss.

Welcome.

Do you have a light?

Uh, I don't smoke anymore.

Alright.

So this place, we're renovating,

we rent mostly to American businessmen.

They want space, lots of space.

We're knocking out the spare room to make a cuisine Americaine.

It's strange to see you in a suit.

It looks good.

Thanks.

You never called me.

I thought we had fun.

Yeah, yeah, we did.

A text message would've been nice.

Sorry.

Yeah. I should have.

- I'm a little different at work. - Yeah.

- They call you Goebbels in the office. - What?

Goebbels.

Who said that?

Was it Alex?

No.

I didn't know that.

Shit, sorry.

No problem.

It's funny.

Thanks.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

I outstayed my welcome with Solène.

And what happened with Margarita?

She didn't think I was taking the relationship seriously enough.

What I think I need,

is more male friends.

Platonic male friends.

So this is the murder apartment?

Yes.

There's a book about it in your room. I made you a bed.

Kevin...

Coco...

Timothée and Patrick...

I love you.

Did you fuck George again?

Yep.

- I thought you were staying at Solène's. - Yeah, well, she kicked me out.

Trouble with the broken lamp.

A boy and a broken lamp.

Come on...

Margarita...

It's not like with you.

I'm going to take a flatmate to help pay the rent.

Your stuff is still in a spare room, I need you to clear it out.

Okay.

Hello?

- Is this Paul? - Yes. Who is this?

This is Paulette, Marie-Antoinette.

You gave me a haircut a couple of weeks ago.

I have to say it was a pretty bad haircut,

but I forgive you.

Listen...

I have a surprise for you. Will you come and see me?

- Sure, where? - I'll text you the address.

Hello.

Third floor.

Door on the right.

Paulette?

These walls are witnesses.

In 1890,

a woman called Gabrielle Bompard lured a wealthy man

to this very apartment.

It was the newspaper scandal of the century.

They called it "the bloody trunk affair".

Come.

After her trial,

she was treated like a star.

She was France's first celebrity murderer,

but not the last.

She went to Montmartre.

She seduced a rich man

and invited him to come and visit her.

She waited for him right here,

in this room,

wearing nothing

except a bathrobe.

When he arrived,

she told him to sit on the bed

and flirted with him.

And as he started thinking

about undressing her,

she took

the silk belt of her bathrobe

and playfully

tied it around his neck.

And her husband,

who was hidden behind the curtains,

pulled

a rope that was attached to the belt,

through a hook on the ceiling,

to hang him.

Here.

It didn't work.

The man fought back.

So,

instead of hanging him,

the husband

had to strangle him

with his bare hands.

So...

You like it?

- The wig? - Yeah.

Do I look like her?

Marilyn Monroe?

I borrowed it from a friend.

She does this Marilyn Monroe show.

And she's dressed up just like Marilyn

and she recites passages from her autobiography.

But she's Russian, so you see, she has this little accent.

It's weird.

Ma-ra-lin Mun-ro.

Armagnac?

Sure.

So this is your place?

No! My God! No way I can afford this.

This is a friend's place.

He's out of town.

George is one of my on-and-off lovers.

I lived with someone, but that's finished now, so...

Yeah, I move from place to place.

What do you do, when you don't take photos?

Actually, I stopped.

I, uh...

I rent apartments to businessmen.

Sorry.

You know what?

When I was a girl,

I always wanted to marry Elvis Presley.

Put this on. It's made for you.

I just don't feel like I connected with anyone back home, you know?

What about here?

What are your parents like?

I don't talk about my family.

Where did you grow up?

No, I said no family questions.

Okay?

Come on...

One thing about your childhood.

Catholic school.

I grew up Catholic.

- You did? - Yes, sir.

Communion, confirmation, confession.

Church on Sunday, bread and wine.

Oh, I always wanted to try the bread thing.

- The hosti? - Yeah, the host.

I always wanted to try that.

But you should!

You should. Go to a messe and pretend you are Catholic.

Nobody's gonna ask.

Catholics believe

it actually turns into the body of Christ when the priest blesses it, right?

Right.

It's not bread anymore,

it's Jesus's actual flesh?

Actual flesh.

What did he taste like?

Jesus.

Blood and tears.

With a hint of pine.

No touching.

I'm sorry.

Fucking idiot.

You can sleep here.

Hello.

