All language subtitles for I.Stand.Alone.1998.720p.BluRay.x264-[YTS.AM]-eng

FRANCE

MORALITY

You know what Morality is?

I'll tell you what it is.

Morality is made for those who own it.

The rich.

And you know who's always right?

The rich.

And the poor pay the price.

Justice

You wanna see my Morality?

Yeah.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Sure you won't regret it?

I don't know.

I think it's gonna scare you.

Take a look.

That's Morality for you.

You know why I carry this around?

Because the guy in blue who
shows off his Morality, dig?

He's got the upper hand, dig?

He and his fucking Justice.

But I...

Here's my Justice.

Whether you're right

or whether you're wrong

same difference, friend.

Les CinZmas de la Zone present

the tragedy of a jobless butcher

struggling to survive

in the bowels of his nation

I STAND ALONE

To each his own life,
to each his own Morality.

My life?

There's nothing to it.
It's the life of a sorry chump.

They should write that someday.

The story of a man like so many others,
as common as can be.

It starts off in France,
shithole of cheese and Nazi lovers.

Our man is born near Paris in 1939.

In '41 his mother abandons him.
He'll never see her again.

At the War's end, he finally
finds out who his father was.

A French Communist killed
in a German death camp.

He's now six years old.

Inner turmoil is part of him.

Meanwhile, an educator nabs his
innocence in the name of Jesus.

At the age of 14, driven by survival
he learns to be a butcher.

For ten years he works around,

saving up penny after penny
to pay for his market place.

At 30, he succeeds and
sets up shop in Aubervilliers.

After a rough couple of years,
his horsemeat trade gains momentum.

At last he can start living.
He dates a young worker

and bursts her hymen
at the Hotel of the Future,

across from the factory she works in.

But events precipitate.

Nine months later, he fathers a baby
girl, Cynthia, rejected by the mother.

She abandons them and he's forced
to raise his daughter on his own.

Years go by.
The meat market struggles on.

The butcher pays installments
on a small flat.

He raises his daughter,
who's locked in muteness.

She reaches puberty.
She takes on shapes.

The father, unwilling bachelor,
must resist temptation.

And that's when tragedy strikes.
The young girl has her first period.

Stricken by an unfamiliar pain,
she heads for her father's shop.

A worker tries to seduce her
on her way over.

A neighbour spots them
and takes the girl to her father.

Seeing blood on her skirt,
he can only think of rape.

He grabs a knife
and takes off after the criminal.

On a nearby construction site
he sees another worker.

The butcher stabs
his knife into his face.

The innocent man survives,
the butcher winds up in jail

and his daughter is placed
in an institution.

He writes a few letters to her.
Months go by.

The butcher is forced to give up
his flat and shop.

He's out of jail, but all is lost.

To survive, he takes a job in a bar.

He becomes the matron's lover.

She gets pregnant
and offers to sell her bar

to start over from scratch,
in another city.

With the proceeds, she can afford
to lease a meat market.

Having no other choice, the man accepts.

For the first time
he visits his daughter.

He tells her goodbye.
She watches him leave without a word.

The next morning, he drives out
of Paris with the matron,

hoping to escape the dark tunnel
of his existence.

They reach Lille and stay
with the matron's mother,

waiting to find a flat
and shop of their own.

Unlike his native Paris,

streets in northern France
seem sad and deserted.

For the first time in his life,
he feels like a stranger.

Images of his dead father, a deportee,
rise to the surface.

But the butcher, like every man,
is a being of pure survival.

He decides to forget his past
and his betrayal of his daughter.

And his love for her.

Well, Love is a mighty big word.

Few can claim to know what Love is.

There you have it, that's me.
That's my life.

But today I'm starting life over again.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen...

Today, I'm resetting the counter.

Suburb of Lille, Northern France

3 January 1980

Good night, kids.

Good night, mommy.

Oh! Excuse me...

That's the same side
my father used to sleep on.

Don't you think
it's hot enough as it is?

She'd better pipe down,
she and her runt.

If she keeps on bothering me
I'm gonna blow her to bits.

And not only her face.

So we see the shop tomorrow?

Yeah.

Yeah, I like it.

But it's still a bit too much.

You have to lower the lease by 10%

and the rent too.

In your name?

No... in mine.

It was a bad deal.

I'd rather keep my money
until after the birth.

That's not what we decided.
What'll we do until then?

You can get a temporary job.
Come on!

Thanks.

Seeking deli butcher

See? They need a deli man.

I'm not a deli man.

It's easier than being a butcher.

Yeah, you're right.

What are you doing?

I want some.
Besides, it's my money.

I'm pregnant and fuck you.

So that's it.

Shit sausage. Shit vino.

Shit family in a fuckshit hole.

Look at you now, butcher.

You talk about a new life!

Filthy as they are,

the health inspector
might as well raid the place.

That's old folks for you.

Over time they lose
their sight, smell and hygiene.

But fatso's got no excuse.

And are your parents still alive?

I told you he was an orphan.

I'm sorry.

The point is to smile.

Understand?

So that shoppers want to buy.

We're in a supermarket here,
with music and all that.

Nice mood...

Understand?

Smile.

Come on, smile.

It's no use.
Go on, get outta here.

Chump!

No use crying for work.

What?
You couldn't get a job in a deli?

