Original subtitles

Three things are important in History.

First of all, numbers...

secondly, numbers...

and thirdly, numbers.

This means, for example...

the blacks in South Africa...

are bound to win some day...

while North American blacks will probably never make it.

History is not a moral science.

Legality, compassion, justice...

such notions are foreign to history.

Interview with Dominique St-Arnaud, by Diane Léonard...

for, Writers Today.

You're Chairperson of the History Department...

and you've just published Changing Concepts of Happiness.

Can you tell us about it?

It's my premise that the concept of personal happiness...

permeates the literature of a nation or civilization...

as its influence wanes.

What do you mean by "personal happiness"?

The expectation of receiving...

instant gratification in daily life...

and that this gratification constitutes...

the normative parameter of existence.

Can you give us a concrete example?

Take marriage, for instance.

In stable societies, marriage

is a mode of economic exchange...

or a unit of production.

Meaning?

The success of a marriage doesn't depend

on the personal happiness of the 2 individuals.

The issue never even comes up.

A developing society places greater importance...

on the collective good, or future happiness...

than on personal satisfaction.

In Rome, for example...

the idea of conjugal love first prevails

in the 3rd century, under Diocletian...

as the Empire is collapsing.

And in Europe, Rousseau's idea of happiness...

ushered in the French Revolution.

So I pose the question:

Is the frantic drive for personal happiness...

we see in society today...

linked to the decline of the American empire...

as we are now experiencing it?

How's that?

I need another 5 minutes. Milan Kundera didn't show.

Just stretch it out.

How?

Social disintegration, decay of the elites, you know.

Strange that she barely mentions women in her book.

It wasn't her subject.

Still...

To ignore it...

Who'd want to equate feminine power with social decay?

But women's rise to power has always been linked to decline.

It's symptomatic.

You can tell her that later.

Thanks!

Speaking of feminine power...

you should see the Vietnamese girl in my class!

With Orientals, I have this feeling...

they're giving my money to their sick brother.

I can't imagine them ontologically perverse.

Sebastian broke the window in the back door.

I've covered it, but should I call in a repairman?

I'll do it Monday.

And my car's dead. It must be the starter.

Sylvaine had a fit 'cause I couldn't drive her to ballet.

Dominique and Diane aren't here yet.

So don't worry if we're a little late.

No problem, we'll wait.

Danielle wants to speak to Pierre.

I love you.

Really?

You?

Me?

You still love me?

Yes, of course.

You're scared to say it because of Rémy, eh?

See you later.

Can we help?

After I've prepared the trout.

The shallots please.

My back's really hurting.

You should take a swim.

The water's so cold, and I swim badly.

Making love is the only exercise I really enjoy.

Turn over.

Oh, to be slim, young and attractive...

I'm forever on a diet.

I weigh myself every morning.

I'm terrified of getting flabby.

My problem is...

I was born in the wrong era.

I was made to be fat.

My grandmother,

never did anything more strenuous...

than play the organ in church.

She was an enormous woman who loved to eat...

and drank vermouth with her sugar donuts.

In those days, men liked their women big.

There's no vesiga, I suppose.

Use the tapioca.

There's a Polish store that sometimes has vesiga.

But it's way out in Brossard!

I took Leni Eisenbach to a Chinese restaurant in Brossard.

In Brossard?

Is there a good Chinese restaurant in Brossard?

What?

Hand me the parsley.

I was still married then.

I don't get it.

Visual idiots! Perhaps you should draw him a picture.

So, tell me.

A month before, I'd invited a student to Delmo's for seafood.

Naturally, intending to screw her madly afterwards.

Never changes.

A friend of my wife's spotted us.

She had just separated.

Her husband was cheating on her of course.

She hated men.

Familiar tune.

At 4 am. when I say the faculty meeting ended late...

my wife asks me if the oysters were fresh.

Horror of horrors!

This explains why married men frequent the suburbs.

I discovered amyl nitrite in Brossard.

What's that?

Drug for heart patients...

dilates the blood vessels instantly.

You had a heart attack, in Brossard?

I'd picked up 2 girls hitching to New York.

Couldn't pass them by.

Not at night!

So I paid for their motel.

Ah, Christian charity!

It had its rewards!

They offered to sleep with me.

Two kind souls.

Lovely bodies too.

One of them placed a tiny pill on the night table.

Is that the chicken stock?

Yeah, and get the velouté.

She told me to take the pill 15 seconds before coming.

Amyl nitrite just before orgasm...

Absolute ecstasy... St. John of the Cross.

But it ages your heart years.

I'm such a jerk...

I was so excited, I forgot to take it.

I brought it home...

and took it the next night, with my wife.

Told her it was a test for the school of pharmacology!

There's a diver in the pool.

He must be from the club.

You're shivering!

The water's freezing.

Go take a sauna.

What're those?

What?

Those marks.

Nothing... from my judo class.

Judo?

So I told my daughter. She's insanely jealous.

I'm having a weird affair with this guy.

Unbelievable.

Someone I met in a bar.

What does he do?

I prefer not to know.

For openers, he said it was time I met a man like him...

a real man.

He's never made love to me normally...

always from behind...

like a man.