Come on! We're going to go adventureneering.

Adventureneering?

I can't see the timetable.

Sit at the back, I'll go and ask.

What you doing here? I told you to sit at the back.

Paulette, check it out! I've never seen a Jesus with this many ribs before.

Yeah, beautiful.

No, no, don't chew.

You're supposed to let it dissolve on your tongue.

So how does he taste?

Dry.

But just like you said, blood and tears.

With a hint of pine.

Now your turn.

What does Elvis Presley taste like?

What does he taste like?

Orange and pink.

You know, like, uh...

Like a cocktail, like a Tequila Sunrise.

Okay, my turn.

The body of Gengis Khan.

You mean Genghis Khan?

Whatever, you know what I mean.

Roast sheep.

Lots of charcoal.

Very peaty.

Kim Jong Un.

What does he taste like?

Hard-boiled eggs.

Green ones.

Okay.

Adolf Hitler.

Strawberry cheesecake.

Speak of the devil... Look at this.

Special dictators.

"The secret stories of a vegetarian criminal."

I should show you something.

Stalin, when he was young.

Isn't he gorgeous?

I want to have his babies.

What are you looking for?

A crime scene.

I want to go to a crime scene.

But I can't find anything.

What are you talking about? There are crime scenes all over Paris.

- Really? - Yeah.

This is where they executed the communards.

The communards?

Yeah, the Paris commune.

How did they kill them?

Firing squad.

But it's not the same wall anymore. They knocked it down.

Come with me.

This is carved from the actual bricks of the wall where they were shot.

You can still see the bullet holes.

Would you prefer to shoot someone or be shot?

I'd prefer to be shot.

Stand by the wall.

You'll be the communard.

- Make a prayer. - But I'm a communard.

You know, communist.

I don't believe in God.

I bet you'll change your mind when they're pointing their guns at you.

So, you're a cute guy.

You must be fucking someone, right?

No.

Oh, come on!

No one?

Not right now.

I, umm...

No, no one.

Yes, there is a story.

I can tell there's a story.

Come on. What is it?

My boss.

No! You have the hots for your boss?

Well, her for me, actually.

I don't think it's a good idea.

I think you should do it.

Do her, I mean.

It's inappropriate.

- I love it. - Nah.

We're going for a little "after work" tonight, you wanna come?

Sure.

- Nico? - Yeah, definitely.

- Steph, a drink after work? - Yes, great.

Caro?

No, I can't.

Paulette?

Hey!

I was wondering, what are you doing this evening?

I'm, uh, cooking.

Really? Well, I'm going to a cabaret with friends.

And I think you'd like it.

What are you cooking?

Chicken Marengo, Napoleon's favourite meal.

I have someone coming over.

Really? A girl?

Yeah, the boss.

Oh my God! You're actually gonna fuck your boss.

And you're cooking her Napoleon's favourite meal.

Very romantic.

Well, you know, I looked into Mussolini's favourites,

but he was just into raw garlic and an absurd amount of milk.

Hitler and Eva Braun's last meal was spaghetti with a light sauce.

Vegetarian, obviously,

but I figured that was a bit plain.

I looked into Stalin's diet also

and he ate macaroni bolognese with Churchill.

Not spaghetti, macaroni.

Well, that could work for a date, no?

Yeah, but the recipe had Worcestershire sauce in it,

which you're not gonna find in a French supermarket.

What are you talking about? They have worcesistershy sauce

in all the supermarkets.

Say that again.

What worcesistershy sauce?

Worcestershire sauce.

Worcestersha.

Come on. Hey, you know what?

Chicken Marengo is perfect.

Thank you.

Okay, so I guess I won't see you this evening.

Maybe another time.

Send me the address, we'll see how it goes.

Okay. Bye.

Bye.

Hey, how's it going?

Good, thanks. How are you?

I'm good.

This way.

- It smells nice. - Do you want a glass of wine?

Yes, please.

Voila!

Cheers.

Paul! My God, you're here!

Okay, everybody, this is Paul.

My priest, my executioner and my victim.

Come on, move.

So... Tell me what happened?

You didn't put your dick in your boss?

Yeah, I did actually.

No, you didn't.

- Yeah, I did. - No, you didn't.

- Come on, let me smell your fingers. - Eww!

- Is she here? - No.

- This is Margarita. - Who?

Margarita, my ex.

I didn't know she would be here.