You think you're gonna
watch TV all your life?

If you weren't such a cheap cunt,
we'd have a shop already.

So shut the fuck up.

The winner of the Roubaix Race
has to be in great shape.

He's got to know where to position
his wheels when the going gets rough.

He must know when to break away
from the anonymity of the pack.

This is cycling's most gruelling trial.

Here's my son-in-law.
Meet Dr Choukroun.

We discussed your problem and
he said the rest home he works for

is looking for a night watchman.

Your mother-in-law told me
about your situation.

So, if this can help you out.

Well then, I'll leave the number

and you can contact them.

Fine, good day, sir.

So that's it! The old bag
takes me for a rest home watchman.

Maybe she wants me to wipe her ass too?

At least on the night shift
I'd avoid their sickening company.

Have you done night work?

Not really...

It looks easy,
but it can upset your system.

Never worked in a rest home before?

I went pooh-pooh.

Well, it's no hard-on.

Pooh-pooh.

It's sick though,
you think they're finished,

but you wouldn't believe
what goes on behind these doors.

You'll see.

There's your lodge.

Two weeks already I've been here

and ever since jail,
I haven't felt this laid back.

It's no worse than prison here.

It's even better, except for the smell.

Old people stink like shit.

Debussy Rest Home
18 March 1980, 4 A.M.

Anyhow, I'm fed up with those
two old cunts in their tenement.

I'm not gonna roll over easy for them.

But since fatso has the dough,

the cunt thinks
she can do whatever she wants.

That's how it goes.
Everybody bides his own cash,

everybody bides his own steak.
Nobody else'll do it for you.

Have you seen the doctor?

No.

An old lady is suffocating.
Can you help me? Hurry.

Yeah, sure but ...

Hurry, hold her hand.

Daddy...

Don't leave me... alone.

It's black... all... over.

Death opens no door

Death isn't much of anything
in the end.

We make such a big deal out of it.
But up close, it's like nothing.

A body without life, nothing more.

People are like animals. You love them,
you bury them, and then it's over.

Still, that's my first time seeing it.

Hers too.

But she seems all upset.

Yet there's nothing to get
all mushy over.

All right, yeah, I'll walk her home.

She looks fragile.

Besides... she's pretty.

I'll walk you home.

She reminds me of my daughter.

I bet my little Cynthia is all alone.

Come on.

But loneliness doesn't mean a thing.

You can live with a guy or a gal,

or even with kids, you're alone.

I'm all alone. And so is she.

You live alone, you're born alone,
you die alone.

Alone, always alone.

And even when you fuck, you're alone.

Alone with your flesh,
alone with your life,

which is a tunnel, impossible to share.

And the older you get,
the lonelier you are,

replaying memories of
a self-destructing life.

Yeah...

Well, Madam Fabienne!

What's she doing in these parts?

Shit! Already home.

Weird how when I like a girl
I fuck it up.

Even when they want me.

For sure this one does.

But broads always have a man
tucked away in a closet.

A life is like a tunnel.

And to each his own little tunnel.

But at the end of the tunnel,
there's not even light.

Yep. Nothing.

Even memory goes before the end.
Old folks know that.

A little life, a little savings,
a little retirement,

and then a little grave.
And all of it for nothing.

It's all useless. Even children.

When you're old and poor your kids
will throw you in a rest home

to croak alone, in silence.

Children don't care.

Filial love doesn't exist. It's a myth.

Your mother, you love her
as long as she gives you milk.

And your father
when he lends you money.

But when her breasts are all dried up,

or when your father's pockets are empty,

the best thing to do is lock them up

and let them die
before they cost you too much.

That's how it goes, the law of life.

Children pretend to be nice
only when there's an inheritance.

But when the inheritance
is a fridge or a TV set,

it's not even worth pretending.

Or strictly the necessary,
enough to buy a good conscience.

Phone once a month, shed a few tears
when they die and your duty is done.

Love, friendship, it's all bullshit.

Juvenile illusions to hide the fact

that human relations are nothing
but cheap business.

Friendship and love suits us,
but in a calculating way.

Reality is much more venal.

You love your mother because
she feeds you and stops you from dying.

Your friend because he gets you a job
that feeds you and stops you from dying.

And your fat old lady
because she cooks,

empties your balls, and gives you kids
to care for you when you're old

and afraid of dying.

But slap your kid just once and
he'll take revenge when you're old.

In fact, that slap

is exactly what he wants.

When he throws you in the rest home,
it'll be his excuse

to mask the natural disinterest

that we all feel toward our sires.

No. That baby they want to
trap me with, I don't like him.

And I know he'll feel the same.

No. Fucking isn't worth it.

It costs a bundle.

Yet it makes the time go by.

But stop wanting to fuck and you know
your time on earth is over.

That's the best this shitty life
has to offer.

Nothing but a reproduction code
written in your balls

you blindly respect.

Thanks.

Come into the world.
Eat. Wag your bone.

Give birth. And die.

Life is a huge void.
It always has been and always will be.

A huge void which could manage
perfectly well without me.

I'm sick and tired of playing this game.

No. No more.

I want to live something personal,
something intense.

I won't be the last interchangeable cog
in a huge machine.

The day of my death I want
to know that I've done more

than the same crap done by
a shitload of grovelling morons.