Before him, I couldn't stand that.

The first few times he pulled on my hair...

like a mane.

Then...

he started spanking me...

on my ass and thighs.

Next it was his leather belt.

Then he began...

tying me to the radiator...

In more and more degrading positions.

I had never come like that.

But I have to stop.

It's getting dangerous.

You're afraid of him?

No, it's me I'm afraid of.

I'm the one who always wants to go further.

I'm the one in control.

I've never felt so powerful.

The power of the victim is incredible.

He's totally dependent on me.

It's got nothing to do with wife beating.

It's a game that has fixed rules but no limits.

We could even kill each other.

The strangest part is, I don't love him.

He knows...

how to get right into me.

You lie through your teeth, that's what saves you.

What else can one do?

Lying is the basis of all love affairs...

of our very social existence.

Refusing to lie

would be much the same as

telling an eminent colleague from Laval University...

who's devoted years

to the history of Catholicism in Canada...

that he can take...

Bishop Bourget's sermons...

roll them very tightly...

and slowly shove them up his ass.

Not Bishop Bourget's sermons!

Instead...

you shake his hand warmly and say...

"Very impressive!"

"Outstanding research!"

Think so?

"Brilliant fact checking!"

Really, gentlemen, you're embarrassing me!

Same with women.

"Your hairdo makes you years younger."

"I thought about you all day."

"Wanted to call."

"We can still be friends."

I couldn't endure a separation.

The screaming, threats of suicide...

finding an apartment, fighting over the furniture.

I knew a couple who even divided up their spice jars.

It's easier to stay together.

Couples renovate their houses...

cross-country ski to Povoknituk...

Or scour the sex shops for

chains and whatever.

They swap wives in suburbia.

Anything to escape the years of boredom.

Love, the kind

that makes your heart race...

makes you send flowers...

lasts 2 years at best.

Then the compromises begin.

Life's a compromise.

We've been married years...

and still have wonderful times.

You don't have kids.

It's not the same.

I want to be with mine every day...

not every other weekend.

You're flushed.

Oh...? My sauce won't thicken.

I divorced for purely physical reasons.

I was scared to death of the phone.

When you have affairs...

the poor things are bound to fall in love.

It was awful...

knowing one day, one of them would call me at home.

Every time the phone rang...

my heart skipped a beat.

It's been years now.

With Danielle, it's different.

Still, when the phone rings at night...

I panic, totally.

Who is it?

A woman.

Oh, hi mom.

The young lady who answered...?

A girl called you last night.

She spoke English.

Oh yeah?

I didn't understand much.

Guess not.

She said her name was Barbara.

Must be the girl from the conference in San Diego.

She sends...

"a warm kiss".

Oh?

She's a lovely girl.

Terrific organizer.

Barbara Michalski!

She'd done her Ph.D. at San Diego...

on the impact of working women in Chicano families.

She was brilliant.

That's what seduction's about...

not big breasts or long legs.

It's in the mind.

We were together only 8 days.

We went camping in the Baja.

I knew nothing about psychology.

So at night, before we made love...

she'd tell me about R.D. Laing, anti-psychiatry...

so many things.

I could've listened to her for nights on end.

Hi, Rémy.

Sorry I'm early.

Am I disturbing you?

Not at all.

What are you up to?

Some filing.

What's in that file?

Nothing.

It's on Shiite factions in Lebanon.

Are you sure?

Why Lulu...

I'm as clear as spring water.

Yeah, transparent even.

Wholesome as fresh bread.

What became of her?

I don't know.

We used to phone each other.

Then she disappeared.

Probably married some dumb Mexican.

Whenever I'm in the library...

I look for her name in the psychology journals.

I'll probably never see her again.

I think about her a lot.

How tragic!

What're you thinking?

I was thinking how happy we are.

I'm not completely naive.

I'm sure Rémy has flings now and then, on his trips.

But at home he's good.

The one time he wasn't, I was with him.

So I don't worry.

Meaning?

I don't know if I should tell.

We'd heard about a doctor...

an old school buddy of Rémy's...

who organized rather unusual parties.

He had invited us...

and we decided to go.

What was it like?

There were a dozen couples...

professional people mostly.

A psychiatrist too.

People from about 30 to 50.

What happened?

It was a bit strange.

First, they waited for everyone to arrive.

Then we went to the basement.

It was spacious...

with thick carpets, lots of pillows...

soft lighting...

They showed a porno video.

People began to dance.

It wasn't really dancing...

more like vertical foreplay.

Then suddenly everyone was making love...

all over the house, in the rooms upstairs.

You too?

Yeah.

But just once.

I wasn't what you'd call...

Rémy was more active.

I saw him with 2 women.

Who did you fuck?

I don't even know.

You don't talk much.

The man making love to me was taking his time...

That's good.

Yeah, it's just that his wife...

must've hit on a premature ejaculator.

Because she arrives...

Charles...

What?

Aren't you being a little slow?

Thérèse, please!

Come on!

Come on!

Are you serious?

I swear!

Are you enjoying him?

Thérèse!

Coming dear.

Alright, see you later.

So he started in for real.

I did my best to help him.

You shouted, "More, more, more!"