Give me a second, okay?

You know, Paulette... She always falls back into her arms.

That girl doesn't know how to say no.

Paul,

this is Margarita.

Margarita, this is Paul.

- Nice to meet you. - Enchantée.

Yeah, uh...

Margarita is actually the great-niece of Stalin's right-hand-man.

It's true.

My father's uncle was Lavrentiy Beria.

Hey, that's... Is that Marilyn Monroe?

She thinks I stole her wig.

This girl is incredible!

I want her!

Come on, another one!

I've got to go.

No, no, come on, stay, stay!

No, I have to go. I'm seeing friends at La Coupole.

Come if you like.

Okay, bye.

Okay. Ciao.

- Do you want to go with her? - Are you crazy?

Who wants a drink? It's my round.

- I'll get this round. - No, you don't pay the tournée.

Let me give you a hand.

Could I have six caramel vodka shots

and a glass of champagne?

Thanks, sweetie.

You know, you could just go if you wanted to.

No!

No, Margarita is just...

No, I mean, you don't have to stay out.

You can come to mine, I'm making tea.

No touching.

I don't live far from here.

Or you could just go back to yours also.

Come on.

Take your drinks!

Paul...

No, I think I'm gonna bounce.

Hey, Paul!

Did you say you were making some tea?

Thank you.

You're always putting on a show, aren't you?

It must be exhausting.

Maybe.

I don't know.

This couch isn't comfortable.

You take my bed, I'll sleep here.

Your bed?

Isn't that where you were fucking your boss this evening?

Yeah.

Okay, okay, you sleep here.

I'll go back to the dirty sheets.

Here.

Thank you.

You're a nice man.

What is this place?

It was the pride of the French Republic.

A human zoo.

They built little houses

in the style of all the countries France had colonised.

And then they took families from those countries

and forced them to live here,

so the people of Paris could look at them.

Of course, most of the families died. Disease, weather.

They had another one just under the Eiffel Tower.

Hi.

Are you my friend?

Yes, I am Billy.

You know, when I was a kid,

I had this American friend

and she had this DVD of "Young Guns".

We would watch it over and over, that's the line we'd always say to each other:

"Are you my friend?"

Yes, I am Billy.

Have you ever lived with someone?

A girlfriend, I mean.

No.

You think you'd be good at it?

I think it'd have to be the right person.

Margarita was the first time I did that.

I was so in love with her.

So I said: "Okay, we can move in."

I thought it meant that was it, for the rest of our lives.

Everything was...

perfect, you know?

But she kept wanting another thing and another...

She introduced me to her parents.

And when I told her I wouldn't introduce her to mine,

she thought it meant I wasn't serious.

She doesn't know what my parents are like.

My parents are not me.

Fuck.

Anyway...

It's like everything I do, or do not,

is a proof that I don't love her.

What would you do?

In my experience, if things went sideways,

you shouldn't go back.

- But if you love her... - No.

You're right.

It's over.

No, no, you stay there.

Now look at me.

No, look at me.

More disdain, less love.

Now walk past me.

Barely see me,

like you work in a bank and I'm a beggar.

Réunion Pavilion.

None of these signs say what happened here.

Isn't that crazy?

Hey, what's up?

I got a story that'll cheer you up.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Elvis Presley had a maid.

- At Graceland? - At Graceland.

She would collect his pubic hair from his bathtub,

every time she cleaned it.

Oh, lovely.

She tried to sell them, after he died,

but no one would buy them.

So she kept them, as far as I know.

Maybe she sold them, eventually.

But the fact of the matter is that somewhere...

somewhere...

there is a bag of Elvis Presley's pubic hair.

Oh my God!

That's amazing.

I think if someone brought me Elvis's pubic hair,

I would marry them straight away.

Maybe you need some air,

get out of town,

rejuvenate.

Yeah, probably.

Actually, I am going out of town.

I have to go to Salzburg next week,

see my parents.

I promised my dad.

- Salzburg? - Yeah, Austria.

I have to take a plane.

I fucking hate flying.

You're scared of flying?

Get outta here!

- I can't imagine you scared of anything. - Yeah.

I just start sweating and crying. I can't stand it.

You know, if you were a real friend, you would drive me there.

Yeah, sure.

I owe you a dinner.

I have this great Goebbels family recipe I think you'll like.

Sounds great.