When it comes down to it,

any asshole's done what I've done.

I don't know.
I've got to find a reason, whatever.

Anything to make me want to hang on
for another twenty years till I die.

If I could start my life over again,

I'd make porno flicks.

There, at least, things are clear.

The people who do that grasp
the meaning of our species.

Either you're born with a cock
and you're only worthwhile

when you act like a nice hard cock
that wags around in holes.

Or you're born with a hole,
and you're only good if you get reamed.

But in both cases you're all alone.

As for me, I'm a cock.

Yes, sir. I'm a miserable cock.

And to be respected
I must always stay good and hard.

But with my fat momma
I can't get it up any more.

I'd just as soon do the old hag.

Or why not a threesome.
Me, the mother and the daughter.

I'm sure they'd like that,
the two perverts.

Me sticking it to both of them
on daddy's bed.

That fat bitch would go wild!

Pablo Picasso Tower

Same evening, around 10:30 P.M.

You show up this late?

Have a good fuck?

Was she good?

What?

You want me to refresh your memory?

And what did Fabienne tell me?

She saw you with a slut this morning.

I didn't do anything!

I wasn't coming back to this dump.

Go on then, get out of here! Get out!

That's just what I'll do!

Fine with me.
I can have the baby on my own.

Make a fag out of him!

Like his faggot daddy!

Faggot

What'd you call me?

Part-fagggt!

You poor cunt!

Cunt?! Cunt yourself!

What?

Fucking cunt yourself!

I'm gonna cream your bitch mouth!

Fat old cunt!

A piece of shit!
Fucking piece of shit!

I'm going to get the gun.

The what?

The gun.

What gun?

You have a gun, where?

Where is it?

Over there.

Over where?

In the cupboard.

Which one?

There.

The small one?

Old bitch!

Momma.

My baby.

My baby!

Here it is!

Momma!

He killed my baby.

I'm calling the cops.

The smartass cunt,

she's real smart.

Calm down now.

Calm down.

Gotta get out of this dump.

My baby, momma, my baby!

Your baby, what?

Your baby's hamburger meat now,
ground beef!

He lucked out of laying eyes
on your filthy face!

My baby! My baby!

My baby!

My baby! My baby!

Momma! Momma, my baby!

Idiot! Bum! Bastard!

My baby!

My baby!

Those two bitches might call the police.

Maybe they have already.

After those punches, she must be
shitting her foetus out on the rug.

This could cost me a lot.

No telling how long I could get
for making her abort.

She could even pass it off as murder.

And she's the one who started it.

Damn! But what am I gonna do now?

No regrets. The child's better off
dead than with those two retards.

Fat momma must be hurting now.

Yeah, I better not go back.

Not tonight, not ever.

Just cross it out.

I'd rather struggle on my own
than live with those freaks.

I can't put up with all
the world's misery.

I'm going to start my life over,
all alone, in Paris.

And to make it,
if I have to be bad, I'll be bad.

Yes, real bad.

I can do it.

That's the only way to win.

I've lost too much time as it is.

And now, I've got a gun.

I hope you like good music.

Northern Paris, how's that?

Damn, Paris can be bleak.
But the country is wicked.

I wonder how people waste away
their lives in such pits.

I guess bumpkins aren't made like me.

There you have it.

Another chapter in the life
of our sorry-ass chump.

How he escaped the trap set
by two slobbering spiders.

I feel better already,
the dump is behind me now.

I don't see how I'll manage
on only 300 francs.

But first I gotta find
a room for tonight.

And I do have some friends.

Well, we'll see if I do.

At least I'm among
real human beings again.

Strange, but I feel like I can
count on my lucky star.

Gotta watch out for the cops though.

Fat momma must be playing
the victim by now.

And she's liable to hand in
a list of my friends in Paris.

Yeah, I'll have to be real careful.

But I can be sure the police
won't find me here.

I was in a night club.
There she was. Our eyes met.

May I have the first-floor room,
overlooking the street corner?

Have you been here before, sir?

Yes, fifteen years ago.

That's room 26.

60 francs per day, in advance.

And after that you pay every day,
60 francs.

I ate that little girl up!
I couldn't stop!

You can't even imagine!
She was all over me!

I was like a beast
going wild on her ass!

And she was screaming!
Man, I fucking ripped her apart!

What an unbelievable night!

Here's your room, sir.

I'll pay for tonight.
We'll see about tomorrow.

Thank you, sir.

Feels strange to be back in this room

where my daughter was conceived.

What a great fuck her mother was.

But if I knew she was going
to lay a runt on me

I'd have never spurted inside her.

But that's how it goes.
I let the jissom flow.

And today my daughter exists.

And though her mother is dead,

that's what remains of times
spent with her on this bed.

A real woman is so beautiful.

But most are bitter over
being born without a cock.

When I think that the bitch dropped me
and the kid for a Portuguese.

Most women are poor creatures.

Being without a cock, the only way
they can feel strong in front of a man

is to betray him by latching on
to another cock,

especially when it's got more money.

The part I like is that after
having stuffed her snatch,

her prince charming dropped her
like stinky cheese.

She acted like filth,
but she was smart enough to admit it.

The past always catches up to you.

You always end up paying for your acts.

And if she threw herself in front
of a subway train

it's not my fault.

