All language subtitles for How.Is.It.Going.(1976).720p.BluRay.AAC2.0.x264-DON_track3_[eng]

A FILM BETWEEN
ACTIVITY AND PASSIVITY

But what is it?

Well, it's the look.

But it's normal.

Yes, but there's something
strange in all this.

I don't know,
we've got to think of something.

It's the story of a guy.

Do I turn right here?

No.

- Yes, go right.
- Okay.

And this guy...

hears from another guy.

This other guy is his father.

- It's there.
- OK, I'll reverse.

I hope it'll be all right.

You have to turn right
then go straight.

All right.

Then we turn right again and then...

we go straight ahead.

We have to go
all the way around.

Around the question.

Around the question!

A guy hears from someone else,

of whom he'd asked nothing.

And this other guy
tells him about a woman.

My father wrote to me
the other day.

I thought he didn't have
your address.

He does.

I decided to send it to him.

What did he want?

Nothing special, really.

He talked about his job,

the problems he's having,
his newspaper...

None of that interests me anymore.

He just lives for his work.

Not everyone's like that,
so everything's OK. Isn't it?

Yes. That's right.

A woman with whom
he had had relations at work.

- Did you say to go right?
- Right at the lights.

Are you scared?

A bit.

You know...

I've never screwed
a girl like you before.

What's different about me?

You don't talk much.

I'm as bad as your dad, then!

No!

You see, in your gestures...

there are words.

But in the form of silence.

And I really like that silence.

Turn right.

This guy writes to his son

that he's communicated
with a woman

where they both work.

I'm turning right.

Sure you wouldn't rather go
to my place?

Yes, I'm sure.

He communicated with a woman
and had a relationship.

A production relationship.

Are you ready?

Yes, we can start.

Go on!

My comrades and I

had decided
to make a little video,

to show at cell meetings
in the Paris area,

on the newspaper
and its printing plant.

Odette and I were assigned
the task of producing it.

Odette was a former
union representative

who had worked in computing
at Crédit Lyonnais Bank.

Every evening after work,

we met in the basement

to watch what we had done.

We said jokingly

it'd be the first real film
of the Union of the Left.

Everything went smoothly at first.

What happened?

We cut here.

What do you mean?

We've decided to cut here.

Who's we?
Who decided to cut it here?

Look, we cut here.

But something happens after!
Can't we see it?

We cut here!

I don't believe this.
Talk about democracy!

I want to see it all,

then we'll decide
if we cut here or not.

Let me see the whole thing!

We cut here!

I'd like to see the whole thing,
then we'll decide.

OK then,
if you want to see it all!

Go on!

The Central Committee
was happy with my initiative.

It was the time
of the newspaper strikes.

The print workers faced

violent attacks by
the newspaper bosses.

So it was important to show
how the media functioned

in Communist hands.

Information.

Hands and eyes were going
to be given a hard time.

And all because of
a simple photo of Portugal,

which the paper had published,

and an accompanying text
that I had written

about the situation over there.

How does Portugal come out of it?

How does it go from entry to exit?

We could at least ask ourselves that.

Our power as journalists

isn't somewhere else.

It isn't in Portugal or France,
but in between.

Well, it seemed to interest you
since you turned round.

There was a noise.

Everyone does that
when they hear a noise.

And noise has nothing
to do with information?

When Vietnam made a noise,
no one turned round.

Yes, but that's simply
a work dispute.

As a union representative,

you've no right to say
that a work dispute is simple.

What was happening was,

a text on Portugal
was being dictated at speed.

Speed has something to do
with the way news is presented.

In a daily newspaper, anyway.

I've had enough of this!
Let's watch the rest.

And work too, it's daily.

You see, son,

even if I haven't seen you
since you moved out of Paris,

I thought this would interest you.

You in particular,

as you've always preferred
manual work.

As for me, I'm beginning to see

that the trouble
with manual work today

is that it's primarily intellectual.

Primarily writing.

It's wrong, all wrong.

What's wrong?

Precisely!
What is wrong?

That noise,
that's what is wrong.

Those hands typing,
that's what is wrong.

I don't understand.

We say, for example,
things are fine in Portugal

but not in France.

Or things aren't fine in Portugal

but they are in France.

Or things are fine at home.

But how things really are,
for me or for Portugal,

nobody ever says.

I don't understand.

Look, what do we want
to say in this film?

I thought it was obvious.

How a newspaper is made.

But not just any newspaper!

Of course not.

We want to show
how information is handled

by us Communists.

Maybe to show that,
we first need to look a bit.

That's what we're doing!

Is that so?
And what do we see here?

A modern printing plant.

Computer programmers.
Photocomposition.

Computer processing.

A modern newspaper
for men and women

who are fighting for
an advanced democracy!

Socialism again!

Please! You don't even know
what a typewriter is.

Come on!

No, we don't know how it works.
Not anymore.

A typewriter.

Normal programming
on Radio France from midnight.

A seventh government
in Portugal soon.

Ministers are refusing
to even sit in Parliament.

They feel public pressure
is too strong.

What happened was,
we started again from scratch.