Let's say I kept it to...

heavy panting.

Anyway, finally it worked.

He had his little orgasm and went off to find his wife.

Did you come?

Well, no.

He didn't know me.

I'm not like you, Diane...

I was doing it mainly for Rémy.

What do you mean, not like me?

Well, it was...

for married couples.

Married?

That's right.

These people...

are absolutely faithful, do everything together.

For me it was a way...

of showing our love.

Have you ever tried it?

Wife swapping parties, orgies, that sort of thing?

I never mix my marriage with my sex life.

I may cheat on Louise,

but I know she's the one for me.

Yes?

Diane's not around?

Not yet.

Which is her place?

The one in back.

Right next to mine.

The door's probably locked.

I'll go see.

Not bad!

Your type, eh?

It's asking for trouble.

I was in love with someone like him.

It lasted 6 months.

He was killed.

Motorcycle accident.

That's when I began cruising.

I'd be cruising every night if I could.

I thought you were.

Not anymore.

I can't teach the next day.

The only time I feel alive is when I'm cruising.

It's incredible, I become...

crazed...

electrified...

I know the feeling.

But for me it's dangerous.

A friend was stabbed in the shower.

I can't help it.

Some nights I just have to fuck someone...

Anyone.

It doesn't matter.

Like an alley cat on the prowl...

The urge is overwhelming.

I'm always being robbed.

Guys take off with records, wine, my watch.

I'm not physically brave...

but when it hits...

I can set out at 4 am. on an expedition...

through the saunas of Los Angeles...

or the heaviest bars in St. Pauli in Hamburg.

That's why I live alone.

I never know how the day will end.

Even if nothing happens...

the possibility still exists.

Knowing I have to be home at 6,

'cause the old lady has supper waiting...

would kill me.

The old lady or the old man.

Same thing.

I like knowing supper is ready...

and stopping off on the way home.

When I'm in love, I become monogamous.

It lasts a while...

then the beast rears its head.

I turn into a public menace!

I swear, they should lock me up.

I once visited a brothel...

on the way to my mistress.

Try explaining that to a woman.

Oh damn.

What?

We're out of eggs.

I've got some...

the plastic kind from the village.

I couldn't buy any in the city.

They'll do.

It was locked?

She shouldn't be long.

I'm not like you guys.

I don't need to fuck a new girl every day.

I didn't either at your age.

But you can't correct our students' papers forever.

You still have to do your Ph.D.

You'll want to buy an apartment...

maybe a country house.

It keeps your mind occupied.

Perhaps you dream of writing an important book.

I know I'll never be a Toynbee or a Braudel.

All I have left is...

sex...

or love.

What's the difference?

I don't know what's left for me.

That's why age leads to vice.

I don't have all that ambition.

I just want to be happy.

I need some water.

Would you like mineral water?

Doesn't your tap work?

Are you on medication?

A home remedy.

It's real strong.

I take multi-vitamins.

Must be good for you.

I'm gonna split.

What about Diane?

I'll be back.

Wittgenstein wrote that...

our only certainty is the ability to act with the body.

If I'm in love, I get hard.

If I don't get hard, I'm not in love.

Otherwise, you're deceiving yourself.

Like a woman who says she still loves you...

when she's as dry as sandpaper...

and you remember how she'd be dripping...

if you so much as kissed her on the neck.

Roger had me sleep with his best friend.

In fact, for 6 months we all slept together.

I can recommend it 2 mouths, 4 hands...

It's not as easy as all that.

I tried it in Martinique with 2 young blacks.

As soon as they opened their mouths it was over.

"Madam not know Maatinique...

if no sleep with Maatiniquers."

They show me a gold bracelet...

"A gift from her Honour Judge Thibodeau."

They're so macho!

I'm paying...

but they tell me what to do.

White woman on her knees before the black boy's cock.

Not your style, eh?

Not exactly.

I prefer African blacks.

Like Mustafa?

No thanks!

Men who drool over me...

I don't know, Africans are somehow...

warmer.

Of course they're polygamous...

You get used to it.

What do you mean?

Well...

It's not 4:30!

It's 4:30?

Shit!

I told Louise I'd meet her at 4.

I wanted to buy the kids Christmas presents.

My shirt!

The den.

My sweater?

On the sofa.

Your ring!

It was great. See you tomorrow.

I always come back to Italians.

They're impossible, but...

Ah, my first visits to Italy...

I was continually being robbed.

The guys would take my passport...

my traveller's cheques, my watch...

But there was lots of amore.

Such simple souls, they shout 'Mamma' when they come.

The first time a man shouted 'Mamma'...

I thought his mother had come in.

I wanted to hide under the bed.

You're sure you don't have AIDS?

It's 2 to 5 years incubation. Like to test my saliva?

You're not scared?

It's part of the pleasure.

Anyway, disease is part of sex.

Ever heard women talk about their insides?

The fibromas, vaginitus, salpingitis...

Chlamydia...

spirochaetes...

Herpes...

soft chancres!

To think...

you actually dip your cocks in that!

Our cocks... our tongues...

Staphylococcus aureus!

Come on, that's in the throat.

My poor boy...

it can spread ever so easily from her throat to your pecker.