She obviously didn't deserve better.

Damn! Being broke is tough.

But having nobody to count on is cruel.

The less you have
the more people avoid you.

You can tell them about your kids,
your former shop, your worthiness.

The hotel owner, your so-called friends,
or the bartender on the corner,

they don't give a fuck.

Show them you're not in the money
and they'll throw your ass out.

And they'll do it
in the most humiliating way.

Rather than help a guy
through hard times,

they kiss rich ass for free,
hoping for a measly tip.

That's why their lips are full of shit.

But me, I'd rather be poor and honest.

Have somebody give me a small job,
enough to buy a good steak.

And keep people off my back.

It's no major happiness.
But it's enough for me.

I must be thick as a board
to come on his day off.

Who can I borrow some money from?

No, I'm not going to trip out
or shame myself.

Gotta hang on to my self-respect.

I can always sell the gun
as a last resort.

Maybe get 200 or 300 francs for it.

Good morning, a coffee please.

A coffee please...

You want mint tea, cross the street.

I didn't order mint tea.

The morning delivery didn't come.

But others have been served...

I said the delivery didn't come.

What a bitch, huh?

You say your delivery hasn't come
yet you serve other customers.

You be polite, now.
This is my place here.

I am polite.

No, I'm not in your place,
I'm in a coffee shop.

So please serve me.

Hey, I respect you.

You're here to serve me.

I respect you.
So don't fuck with me in my place.

Now get your Arab ass on home, boy.

You should go by and see your old place,

you know, your old meat shop.

Why's that?

Well, that Arab, it's amazing.

I mean it is al-ways packed.
He turns people away.

We all wonder, how'd you do it?
You were doing all right.

What happened to you?
How'd you end up so low?

You look bad.

- Oh yeah?
- Yes.

What do you expect, I don't have a job.

Damn shame.

And things are just gonna get worse.

Thanks a lot!

But you.

But you know,
you know what you could do?

You could... go to a temp agency.

You look pretty pale there.

And if you don't want to end up
ass naked in the gutter,

you better do something,
better pull yourself together.

What are you looking for?

As a butcher.

Not a thing.

Any deli work?

Same story.

Come back some other time.

Thanks.

You. I can see you like to have fun.

Sure do.

Well then...

wait for me a second.

I'll take you somewhere.

What's up with him?

He queer?
Or jealous she wants to eat my dick'?

The john's taken again!

Why not? She's not really my type.

But I can't refuse her that.

She looks young and hot.

I hope I can handle the job
and if I don't

I can always say it's because
I'm a sentimental guy.

What's this shit?

She won't be the first retarded cunt
I've whacked.

Like it's exchanges you know, get it?

Like I mean like I'm gonna
give you some energy.

Like I'm gonna

give you some heat.
It's like an exchange, like with fluids.

Because even if our energies
aren't really the same colours...

well like you, it's not really money
you're gonna give me, you see?

You know, it's like, you know,

it's energy you're gonna give me
because I give you energy, right?

Huh? You...

You agree don't you?

Don't you?

Let me see your arm.

You feel so good.

Look, I'm getting hard too.

Daddy...

You won't hurt me will you?

Come on.

Oh yeah, come on.

Too bad she wouldn't let me
do it my way.

Not even. Total misery.

A bitch. And they're all the same.

Same position, same setting,
same stench.

And to top that off, I pay for it.

Things look bad, butcher. Real bad.

Gotta wake up. Fast.

Gotta go see old Roland.
He was my nicest customer.

I hope he hasn't retired yet,
he's wanted to for so long.

Good old Roland, he's gotta have
a few bills stashed away.

Hey, I hope that mad bitch
didn't slip me the clap!

That's all I need, a cock dripping pus.

Thank god, last time I got that
was in the army.

No, no, I can't do it.
First it's one, and then it's another.

How do you expect us to go on like that?

Come on, he's a buddy of mine.

I ain't saying he's not.

But the earth's covered with buddies,
especially when you need something.

All right.
Listen, tell him I passed by.

Sure, I'll tell him.
Don't know how happy he'll be though.

You come at a bad time.

I can't help you financially.

Not even 200 francs?

Not even.

You want to see my pockets?

No, come on.

What I can do
is give you something to eat.

And from time to time
I can give you a place to sleep.

For a day or two,
that I can do, if you like.

Not, that's all right.

You know, I'm down to the bone.

I lent some money to a friend
who was like a son to me.

Money he didn't give back to me.

On top of that,
all I have to live on is welfare.

I can't even pay for a rest home.

You know how I am. If I could I would.

Once in a while, whenever you want,

you'll always have a piece of bread.

And your daughter, she all right?

She's fine.

Yeah, she's fine.

Listen, you gotta fight for her.

You know me.
I always lived like that.

Always struggling.

I don't have much.
Like I say, welfare.

But you know
you can always come around.

I'll always have
a piece of bread for you.

Life is a struggle every single day.

You gotta fight, gotta hang on.

Think about it.

Same goes for me, I fight.

And I always have fought hard.

Try to get over this.

You're like me,
you were born under an unlucky star.

You know, between the rich and
the poor, it's always the poor who pay.

And we're with the poor.

Well, drop by again,
it's always a pleasure.

I hope circumstances will be better.