"Come on, show us
how a typewriter works!"

"You don't know what it is."

I don't know,
we have to think of something.

Remember when you dictated

your text on Portugal?

- What about it?
- Well, we could start with that.

We could do it again.

Do it again?

Yes, re-enact it.
The two of us.

To see what happened.

Are you ready?

Yes.

"The image of these soldiers
in uniform,

"already an army for the people,
whistling..."

Let's take it slower,

let's break it down.

Right, "in uniform"...

"...already an army
for the people..."

Yes?

"...whistling the Internationale..."

Yes?

"...surrounded by
20,000 protesters...

"...is going to weigh heavily
on the process.

"A representative of..."

We can stop there, I reckon.

We see.

What do we see?

Well, we see this.

We see this.

We hear too.

We'll have to talk about the noise.

But what we don't see
is what's controlling everything.

What's that?

It's the look.

What's that?

It's the look.

That's natural!

Yes, but there's something
not right about it.

What?

Read your text.

What about it?

Right, hang on.
Let's look at my hands again.

In fact when you look carefully,
it's a funny job.

Don't you notice anything special?

With regard to what?

To when you were reading your text.

Right, read it again.

Have you quite finished?

No, come on, we're looking!

Go on, once more.

Your eyes were doing this.

My eyes do the same
as your hands!

No, that's my point,
my hands do what your eyes do.

And hands aren't made to see,

so I'm working blind.

When you look carefully,

it's a funny job.

My hands move in every direction

but within a defined space.

In every direction,

but as if something
were leading them.

And the leader is
the meaning of a sentence.

Yes, it's as if I were blind

and I were feeling my way
along a corridor.

When I hit it,

it puts me back
on the right path.

And I'm being watched.

"The image of these soldiers
in uniform,

"already an army for the people,
whistling the Internationale,

"surrounded by 20,000 protesters,

"is going to weigh heavily
on the process."

THE IMAGE OF THESE SOLDIERS

IN UNIFORM,

ALREADY
AN ARMY FOR THE PEOPLE,

WHISTLING

THE INTERNA...

I walked back to the printing plant.

The lights were still on
in Communist Party HQ,

where I had gone to say
that things were turning sour.

What's your caption?

I warned them,
if nothing changed,

they would end up
with a leftist film.

A MODERN PRINTING PLANT AND
NEWSPAPER FOR MEN AND WOMEN

STRUGGLING FOR DEMOCRACY

Well, this is what I'd put.

LANGUAGE IS THE PLACE WHERE
THE TORTURER TURNS THE VICTIM

INTO ANOTHER TORTURER

Maybe "prints"
instead of "turns into".

"The torturer prints
on the victim..."

Drop the philosophy!

He prints his point of view.
It's biology!

It's all right!

No, it isn't.

You refuse to see how.

But for Odette,
it was something else.

She hated in leftism what related
to the Communist Party,

just as you can hate in a kid
what comes from his father.

Actually, it's because of her,

yes, because of that,
that I started thinking of you again.

We'll have to talk about the noise.

But what we don't see
is what's controlling everything.

What's that?

It's the look.

What look did I give you when
you came out of your mother's cunt?

We probably never had
any relationship.

Or maybe we had a lot.

But after all,
between children and their parents,

how and with what love
is labor distributed?

In my opinion,

there's not Portugal first

and then the typewriter.

There is a typewriter first

and then a Portugal

which enters this machine.

You say it enters,
but it exits too!

All right.

But how does it come out?

How does Portugal come out of it?

How does it go from entry to exit?

We should ask ourselves this:
how does it go from entry to exit?

Our power as journalists lies there,
not anywhere else!

It isn't in France or Portugal,
but in between.

Get my letter?

Yes I did.

Well?

I don't know what to say.

Then don't say anything.

We can communicate
with silence, you know.

I'm a bit embarrassed.

By what I wrote?

Yes.

When you talk about my ass like that.

I really don't know what to say.

It isn't easy to use silence
to communicate.

You like my silences

because they contain words.

But these words need
to make noise, too.

When we talk about work or money.

And I don't know how.

And when we argue,
I get the feeling that's the reason.

At work...

At work, all day long,
it's impossible to talk about love.

And in the evening,

it's something else again
that's impossible.

Yes, I'm fine.

What strikes me...

But it isn't always enough
to say I'm fine.

...is the seriousness,
the anxiety even,

of the civilian's face.

I get the impression
they are in agreement,

but it's a confrontation.

Don't look at me!

And it isn't at all...

It's not like the images
we usually see of Portugal,

that we've seen so far,

with crowds...

Who's speaking?

A guy I know.
He's a manager at Thompson.

You can see that
they're happy to meet.

It seems to me...

these two people are...

It isn't me you should be looking at!

How can I put it?

They're raising their fists
at someone who isn't there,

or maybe even at each other.
It's hard to tell.

When I look at this photo,

I see a man,

a civilian, with a rather...

violent expression,

making another man raise
his fist in front of him.

And who's that?

My neighbor.

And there appears to be

a row of soldiers...

There are a few raised fists.

It doesn't seem very united.