Then its hello urethritis with staphylococcus aureus!

And the hospital on an empty stomach once a week for months!

Explain that to your wife!

You can't make love, leave for work at 7...

once a week.

Without breakfast.

You can't drink because of the antibiotics.

Not to mention the stains...

you try to wash out of the sheets...

while your wife’s in the shower.

It's not as bad as AIDS.

Otherwise homosexuality would be paradise on earth.

They're already better dressed, more cultivated...

They're gayer too. Such a sense of humor.

They're better cooks, just look at his dough.

Yes, but I'm going to Hell.

Save me a seat.

They have friends all over.

When a man tells me, "I stayed with friends in Amsterdam..."

I know he's gay.

My friends are married and have children...

their apartments are crammed.

And my old girlfriends are with men who don't want me around.

They're even better looking.

That's the worst.

Here are your 2 classic hetero's...

overweight, noses too long, our complexions are...

Ravaged!

So the question is...

are we hetero because we're not good-looking...

or would our looks improve if we were gay?

Serious matter.

A truly superb teenage boy looking in the mirror

must think...

"This is too good for a woman!"

Exactly!

Yes, but...

the moustache.

Kissing a moustache...

You have to get to them before they have one.

He's a worse pervert than me!

I'm not talking about myself. Really, I'm no pederast, but...

aesthetically speaking...

nothing compares to the ass of a 12-year-old boy...

Not the Sistine Chapel or the B Minor Mass.

At 12, a boy's ass is sublime.

By that age, girls have gone flabby.

Matter of taste.

A guy in a bar once said to me, "Honey, a hole is a hole."

Should've called me in.

He may be right.

Plus the joy of living with someone who doesn't menstruate.

Louise turns into a monster 4 or 5 days a month.

I nearly strangled her one Sunday, last winter.

There had been a huge snow storm.

I wanted to take my car to buy the papers, but I got stuck.

Of course, I'm blocking her car...

so she can't go to her tennis lesson.

She made an ugly scene...

"You should have let me out first.

You never could drive in the snow!"

I should move out a week before her period.

The Sunday Times is sacred, of course, snowstorm or not.

Naturally he gets stuck, which means I can't go to tennis.

My last chance to see François for a month! I was furious!

François was the tennis pro?

Yeah, he was going to some tournament.

I was climbing the walls!

The fact I couldn't say why, made it even worse!

How long had the affair lasted?

It wasn't an affair.

Nothing had happened.

But that Sunday I felt something might.

That's what made me mad...

I hadn't done anything wrong.

I wasn't sure when he'd be back.

Finally I got my nerve up.

I called.

I know you're not supposed to, but...

His daughter answered.

He lives with his 14-year-old.

I heard him ask who it was.

She said, "Probably one of your mistresses."

I hung up.

Never went back.

Well, I did once.

I didn't go in.

I saw him with a woman.

A young woman.

At least you still had Rémy.

When you live alone, you get used to it.

Your sex drive vanishes.

You stop thinking about it.

Then an old lover comes along...

or someone else by accident.

Can't you sleep?

What is it?

I want to sleep in my own bed.

It's snowing.

I like sleeping alone.

Me too, but not all the time.

Now you're awake...

you want it again.

But he's had his fun, so he's gone.

Leaving you with asymptomatic gonorrhea.

Nice, eh.

All that, just to have some creature to warm your bed.

I'd stoop to almost anything...

for a warm body Sunday morning.

Though you don't even need a man.

I cuddle with my daughter...

We smooch.

How old is she?

Twelve.

Aren't you worried...?

I mean, psychologically...

No.

In therapy, after my depression...

I was afraid I was a lesbian.

Why afraid?

I don't know...

Have you ever slept with a woman?

Yeah, a few times.

You too?

God!

I'm always so scared of being abnormal.

Isn't that a lot?

We'll send some to Mustafa...

in Ouagadougou.

They love coulibiac in the Sahel.

With sour cream and Robert Mondavi.

You're disgusting.

Not at all!

No one's more devoted to the Negro.

I personally took Mustafa down to the strip last Thursday.

When did he leave?

The next day.

That was the problem.

In 2 months he hadn't laid a single Canadian.

He was feeling so dejected.

Don't you mean erected?

Our co-eds must be losing interest in the Third World.

Anyway, I took him to St. Lawrence Street

We spotted this gorgeous blonde,

taller than me...

done up in red silk.

Mustafa was licking his chops.

I negotiated for him.

Wouldn't want him to squander UNESCO funds.

Evening, Miss. A pleasure to meet you.

I'd like to introduce a friend. A great guy, but shy.

He's a brilliant historian.

A specialist on Mossy culture.

Think of it...

as your contribution to African relief...

like singing in We Are the World.

Get the picture?

Okay with me...

but your Negro's in for a surprise.

Oh boy!

That's not quite what we had in mind.

I thought I'd better tell you.

Very thoughtful!

Very!

We'll be off.

Goodnight...

and good luck.

You too.

- Come on. - Why?

I'll explain later.

She's racist!

Get off it! She's not racist, she's sexist.

We walked over to St. Louis Square...

and found two lovely little brunettes.