Valerie...

Do you mind if I take the rest of the week off?

That'd be difficult, Paul.

It's a family thing, a bit complicated.

I hope it's nothing too bad.

Okay, sure, no problem.

- So, when you get back? - Huh?

- Dinner, when you get back. - Oh yeah, sure.

What are you doing here?

You asked me to drive you.

Paul, it was a joke.

- Is this your car? - No, I rented it.

On the cyberspace.

Volkswagen.

The Führer would be so pleased.

I figured if we're driving to Salzburg,

we might as well have the right car.

I can't.

I can't, I've got my plane tickets for Thursday.

Cancel them.

I've got a place I want you to see on the way.

What place?

It's a surprise, I can't tell you.

But we should leave this morning.

This mor...

I can't.

I can't!

- Call in sick if you've got work. - No, it's not that, it's...

What is the surprise?

I can't tell you.

You can't do this to me, Paul!

And you'll drive me back by Sunday?

Ya!

Ten seconds.

Sweetie...

I'm leaving, okay?

Where?

Go back to sleep.

Where?

A friend is giving me a ride to my parents.

What?

Who?

Paul. Remember Paul?

Who's Paul?

Who the fuck is Paul?

So...

Where are we going?

- I can't tell you. - Oh, come on!

Come on!

I'll give you a clue.

- It's in Munich. - Munich.

Come on, give me another clue.

- No, no, no. - Please!

Hey, look.

I'm tired!

- Do you have any rooms? - How many nights?

- One night, two rooms. - One room.

Save some money.

Their names.

You at least have to tell me their names.

Charlotte and Gilles.

Charlotte and Gilles.

What else?

That's all you're getting.

If I'm gonna meet your parents, you gotta tell me something about them.

Tell me a story.

Once upon a time...

there was a girl.

She loved Elvis Presley,

but she went out with a Marilyn Monroe impersonator.

And while she had a passion

for the shining stars of bygone times,

she was also drawn to the gutter.

She liked bad things.

She would climb into history

and immerse herself in the horrors of humanity.

Really?

She sounds awful.

Hideous.

Why would she do that?

She wanted to...

touch the truth, perhaps.

And she discovered her deepest truths

in the mundane details of those horrors.

No.

You don't understand.

It's not about touching things,

it's about feeling them.

So you still wanna know where we're going?

Of course.

Hitler had an apartment on Prinzregentsplatz.

No.

No!

But how?

The fringe benefits of working for a luxury apartment rentals company

that happens to have contacts

all over Europe.

Once, there was a girl,

stood in a museum,

crying.

She couldn't understand how her classmates

could look so casually

at photographs that showed so much suffering.

There is an abyss in every one of us,

but we don't dare to look.

When you reach into that abyss,

it's good to have someone to hold your hand.

Those floorboards...

they must have been here.

The world's worst crimes are committed at a desk.

It used to be on paper,

now it's on keyboard.

But whatever the medium,

the pen is more murderous than the sword.

So,

do you want to be Hitler or Eva Braun?

I'll be Eva Braun.

At this moment in time, I love you.

Don't call me Hitler.

Call me Adolf.

Get in.

- Hello ! - Hello ?

I'm Walter, I'm your neighbour.

I only wanted to say you are welcome.

If you need anything, do not hesitate.

Thank you.

Eva honey!

Come on!

Coming!

- Sorry. - No problem.

If you need anything, I'm upstairs, next floor. Only... knock.

- Thanks. - Could you bring us something to drink?

So, see you then...

Eva!

Eva.

Yes, thank you.

Come on!

The water is getting cold.

You know I don't like to wait.

Thank you.

Don't be shy, get in.

Eva, will you wash my hair, darling?

My father was a rugby player.

You know,

big guy.

Macho.

But he's a nice guy.

And my mother,

she's a linguist.

Good with words.

Very clever.

That's what everyone says in this family.

She's a very clever woman.

My father killed a man.

He killed someone?

Murdered.

I was a kid.

Ten years old.

I had stolen a lemon at the market that morning.

So I thought...

When the police came for my father, I thought I was in trouble,

for stealing.

I ate the whole thing,

so no one would find it.

They took him away.

And my mother said:

"Your dad is murderer now."

Just like that.

"Your dad is a murderer now.

He's going to jail."

You know...

When we get to my parents, I think you should come as a friend,

not a lover.