Yeah.

Yeah, just enough
to buy me a sandwich, and then.

Either ham or cheese, not both,
and no butter.

It's hot in here...
And tomorrow what'll I do?

I won't panhandle.

Not at my age.

Not in my own neighbourhood.

Oh, how I love my country.

France!

Poor France!

All the world's misery is upon you.

No more factories, no more work.
Nothing but ruins and unemployment.

Damn, I'm starving!
Not a bar within sight.

It's a mile walk at least.

Stay here, it's just as well.

Then I can pay for a snack tomorrow.

I should go to bed.
He who sleeps forgets his hunger.

Maybe tomorrow
I won't even be hungry.

Sorry, but I've got problems
with the shop.

I'm almost bankrupt.
Why don't you go see Antoine?

Maybe Antoine can help you out.

I can't do a thing. I could offer you
a steak, but that's about it.

I can't take you on, old buddy.

What about right now?

No, I can't help you, listen.

But you know the slaughterhouse boss?

- France Horsemeat?
- Yes.

Well, get a move on. Go see him.

Yeah.

It's very very very tough.

You can't do a thing. Nothing's selling.

I even had to lay a guy off last week.

Couldn't even keep a place for him.

Times are hard.

Look...

I don't like asking but...

Could you loan me some cash
for a few days until I find a job?

I'm one month behind on my salaries.
One whole month!

You get the idea?

I saw the slaughterhouse was hiring.
Try it, you never know.

You gotta try, gotta go see.

Living is a selfish act

Surviving is a genetic law

It can't be right to go asking
for a job from my former supplier.

Especially if I decide
to open up another shop.

Yeah, I doubt that.

What the hell? After all the meat
I bought, they owe me at least that.

I think the boss liked me all right.

Of course it doesn't mean much
to be polite to your clients.

Still, if there's work, as a former
butcher I should have priority.

I only hope he doesn't ask questions
about the Arabs who took over my shop.

When do you pay your room?

I'm going to get some money.

Damn!

He better lay off
or I'll blow his brains out!

So what? There's no shame.

I got nothing to lose.
Might as well go all the way.

Do it for the money.
And if you gotta kill horses,

might not be all fun and games,
but it'll calm your nerves.

Yeah.

What I need is a good steak.

We know each other.
I was your client, remember?

And you went bankrupt.

Yeah.

Anyway, killing animals is easier
than running a meat market.

That may be true in part.

Listen, we may be needing some dressers.

Did you fill out the application card?

Yeah.

I don't see your age.

Fifty.

Good.
So you don't have a criminal record?

Yeah. No. Well...

I did a few days.
It was a mistake.

I thought my daughter had been fondled.

Listen, I won't hide the fact that
I have seen several applicants.

And I'm not the only one to decide.

What we're going to do...
You're going to call my secretary

at the beginning of next month.

It can't be any sooner?

You understand that
if it were up to me alone,

you could almost count on it.

Thank you.

Sorry for the trouble.

No problem.

What? A fairy treating me like that?

Tell me I'm dreaming!
As if I didn't know his wife dropped him

the day she caught him having
his sphincter rimmed by an employee.

All the horsemeat butchers in Paris know
that little Mr Blanchat likes cock.

He lets his ass do the blow jobs.

And who's he to be so proud?
I hear his father was of the same ilk.

I wonder why there are
so many queers among the rich.

Must be their lack of strenuous effort.

They lounge around doing jack shit and
their genes grow soft and degenerate.

Yes indeed, that's the way it is.
France Fruitcake, not Horsemeat!

Bullshit liar!

I'm ashamed this guy is French.

Run by guys like him, France is truly
the kingdom of double-crossing scum.

The better they dress,
the worse they are.

Application card, my ass! I should have
blown the scum away on the spot.

Kick him in the face to make sure
he feels my criminal record.

What's the cocksucker think?
I'm a leper'?

A good workout in prison
would show him how the world turns!

But the rich hardly ever go to prison.
Or one exception every ten years.

Prison is made for the poor.

And laws are made for the rich.

So the poor got no right to steal.
Just to be ripped off and fucked over.

No problem with that!

White-collar scumbags like him
can steal your money,

your happiness and your dignity.
All in total legality.

Every day these crooks, sons of crooks,
protected by laws written by their kin,

slip their hand in your pocket
and their finger up your ass.

Yours, your wife's, your children's,
and what's more, they want you to smile.

Okay. I'll smile. But give me revenge.

That's what I get off on.

Guys like Robespierre are the ones
who could do France some good today.

Not the fat sluggish fruitcakes
who pretend to govern us.

In this country, for centuries
it's been the same or even worse.

But today people are too queer
to make a revolution.

All you get now is personal revenge.

Yes, like mine.

And it will be good for all.

If Robespierre was a national hero,
I'll be one too, on a smaller scale

by killing that rich homosexual pig
who won't hire me because I was in jail.

What? He wants me to become a bum
who'll suck his cock for a dime?

Is that his plan?

Well, now he's gonna learn what
real violence means.

The 50 years of humiliation
I've had shoved up my ass,

that pansy's gonna do it all
in six minutes of total physical agony.

I won't even leave him time
to learn his lesson.

No. His family will pay the price.
And his friends too.

People with money always have friends.

Not like me. No friends. Except my gun.