I even took one for myself.

I'd been feeling tired...

and that's when I like a brunette.

Tall, lazy blonds take too much work.

In sex, practice makes perfect.

My best lovers have always been those who fucked the most.

Are brunettes always best?

It depends. For winter you want someone big and warm.

For summer someone tender.

French girls for sparkle.

Fresh California orange juice!

And the aromas!

The Jewesses' and Arabs' fragrance of camphor.

The Vietnamese with their scent of orange blossoms...

Gets me excited.

But do they have to be pros?

It takes longer when they're not.

You have to go cruising.

It's torture...

hanging out in bars, paying for dinner, dancing in discos...

You don't like dancing?

I have always...

absolutely abhorred dancing.

The suffering I've endured on the dance floor...

just to please women!

The worst part is the conversation.

"Oh, I adore Woody Allen's films too!"

"Did you read Shogun?"

"Yeah, I love Baryshnikov."

"Now it's Patrick Dupont."

"Acid rain, terrible!"

"Nuclear reactors, dreadful!"

"Youth unemployment, awful!"

"What's your view on serial monogamy, Sylvie...?

Nathalie? Julie? Sophie...?"

You really have to want to get laid!

That's not all.

Then you have to make her come.

No piece of cake.

You have to find her clitoris.

My God!

A delicate undertaking!

Like looking for a needle in a haystack.

You rack your brains to recall Masters and Johnson...

Shere Hite, the G-spot debate...

Germaine Greer, Nancy Friday...

Should you use your fingers, tongue, or prick?

You sneak a look at her...

You think to yourself...

"She looks like..."

"I hope she..."

"I wonder if..."

It's hell, absolute hell!

I've never had those problems.

Oh no?

Come into my study.

The Borneo heteropteryx...

For 100 years, entomologists...

searched for the male of this one...

and the female of this one.

A major issue in biology.

Until one day they were found screwing.

The 2 of them.

He was the male to her.

It seems impossible.

She's a reptile...

and he's an insect.

They have one thing in common.

What?

Fucking.

Think about it.

Sorry.

The beaches in Sicily were deserted.

He was dying of the heat in his uniform.

Was he a policeman?

A carabiniere.

So I go in.

I take off my T-shirt and shorts...

He starts fumbling with his fly...

but he can't get it undone.

They're always anxious then.

He was really well-built, shoulders broad as...

Finally...

he drops his briefs.

The moment of truth!

His penis was...

minuscule!

Honestly, like a baby's!

Poor man.

It was either the wine...

or the absurdity of being with a Sicilian cop...

but I burst out laughing.

I mean, uncontrollably!

I laughed until I wept!

And him?

Naturally... it was a disaster.

I didn't want to hurt him.

He was rather sweet.

But it ended in a complete fiasco.

I even tried my "octopus with suckers" routine.

"Suckers"?

Well, more or less.

Mustn't make fun of their penis.

They're so preoccupied with its size.

"Is his bigger than mine?"

"Don't I got a big one?"

It's their major preoccupation.

It's true, they always ask.

How would you know?

Well...

- it's happened. - I can understand...

I mean, it's pretty important.

How can you say that?

If you're in love, it's a detail.

Some detail!

I'm going to take a swim.

You've upset her.

Poor girl.

It's too hot, that's all.

Worse still...

is to talk about a former lover...

"Benoît could really make me come!"

The guy beside you melts away like butter.

You can't say that!

Even more subtly...

You pass a hotel and say...

"Benoît and I stayed here."

Sneak a look, and he's green with jealousy.

Or they say, "Before me you didn't know what sex was."

I can't stand that!

That's the time to mention Benoît.

"It's not the same, darling. I love you...

"With Benoît, it was...

purely sexual."

You can feel him turning to mush.

Or when he senses you're rating him...

like for a restaurant guide.

"A bit dowdy.

Portions somewhat stingy."

Or like for...

a tourist guide.

"Restored mill, but...

the works are purely decorative."

"Charming garden but...

the fountain is dry."

"Impressive manor, but the tower is in ruins."

If he's in his 40's...

you reminisce how young men always wake up with hard-ons.

Or you calmly begin to masturbate...

after he's finished his little number.

That always gets them.

You're terrible!

Oh, I've done worse.

I was with Roger for 10 years.

You can't imagine what I put up with.

I was constantly left alone with the kids.

He'd be out cheating on me.

It was hell.

I stayed at home, cheerful, loyal, warm.

Till the day I'd had enough.

And all of a sudden...

something snapped.

Hello, Roger?

I'm in Brossard.

Room 216, Continental Motel.

I'm with a friend, having so much fun...

I think I'll spend the night.

I didn't want you to worry.

See you tomorrow, okay?

Goodnight. Kiss you.

Are you crazy?

That'll teach him.

He'll come here!

Don't worry.

Don't worry!

He's this big!

So?

I'm not in shape!

I'm no boxer like him!

Scared?

No, I'm thinking of you.

Anyway, I can't stay.

I have to get home.

He won't care.

He's violent!

I know!

He knocked out Yvan Rivard.

You slept with Yvan?

Don't forget your ring.

I always fuck my wife better after I've cheated on her.