Is that alright?

Okay.

Paul...

Don't put me on a pedestal, okay?

Don't put you on a pedestal?

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

Once there was a boy

who was in love with a girl.

He knew things never quite worked out for him

because he always gave up a little too easily.

Hey, can we pull over?

Hello!

You came with a boyfriend, that's very rare!

She never brings boyfriends home.

It's...

My darling!

Mum, he's not my boyfriend. He's just a friend.

Sorry, Paul.

Hello.

You're English?

American, but I speak French.

- Welcome! - Thank you.

Come, come.

What's his name?

Paul.

Paul?

Paul and Paulette! How sweet.

I'm Charlotte.

Pleased to meet you.

You cut your hair?

I'm gonna get the bags.

It looks awful!

- How are you? - All the better for seeing you.

I, uh...

This is Paul.

He's English.

So you have to speak with him in English, okay?

And it's not her boyfriend.

Paul, this is my father, Gilles.

Nice to meet you.

You told us you were coming tomorrow.

- We can come back tomorrow if you like. - Stop it!

She will show you the house, so you don't lose yourself.

- Make yourself at home. - Thank you so much.

Is this yours?

Oh, yeah!

I thought I'd lost it.

I had the exact same one.

Hey, it's loaded.

Stop.

Stop it!

I'll take a shower.

Lock the door.

Stand on that.

Is that a pedestal?

Go on.

Drop it on the floor.

Unbutton your shirt.

Take it off.

Take off the belt.

Now these.

Now put your hands behind your back.

Kids, it's dinner time!

Dinner time!

Well... Dinner is ready.

I suppose you'll want to get dressed.

Come down before it gets cold.

- I thought you locked the door. - I thought I did.

Yeah, yeah. Hilarious.

Paul and Paulette, it's a...

It's a bit like brother, sister, no?

Why would you say that?

They have the same name.

Paul... Paulette...

Paul... Paulette...

Paul... Paulette...

He's a bit dull, isn't he?

Dad, please. He's great, but he's not my boyfriend.

He's just a friend, a mate.

It's just a fling.

You shouldn't let her speak about you like that.

Fuck, mum!

Okay.

They used tape.

Don't mess with my daughter, okay?

- Have some more. - No thanks, I'm good.

Not you, my love. Your heart...

I should tell you about when Paulette was young,

she had so much potential.

But she was a very difficult child.

One day, when her father was away,

she ran away from home.

Three days, she was gone.

They found her and her friend in Marseille.

Sleeping in the bin.

- I can imagine it. - Funny now.

Be careful, there's no controlling this girl.

When she was 13,

she was going in nightclubs,

dressed like a prostitute,

hanging out

with Algerians and gays.

She hung out with all sorts.

And what's wrong with that, mum?

What's wrong with Algerians and gays?

Nothing.

Nothing at all, my angel.

I'm a modern woman,

but when it's your daughter, you worry, that's all.

Let's talk about something else, shall we?

Fucking racist, homophobe!

Don't talk to your mother like that!

Incorrigible!

He walked in, just like you.

So tall.

He was wearing a suit.

He never wore a suit.

He took my face in his hands,

he kissed me here.

His hands smelled of soap.

He sat on the bed,

he said he loved me.

Put his arms around me.

I love you.

His hair was stuck together.

I thought it was...

But it was blood, of course.

How did he kill him?

I don't know.

That's not something we talk about.

I don't want to fuck tonight, okay?

I love you, my angel.

Thank you.

A drop?

Thank you.

There's no more coffee.

My love...

Could you make some?

It's boiling.

I like women.

I like women.

I like women too.

Well, I love this woman.

No, no, you haven't understood.

I was with a woman for three years.

I'm in love with her.

I fuck women.

What nonsense!

Mum, I'm a lesbian.

I find you in bed naked with a man

and the next morning you want me to believe you're a lesbian.

Who do you take me for?

Paul, say something.

Gilles...

Mum...

Sorry, Paul.

She's called Margarita, she's Russian.

And yes, sometimes I sleep with boys,

quite often, even.

You can say I'm bi, if it makes you happy,

but the person I love,

the one I love, is Margarita.

And if I'd had the courage to bring her here to meet you,

maybe she'd still love me too, but...

she thinks I'm a coward, because...

Fuck.

Maybe she's right.

Margarita.

That's the cherry on top.