Look, a bar.

A drink to the scumbag who doesn't
know he's signed his death sentence.

Yeah, I still have some money.
11 francs, I think.

I can see it go down tomorrow.

I wait for him after work
in front of the slaughterhouse.

As he leaves I tail him
and the bent fag starts to twitter.

So he politely picks up his pace
and I catch up to him.

How was your work day today?

It's tough turning away jobseekers, huh?

How strong you look behind your desk
making a fool of me!

How are you? Remember me, huh?

See, you have a house, a car, clothes
and money, nice and cosy in a bank.

Well, after 35 years of work,
I don't have a thing.

What's left of my life ain't on your
little application card. It's my gun.

I assume you're not used to guns.
Well, I'm not used to money.

But you know,
I wish I'd had a normal life like yours.

After 35 years of work and honesty

my former supplier
treats me like lowlife scum.

Okay, Mr Boss Man. I lost.

I'm jack shit.
But now Jack Shit has the gun.

You don't intimidate me any more.

So, between the two of us,
I get the last word.

On that note I put the gun to his neck
and watch his pansy face melt in fear.

What's wrong? Shit your pants already?
Why you act like a little girl?

Because I'm out of work?
Or maybe it's my record?

You know what Jack Shit says?

Up your ass!

Because of all the races in the world,
one must be eradicated.

Guess which one?
Yours!

Rich liars and Nazi lovers.

Then I pull out my piece
and blow his face away.

You listening now?
And I shoot again.

I hear him screaming, No! No! No!

You see, little Mr Boss Man?

Life is violent sometimes.
Didn't expect this, huh? Asshole!

How much is that?

12 francs.

How about 11.20?

Oh!

What's with you?

Wanna suck my cock? Huh?

Wanna suck me?

Creep.

Nigger faggot.

I said,

Nigger faggot.

That's enough, get out!

What? I didn't do anything...

You deaf or what?

I didn't do anything!

Get the fuck out!

I didn't do anything!

Out, son of a bitch!

Lay off, man!

See this gun? You don't lay off my son,
it's not gonna blow out your ass.

But out your brains, mother fucker!

Get the fuck out or die!

Cool.

Cool.

Faggot

You got it all wrong,
whose faggot are you, fuckass?

Get your drunk ass out!
He's all fucked up.

Jerk thinks he makes the law.
Where's he headed...

Where's he from, man.

Stone drunk.

Nice guy the boss,
showing him the gun.

I'd have pulled the trigger.

You're one mean son of a bitch.

You kidding, a drunk like that.
Pour us another round, boss.

Only one?

Yeah, for me and my friends here.

Cocksucking bastards!
I'm gonna get my gun too.

They don't know me yet,
they don't know who I am.

Never turn your back on violence.
It's a man's thing.

I gotta act quick and strong.

Watch me, I'll show them
Justice in my country.

They'll bow to my gun, the scum.

Ain't no Justice without revenge.
I'm not gonna snitch to the cops.

It's up to me to serve fucking Justice.
Death to the scum.

No appeals.

A bullet through their empty skulls
and you can kiss two maggots goodbye.

Shit! Better check the clip.

3 bullets!

One for the boss.
One for his son.

And one for that cocksucking blond sissy
who called me a drunk.

Show them respect!
I better aim good at the first two.

Never know what sewer they come from.
I'm sure they're not from these parts.

But the father was wearing a crucifix.
Maybe he's Spic or Wop.

Some even change names and religions
to infiltrate our homeland.

But me, I'm true-and-blue French and
I'll show them what dignity means here.

Hey! You coming out?

Come on out, old faggot!

You coming or not?!

Come on out, faggot!

I'm talking to you!

You won't risk it, eh?!

Come on, faggot!

I'm gonna show you who I am.

Cocksucker!

Assfucking faggot!

You think it's a civilised world,
but it's really a jungle.

And in the jungle you better be
one of the strongest.

Otherwise, you're mere prey,
forced to save your ass by running.

And it all depends on luck at birth.

Either you're born poor like most of us
and you undergo the strength of others.

You follow orders, suffer humiliation
and maybe you get violent.

Or you're born rich and
you watch your money.

You do like others do,
pretend to love wife, kids and friends

like they all pretend to love you.

But the day your life or house
catches fire,

when your middle-class dreams crumble,
and you have no more to give,

your brothers, your so-called friends
will all join together to crush you.

In silence. And they'll be pretending
to lend you a helping hand.

That's just what they need to feel good.

The more miserable you are,
the more you ask for help,

the more they feel superior.

They crush you.

Yeah, I don't think I'll ever
be well again.

I've done it: breakdown.

And I'm in deep shit.
I'm all the way in, down to the bottom.

But I'm not afraid. On the contrary.
I'm not asking for anybody's help.

I'll go farther, I'll go all the way.

I'll dig a tunnel through
this ocean of shit I'm in.

That's what counts. Going all the way.

My whole life's been a colossal turd
willed by my bitch mother

who got her thrills
and never showed me her face.

Say it again.

Say it, ape-faced fuckass!
If you're still a man.

Die!

The scum's mouth starts pissing blood.

He cries for help. Nobody comes
except his wimpy shit son.

Creep!

And the third bullet I save for
my pal at the slaughterhouse.