Guilt, that's all.

No, it's physical.

The comparison turns me on.

The more you screw around, the more you want to.

To be happy, I'd need 4 wives.

Four, exactly as the Koran says.

I'm very happy with Louise...

but I'd also take a writer, say Susan Sontag...

an Olympic high jumper...

and a real sex maniac for group encounters.

Looks sinfully good!

We won't mention calories.

I put on a kilo last week.

Too bad Mustafa can't be here.

Seems he had other fond memories.

Like what?

Well, I mean he must have enjoyed his visit.

- What's the sauce? - A mousseline.

But I made it with sour cream.

It seemed more Russian.

I heard about a course in creative cooking.

You're not starting with your courses again!

Why not?

Why are women so obsessed with taking courses?

It's pretty obvious.

The university's full of them...

madly taking notes on the meaning of the Locarno Pact.

I teach those courses.

I still don't understand.

That's why...

History is criticized for dealing only with the victors.

Often this is due to the documents available.

There are more records about Egyptians than Nubians...

more about Spaniards than Mayas...

and of course, many more records about men than women.

This limitation to History is very real.

There is perhaps also a psychological reason.

We far prefer hearing about winners...

than about losers.

I don't mean your courses...

But what is it about studying German, the guitar...

- Tap dancing... - Shiatsu...

Primal therapy...

Nothing personal.

Seems obvious.

Not to me.

Except for a pathological need to have teachers, gurus...

That's not it!

It's a way of breaking out.

You can't understand,

you got your Ph.D. at 26.

When we were studying...

I was every bit as smart as the rest of you.

But I fell in love, like a woman is supposed to.

So while you were at Berkeley, and Pierre at Princeton...

I rotted in the country 'cause Roger was on his nature trip.

You seemed happy enough.

I was happy.

I had kids, but instead of studying demography...

I learned how to make jam.

Now I have to work as a TA...

at one fifth your salary, and without job security.

I'm not covered by the best contract in North America.

I can't take...

a years sabbatical in Brazil.

I have to do radio interviews...

to send my kids to private school.

I'll never have tenure.

I'm getting old.

I can't read and take notes for 5 hours straight.

My memory's going too.

I had to refer to the Kellogg-Briand Pact.

I couldn't remember Briand...

only the name of the cereal...

Kellogg's Corn Flakes.

That's not age, it's drugs!

You're an old hippy.

I'll bet you remember Souvanna Phouma!

And Souphanouvong! And?

Phoumi Nosavan!

What's that?

Laotian politicians 2 half-brothers and a cousin.

The scourge of contemporary history exams.

Worse than Schleswig-Holstein.

You never really know how you should lead your life.

So your kids got in the way of your Ph. D...

but they're yours.

That' s something to treasure.

Who's that?

A friend of mommy's.

What's he doing there?

Sleeping.

I want him to go!

I'm going.

I always wanted a child.

Children are life...

an affirmation of life.

I was going to adopt a Cambodian child.

A social worker had to evaluate me, so...

Better to have kids who love you...

than to end up like Pierre...

alone, bitter, without any family.

But I do have a family.

Here, sitting around this table.

I feel closer to this family... than to my brother

the insurance broker...

or my parents...

who could never figure me out...

and complain 'cause I don't go to mass.

You're my family.

Who can that be?

Are we expecting anyone?

Diane, it's for you.

He was here earlier.

I never see anyone outside the department.

I'm like you.

Take off your glasses.

Mario, you haven't met Dominique...

- Louise... - Hello Mario.

...and Danielle.

I'll get you a chair.

Would you like some coulibiac?

Some what?

It's a salmon pie, but I used trout instead of salmon.

It's good, it's a Russian recipe.

I don't like fish.

Would you like some Stilton cheese?

I'm not hungry.

But you didn't eat.

Have some wine at least.

Got any beer?

Do you live around here?

Talking to me?

Are you from the area?

You may be wrong about my getting old alone.

I probably won't make it.

There's lung cancer...

heart attacks...

Women live to old age, not men.

Isn't that leveling out?

Just the opposite.

Women's life expectancy is 78.

For men it's 70.

The gap keeps widening.

That's the crucial change in our lives.

Less than 200 years ago...

women lived to about 36.

Not a long life.

The records are full of widows and widowers...

orphans and stepchildren.

That's all vanished in less than a century.

What's with this beer?

It's imported Pilsner.

You like this?

Occasionally.

Think about it, marriages...

lasted an average of 15 years.

We've been married 15 years.

Five generations back it would all be over.

One of you would be dead.

You should write a paper on that.

17,000 scholarly articles are published every day.

One more or less...

I've had enough of this.

We're still eating.

This is a drag.

We're talking.

Intellectuals love to talk.

All you do is talk.

All afternoon they went on about sex.

I expected an orgy.

Instead, the big thrill is a fish pie.

What are you suggesting?

When I'm horny, I fuck.

What d'you say?

Mario, please.

Well, how 'bout it?

I'll be outside.

It was delicious, but I'm not hungry.

Excuse me.

I didn't think she was that far gone.

People should speak about... what they know, that's it.

The Pope knows all about...

masturbation and prostate ailments.

He can talk about that.