So, your daughter...

is a whore and a dyke.

Are you happy now?

Don't you have anything to say?

Say something!

I'm going to get some coffee.

Let's go.

Let's go please.

I love you, my girl.

I shouldn't have fucked you, I'm sorry.

I don't regret anything that happened between us, you know.

It was...

delicious.

A dreamy experience.

Maybe I needed that to know what I want, you see?

It wasn't really Hitler's apartment.

Why would you tell me that?

It was a perfect memory, a perfect day.

Why would you ruin it?

It's the perfect moment that counts, isn't it?

- Yeah, and you just changed it. - Have I?

Whatever I say now doesn't affect the way you felt at that time.

It was delicious, a dreamy experience.

Fuck you!

- Good evening. - Good evening.

- Two rooms, please. - One room.

Hey, look.

Where were you?

I was in London.

I saw it on television.

It was actually my first week in France.

I was at a friend's house in Bastille.

We could hear the gunshots.

This is where Maurice Papon

had the bodies of Algerian protesters thrown into the river,

after the massacre in the sixties.

He was chief of police.

- That was here? - Yeah.

Pont Saint-Michel, here, along the Seine.

WE DROWN ALGERIANS HERE

In the forties, he organised the deportation of the Jews.

In 1961, he massacred Arabs.

An equal opportunities monster.

That same year they gave him the Legion d'honneur.

Vive la France.

Take one of me.

Here.

Keep it.

Bye.

Is this only fun because it's wrong?

Maybe.

At this moment in time, I love you.

What is that supposed to mean?

In this moment in time?

It's nice, but sweetie...

not fair.

I just wanted to let you know I appreciate this moment with you.

Love is a big word, Paul,

to be saved for the right occasion.

You shouldn't use it in half doses.

You know what I think?

I think "I love you" isn't a statement, it's a question.

What it really means is, "Do you love me?"

Have you ever wanted to ask someone that question?

Valerie...

I think we should just be friends.

I'm sorry.

I need you to photocopy these.

Okay. Yes, I have the address.

See you on Sunday.

Thank you.

So we said 400, right?

Listen. I haven't been able to rent this apartment for six years.

I don't know what you're up to, but it'll allow me to change the wallpaper.

- It's really where... - Yes, he spent two months here.

They found some bullets on the shelves there.

The furniture hasn't changed?

Not at all.

- What was he like? - Quiet.

Not a sound, not a call.

He paid in advance.

For me, he was just a tenant. For Paris...

That's where he kept...

It's where he kept the guns.

Here.

For the front door.

Thank you.

Okay!

I'm going.

Say hi to him for me.

Daddy?

It was only six years ago.

Paul...

Paul, what is it?

It was here.

This is where he woke up,

said his prayers.

He pissed in that bathroom, just like me,

before he went out and killed 130 people.

My God.

The Bataclan?

That's where he kept his guns.

I'm so sorry.

- Listen to me. - It seemed like a good idea.

You haven't done anything, okay?

It's just a place.

Just walls and...

and wood.

And the worst wallpaper ever.

I like the wallpaper.

Yeah, sure you do.

Okay?

What have you done?

They're Elvis Presley's.

Paul, that's so romantic.

This...

this was gonna be my big "I love you" gesture.

Obviously...

Obviously I wanted to make sure I looked my best.

It's n...

It's not love is it?

I'm a complete fucking psychopath.

I'm sorry.

I'd do anything for you.

But you're not for me are you?

Why don't you put some clothes on?

Yeah, that's a good idea.

Do you want the rest of these?

No.

Thanks, Paul.

Alright, then...

I'll leave them here.

Paul...

Are they real?

I dunno.

Maybe.

So, did you use my camera?

Yeah, a bit.

You know, I had a look at your website.

I liked your pictures.

I don't think you should have stopped.

Yeah.

Maybe.

- So, you're still with Margarita? - Yeah.

Yes, of course I am.

But you said you had a big fight.

Doesn't mean we broke up.

Some couples fight, Paul.

What did your fight taste like?

You know, like all the fights.

Orange juice and toothpaste.

Who's orange juice, who's toothpaste?

No, no, it's not like that.

Apart from fights, she's ah...

She's delicious.

You know, zesty.

Like a crêpe Suzette.

And I'm like the rum, I burn.

That's great.

So what do you think we taste like Paul?