I open the door to his office
and hand him my application card.

You went bankrupt.

Yes. After snuffing the other morons
I should blow my brains out.

A nice death pact for the butcher.

Anything's possible if I decide to die.

No punishment, therefore no crime.

Certain pleasures are denied only on
account of maggots in ties or frocks.

They're not my kind of people.

All my life they've kept me down.

In the name of their Morality,
they fucked me up the ass.

So why shouldn't I blow my brains out?

I've got three bullets
and if I save one for myself,

I've still got two left for the others.

Yeah. Nobody will miss me.

It'd be perfect for everybody.

Yeah, I could croak, and then nothing.

The void... like before I was born.

But Cynthia? Do I have the right
to just leave her, with nothing?

Without saying farewell to her?

Can I let her grow old and
become a street tramp?

To get fucked and battered sick
by all the bums in Paris?

No.

I'm her father.

And even if she was a mistake,
she's my responsibility.

Oh yeah. That fat swine
at the slaughterhouse.

I'm going to bleed him like no
human being has been bled before.

I'm going to make his pain last.
And my pleasure too.

He'll pay for everybody who deserves
to die that I won't be able to shoot.

Even if he's not the worst of the lot.

Since I have to knock off a moron,
he's the worst moron I know.

And today I'm going to blow
his fairy ass to smithereens.

Yes. This is the only act that
will return my dignity to me

and give me the will to go on living.

There's no other solution.

It's clear. To each his own Morality.
To each his own Justice.

And mine is already in the making.

I told you I'd be back.

I want to show her the Eiffel Tower.

Well, have a nice day.

Thank you.

She's changed so much in a few months!
I don't recognise her.

Maybe soon she'll start
looking like her mother.

And what will I look like in ten years?
I bet I'll be dead.

It'd be cool to know the future.

Who knows? With a little luck
there'll be a war soon, World War Ill.

And all the bastards around me
will get their guts blown out.

But why France and not other countries?

We're no worse than the Germans.

Yes, Germany must also disappear.

They're all Nazis or sons of Nazis.

And they killed my father.

1988: the year Germany
is destroyed by Russia.

A round of applause!

But what am I thinking?

Tonight I'll no longer be of this world.

That much I know.
But she doesn't know.

How weird.

A life goes by so fast
and for nothing in the end.

It's funny.
She's still, as if she's afraid.

She must sense we're not going
to the Eiffel Tower.

I should comfort her.

We're going on a long journey.
A very very long journey.

Just the two of us.

You want to, don't you?

Warning

You have 30 seconds
to leave the screening of this film

Maybe hunger is why I'm so clearheaded.
The less you eat, the more you perceive.

In death camps some saw magnetic waves.

Everything's gonna turn out fine now.
l hope.

I've got nothing left to lose and
I feel stronger than ever.

Life is a constant struggle.

And to succeed you can't hesitate.

It eats up too much energy.

Hotel of the Future
23 March 1980, around noon

She's lucky to have a father.
I never met mine.

And all that because of the Krauts
who killed him.

But why did she change so much?

Maybe at the institution
they did things to her?

No, I don't think so.

Almost nobody there but women.

She's so beautiful, my baby.

I'm proud of her.

She has a perfect body.
A lot prettier than her mother's.

Hey, I should wash her.

No. There's only the sink.
And I might get off track.

The pistol. Yes. The gun.

I can't be afraid.

If I wait too long
I might change my mind.

Let's make this clear.

The act of violence I must commit
will be a wholesome act

that will let us flee
this machine with dignity.

Dying must be like sleeping.

Only better.

When you gotta 90, 99

That's it.
We did what we had to do.

But it wasn't as nice as I thought.

Now let's put an end to this anguish.

I've got nothing left to lose.

Yes, that's it.
I'm doing this for your own good.

It's my duty to spare you years of pain.

Wait for me on the other side.
I'll be coming right after you.

It'll only hurt for a second.

It's done.

What's going on in there?

Yes, it's done.

Open the door!

Open up please!

Or I'll call the police!

Open up!

I hope I didn't miss her.

I'm gonna get the key!

Go on, die.

Go on. Croak, goddamn it.

A knife would have been faster.

I've killed pigs. A priest taught me.

You stab the blade in the jugular.

She's flailing like swine.
She's suffering. I can't take it.

Killing's easier at the slaughterhouse.
What can I do?

I don't get it. Why am I doing this?
She's going now. It's against my will.

A superior force is guiding me.
She'll die where she was conceived.

It's not me. It's the force.
She returns from whence she came.

That's what I'll say at the trial.
What trial?

Back to square one.
I'm gonna shoot myself.

I feel sick. Gotta finish her off.
Can't chuck up, not now, not on her.

I can't. She's hurting bad.

Stay clean. This could last forever.
Finish her off. Can't fuck up.

Acts go one way. Use another bullet.
No act can be reversed.

But I won't have enough for me
and Mr Boss Faggot.

The arrow flies one way, too fast.
Move a finger and a child is born.

Now it's Good vs Evil.
Move another finger.

Gotta choose.

You never fix your mistakes.
Add them up till time erases them.

But death is no mistake.
Death is the only way out.

And my baby has already left for good.
Now it's my turn.

Blow your shit head to hell.
Show us your brains, too.