Banking too.

And the CIA. Don't underestimate the Pope.

Marx was your average middleclass German...

who fucked the maid behind his wife's back.

His theories are rooted in his sense of guilt.

Same for Freud.

A latent homosexual...

unable to lay his wife after age 40...

hot and bothered over his female patients.

His quarrels with Jung...

were really about women...

about sex.

I get a kick out of eminent...

sociologists and psychologists...

who spew forth theories of sexuality...

when I've seen them...

being flogged with wet towels in a massage parlour.

You go to places like that?

Sure.

Often?

Yeah.

How do you feel about it?

How I feel?

Well, I mean...

if I ever found out Rémy had been to one...

I'd never forgive him.

Why not?

He's got me.

If he wants a massage, I'll be happy to give him one.

I don't go to those places.

That's no surprise.

What do you mean?

Want me to describe a female fantasy?

The female fantasy?

The woman is at home...

in the nest she has so lovingly decorated...

her husband or lover arrives.

He's brought flowers and a bottle of champagne.

He is extremely nice.

They spend a pleasant evening...

and make love.

End of fantasy.

What a bore!

Whenever he talks about love...

he makes it seem ridiculous.

But Pierre...

don't you realize the lives those poor women lead?

How they're forced to work there?

You might as well be a rapist.

It's just as bad.

Those poor girls... they need help.

How do you know?

I've seen stories on them.

Thursday afternoon I can't.

I'll miss "Demographic Methodology".

What about after?

I was hoping to take "Statistics and the Computer".

Be reasonable, Thursday's our busiest day.

Manon can't get a sitter and Carole's husband is home.

What'll I do?

If I miss that course I'll never be able to keep up.

We'll see.

It's been a while.

It's end of term.

I'm up to my neck in corrections.

You need a good massage.

With shower?

Yeah.

This afternoon I have Miss Kim, Miss Sandra...

and Miss Susan.

A new girl.

She only works part time.

Very well liked.

I recommend her.

Alright, I'll take your word.

One regular with shower.

Coming.

It won't be long.

This way.

See you later.

You work part time?

Yeah, I'm a student.

What are you in?

History.

At the university?

Yeah, my first semester.

People go on about how we live in a violent society.

It comes up on TV all the time.

From a historical perspective, that's just not true.

It's a relatively peaceful age.

Your towel?

Your glasses?

What?

Reporters get all worked up because of 10% unemployment.

When we think about London back in 1850

having a population of millions

600,000 people were literally starving to death.

That's what I like about history, it's so reassuring.

Papers finished?

I still have one in Mediaeval History.

What's your subject?

Millenniarism.

I'm fascinated by all the talk about the year 2000.

Do you want the special?

Yeah.

The price is...

25$ for manual, 40$ for oral. I don't go further.

Let's make it by hand.

- Should I pay now? - No, after.

That's why the year 1000 interests me.

In Europe, it was a major event.

People believed that on January 1 of the year 1000,

the world would end.

Gabriel's trumpet...

the Four Horsemen, the Last Judgement, the whole bit.

God, I forgot to take off my robe.

I'm not very sexy.

You're just fine.

The churches were packed.

People sold their houses and gave their money to the poor.

Others whipped themselves during public processions.

Some even...

kissed lepers and licked their sores.

What interests me...

Excuse me...

I'm about to come.

Oh, sorry.

I talk too much.

Thank you, Miss.

My pleasure, Sir.

That's when it happened.

I fell head over heels in love.

Ejaculating while discussing the millennium...

was intellectually and physically overwhelming.

Signs of the empire's decline are everywhere.

Society despises its own institutions...

the birth rate keeps dropping...

men refuse to serve in the army...

the national debt is out of control...

the work week is getting shorter...

the bureaucracies are rampant... the elites are in decay...

With the collapse of the Marxist-Leninist dream...

and model exists...

of which we can say...

"This is how we want to live."

In our personal lives...

unless one is a mystic or a saint...

there are no models to live by.

Our very existence is being eroded.

And you believe this process is inevitable?

Yes, absolutely.

Though there will always be charlatans claiming...

salvation lies in communications...

microchips, the return to religion, physical fitness...

or some other idiocy.

A civilization's decline is as inevitable as old age.

We can try to slow down the process.

That's all.

We're fortunate here to be on the outskirts of the empire.

The shocks are less violent.

Life in these times...

can be very pleasant in some respects.

Anyway...

our mindset precludes any other form of experience.

Few of us would be able...

to live among the Puritans of New England in the 1650's.

Thank you, Dominique St-Arnaud.

That was cheerful.

Well, I don't agree.

I'm sure there are experts who can prove just the opposite...

that we're living in an age of incredible rebirth...

that science has never progressed so fast...

that life has never been better.

It's impossible to understand the age you live in.

All you can do is try to be happy.

That's what people have always wanted.

The rest invent theories to justify their misery.

You said so yourself.

Just because you choose...

to live all alone...

and sacrifice your life to a career...

doesn't mean that if I'm lucid...

I have to be depressed.

You haven't said a word about the book.

I bet they agree with me but are scared to say so.

I think they feel superior.

Superior? Why?

Because you've both slept with me.

What does that have to do with it?

I think that for men like you...

love always entails a struggle for power.

Rémy's often said he'd like to seduce a big intellectual...

I don't know, say...

Susan Sontag.

Right.

It's the urge to appropriate her.

To dominate her, almost physically.

Come on...

it can also be the desire to share, to be with...

Perhaps...

but I can't trust the disdain of men who've made me come...

who've "had" me.

Well, who knows...

I may be wrong.

I've always wondered...

Would we see the missiles in a nuclear war?

No, they'd be too high.

But when they start to fall?

The missiles don't fall, just the bombs.

And they're small.

Would we see the explosions in the US?

If Plattsburgh were hit... we'd probably see the fireball.

Do you have any valium?

I don't think so, but we'll get you something.

I was taking too much valium, I had to stop.

There's Librium.

Anything else?

I've got Mogadons and Sorpax.

I'll take 2.

It's hit you hard, eh?

I'd like to have a baby with you.

To remind me...

For later.

You have to like yourself to procreate.

I don't.

I'm not optimistic enough.

You'd be a good father.

Intellectuals rarely make good parents.

Think of Diane's kids, or Rémy's.

Disasters.

And I'm too selfish.

Having to listen to heavy metal...

when I'm reading...

You are going to grow old alone.

Having kids won't change that.

They'd put me in a home...

and resent having to visit me at Christmas.

I love you.

I love you too.

Want to make love?

I'm too tired.

You'll have to ask some kid, like Alain.

He can't hope for better.

I want to make love to you, you old fool.

You never understand.

I know you're just after my body.

You can hardly get it up!

I love you, tubby.

Me too, you're real lucky.

Don't I know.

Scotch?

No, I don't like it.

Too bad.

Why did you do it?

What?

Tell Louise about you and Rémy.

It just slipped out.

I wanted to get back at her.

Why?

I don't know.

It just came over me.

It's not like you.

You're always so calm...

so cheerful.

I've never seen you lose your patience.

It's one thing I can't stomach.

What?

Blindness.

People who are unable to see reality.

Talk to me.

Tomorrow.

What went on with Dominique?

Nothing.

That's not what she said.

Can we talk about it tomorrow?

I just took Sorpax.

Talk to me.

Don't cry.

It's not worth crying over.

I just can't take these middle-class housewives...

with their cute husbands and cute kids.

I've watched so many men getting dressed at 2 am.

Still, Rémy's special...

he's screwed all Montréal.

He says he's like the Red Cross, a universal donor.

Two years he slept with Diane.

Oh yeah? With Diane?

Yup.

Anyone in a skirt at school...

down to the last secretary.

And then there are all the others.

He told me he laid Louise's sister...

and really got off on it.

But he's not that handsome.

Doesn't mean a thing.

He loves sex.

That's irresistible.

So many men don't really enjoy it.

Please take me in your arms.

If only you knew how much that calm look costs me.

Every morning I wake up in a rage.

What about?

Anything, nothing, everything.

It takes two cups of coffee to hold me together.

There are painters of the night like Rembrandt...

or Georges De La Tour...

but there are few who paint the dawn.

Dawn is the hour of death...

the hour of sea-grey light.

There is Géricault...

and above all Caravaggio.

I brought you something.

Hope you like it.

Rough night?

The way I like 'em.

There was blood in my urine again.

A lot?

The bowl was full.

It's been like that for a week.

What is it?

They don't know yet.

God, you're soaking.

Come and eat.

Bacon and eggs those I can handle.

You seem chipper.

Country air...

does me good.

Dominique, Diane, Claude will always be alone, abandoned...

Pierre and Danielle won't last more than a year.

We've been together 20 years.

That's what love is.

It lasts, it can overcome a child's illness, or old age.

It's you I want to sleep with...

the rest of my life.

I love you so much.

Shit!

Need help?

Yeah, maybe.

Let me.

Can I see you again?

Of course.

Why do you ask?

I dunno.

I never know what you really mean.

What's that?

Don't listen to me...

touch me.

Touch me, baby.

...like when Robert Turmel returned from Venice...

I know, I was with him.

Oh yeah.

So you heard about his hot affair with an Italian.

Come on, he spent one night...

with Monica Massaferro, the Pollaiuolos specialist...

His wife said it was more than one night.

One night, he told me so.

Anyway, when he got back,

he told his wife...

He didn't tell her!

But I got this from her!

He should know.

Dominique can settle this.

What did Robert tell his wife when he got back from Italy?

All he said was he had an affair.

The way I heard it, just as he was about to confess...

his wife told him she had an affair.

He was shattered.

His wife never said that!

No, it's impossible.

His wife probably suspected something.

No she didn't.

If she'd suspected...

You can sense these things.

No, he sensed her uneasiness.

I know Robert very well.

He wouldn't lie to me.

One of them is lying.

I tend to believe his wife.

Me too, when it comes to that.

He is very sensitive.

You mean touchy.

You think he's touchy?

Come help.

Is that it?

Do you still give lessons?

Two afternoons...

It's tough with the kids.

You could get a sitter.

I swear that's what happened.

I guess we'll never really know for sure.

You okay?

Yeah.