Easy to forget we're just
all meat, fat and bones.

That's me, a piece of meat
that thinks too much.

They killed my baby. Stop the meat from
thinking. It needs some rest.

Butcher, help the steak shed its flesh.
Someone touched my baby girl.

He had no right. What am I saying?
Dirty faggot, I'll slaughter him.

Good must win. It's my duty.
The worker.

No, the butcher. Communist like dad.

He wanted good. Krauts killed him.
He killed her. So I kill the faggot.

Death sentence. Thank god the Yanks
and Reds blew the Nazis' brains out

and butt-slashed the human rot who
were their wives. I'll slaughter him.

But they forgot to snuff the Nazi-loving
evil that infests our nation.

Make him wait. Punish him.
But before leaving France

why didn't they openly rape and castrate
the rich officials licking German balls?

He must suffer. Yankees are all right,
far more advanced than us.

It's almost over. Watch his face.
As for my mother. He killed her.

No, I'm still the same.
Orphan. Jobless. Butcher. She was evil.

Shoot, if you're a man. She was a bitch
ratting Jews and Commies off to Nazis.

You faggot or what?
Evil often wins.

Save this bullet for the Boss Man.
Like Jesus, he was good. Back to jail.

They crucified him. Evil wins a round.
Vicious preachies snatched his image.

The Good is dead. And his name.
I don't get it. So that Evil reigns.

No, Evil must be shot down.
Yes, Evil. Me, I'm a good guy.

I've got to shoot the Boss and not me.
A father, a daughter, a gun.

Today the world's Evil.
Good must prevail. The world stinks.

I can't believe she's dead.
There's no room for the pure.

Maybe she's not dead.
Here I come.

God I love you, Jesus too.
One doesn't die so fast.

But help me shed this fat stinky cheese
into which you've propelled me.

Maybe she's faking. Maggots everywhere.
I can't believe it's over.

And the cheese is not enough for them.
They're meat-eaters. They want me.

Maggots put on frocks.
And they say they come in your name.

She is too beautiful.
But I know it's not true.

They're Nazis.
Why did I disfigure her like that?

The Evil was inside them.
At least no one else will touch her.

They managed to slip it inside my body.
At the morgue they'll finger her pussy.

No, don't let Evil into my baby's body.
Save this bullet to blow her body apart.

Don't get paranoid. She's pure.
On to the next stage of my plan.

She's waiting for me. Somewhere.
Everything's on schedule. Up there.

Cynthia, I see you've left your body.
I saw your spirit.

The first murder is the hardest.

A few seconds more and I'm coming.

The old bitch who shat me out
might be waiting.

And the bitch who hatched Cynthia too.

We're innocent. Calm down.
And the Good must win. Breathe deep.

I'm coming baby.
Count to 10. Yes. That's it. 10.

9. My past, our love is coming with me.
But my brain? Why is it burning?

What'll they do with my brain and
my cock after I die?

The air is burning. At the morgue
they'll slice and jar them.

They put a substance in the room.
That's science, maggots in ties.

In this hotel, even the air you breathe
is billed. Pay up or get gassed.

All faggots. It must be nice being dead.
I wish I had bullets for everybody.

Gotta count. It's either them or me,
so it's up to me to go.

10.

Cynthia's waiting.
9. Wait, darling. 8.

7. But We'll be back. 6. Yes.

5. And next time I'll be the president.
4. I'll be that for you.

3. I'll govern France.
2. And I'll buttfuck them all.

1. Here we go. They won't escape.
The red button. Soon, the Void.

And all they're gonna get from me is
shreds of my brain. The Void. Here I go.

It's over.

No, it's me. It's my head.

No, I can't do that.

I'm a good man. And I must stay good.

Strange how I've failed at everything.

My birth. My youth.
My love life. My shop.

I should never have been born. No.

Never.

My entire life is a mistake.

Except my daughter.

I know what's going to happen.

I've already experienced this instant.
Yes, a thousand times already.

Like it's happening all over again.

I love you more than anything.

Don't leave me alone.

Morality

Man is moral

I don't know how today's going to end.

But here, with you, I exist.

And I'm haPPY

Happier than ever.

The rest doesn't matter.

Maybe it's our last day.
Or maybe not.

Maybe I'll never shoot myself.

Maybe I'll make love to you.

And tomorrow I'll be locked up.

Four months, a year or two.

So what?
Jail isn't the end of the world.

If worse comes to worse,
I can always hang myself.

Whatever, even if they do lock me up,

I'll have this moment to hold on to.

And the satisfaction of fulfilling
my desire instead of somebody else's.

In the end, maybe my life has a meaning.

To protect you.

To bring you all the happiness
that nobody else will ever give you.

You are my little girl.
And I will make of you... a woman.

We'll do it. And we'll be happy.

It will be our secret.

In any event, whether we do it or not
won't change the course of humanity.

And for me, and for you,
it'll change everything.

People think they're free.
But freedom doesn't exist.

There are only laws that strangers
have made for their own good,

laws that bind me in unhappiness.

And among these laws
one says I must not love you

because you are my daughter.

And Why?

If they forbid us this love,
it's surely not because it's evil.

But because it's too powerful.

Between us, that's all I can see.

I love you.

That's all there is to it.

You've been watching
a Gaspar Noe film.