It's in the street.

Your neighbor!

Yes! Don't you have neighbors?

What is their relationship?

I thought Odette's idea wasn't bad:

start with an image, only one,

just as science starts with atoms,

to see how everything fits together.

But she should have asked
the workers' council

to work with her,

not outsiders.

I say that,

but I know it's impossible.

A print worker

would never judge a novel
that he prints.

Nor would arms factory workers

say anything about

the weapons and ammunition
that they make.

So...

What's this all about?

I don't know,
there's a kind of dual reality:

solidarity and...

At the time, Odette had wanted
to talk about this image,

but the guy dictating
wasn't interested.

As usual.

He had to get
the 7pm edition out.

So she had rebelled.

And it was this revolt that I'd cut,
as if it were not part of the job.

All his violence,
all his convictions...

As a matter of fact,
it was the job.

It's as if the soldier
were a mannequin

and the guy were bringing him
to life.

That's a musician.

A piano teacher, I think.

It's all very interesting,

but there are too many silences.

All that should be cut.

That's right, silence silence!

And a barefoot kid.

Silence is embarrassing, isn't it?

So the army has banned
all political parties?

No, it isn't a ban,

but another pact with the parties

to take control

and not obstruct the masses.

For us, they are all equal.

We are not defending any party

nor are we fighting any party.

We are everyone's friend
and are loved by all.

So many means to communicate,

but no means to use them.

Power of the radio,

powerlessness of listeners.

And as a result,
no labor put into love

because no love put into labor.

Odette was right.

If Portugal concerned us
in any way,

we had to say
how it concerned us.

The Portuguese third way
between socialism and communism.

It's worth mentioning

a dialogue between
Mr Kissinger and Mr Brezhnev.

Yesterday,
the US warned the USSR

against influencing the situation
in Lisbon.

Brezhnev replied,
"We will not interfere.

"It's a matter for the Portuguese."

Now for a French reaction
to the situation in Portugal.

Measures are to be taken

to stop the wave
of anti-communist violence

and dissension in the army.

I get the impression
everyone wants to shout

and that...

some people watching
do not know...

What I find striking is

the gesture.

There's...

the brutal gesture of the fist,

of the raised fist moving forward,

of the guy who,
with his other hand,

grips the soldier's wrist...

I don't know,
there's a kind of dual reality:

solidarity and...

"Why the fuck is that photo there?"

She said to me,
"Think. Try to remember."

In fact,
I remembered perfectly well.

"So why are you asking?"
she said.

"It's a photo of Joint Français
from four years ago."

"It was circulated widely
to help the striking workers."

"What's it got to do with Portugal?"

At first, I couldn't see.

She opened my eyes.

FRANCE - PORTUGAL: 3-0

THREE WHAT?

In fact, something

that Portugal was trying to say
had been said in France,

but in another form.

On the same occasion,
but in another form.

Form.

Formation.

Information.

FRANCE - PORTUGAL: 3 - 0

THREE WHAT?

LAUGHTER OR TEARS

LAUGHTER OR ARMS

They're fascist commandos.
It's different.

The population has problems

which the Portuguese revolution
has not yet resolved.

But am I going to shoot?

In a similar situation,

would someone shoot us?

That's the question.

Do you mind if I watch it again?

No.

There's truth in what you say,

but it isn't very clear.

I don't really see
what you're getting at.

We already see quite a lot.

Information is printed
in a newspaper.

Right?

Yes!

How is it printed?

With machines!

Typewriters.
Controlled by who?

By hands!

Workers' hands.

Controlled by what?

Someone's eyes.

In the same way
that it happened in Chile...

A look controls everything.

We control through division.

We receive events,

we receive images.

But, in fact,

it's exactly what's happening here.

A look separates things,

just as water separates
what we see of an iceberg

from what we don't.

A look is not profound.

What is profound is the extent

of the link between the known
and the unknown.

When you look at something,

this photo of Portugal,
for instance,

your eyes scan it.

You go up and down,

you go from side to side.
Your eyes wander.

So what?

If we had to define
what your head is doing,

it would be rather like drawing.

So what?

Well, the thing is,
your hands don't draw

since they always move
in the same direction.

Don't you think that's philosophy?

No, not necessarily.

What you're saying is,
I do this...

To look at this photo.

And like this...

To say what is in it.

But you don't actually say.

You're influenced by the hands

that you put on the machine.

You forget what you've seen.

No I don't!

Well, you don't rely on it to think.

To think.

I began to see why

she insisted on juxtaposing
these two photos.

Simply to think.

Simply to compare
two simple images.

Simple because they show
simple people,

but who,
because they dare to rebel,

start something complex.

Here, it was clear that hope
was still searching for words,

that despair had already
found them elsewhere.

We began to think that,
with our pencils,

we had probably erased more
than we had written.

Worse still, we erased

even as we thought
we were writing.

"And do you remember this, too?"

Her pretty blue eyes shone
with indignation.

It's what people said during
the Joint Français strike.

But if you look carefully,
behind all these slogans,

that mouth did seem
to be laughing.

But if you look carefully,

if you remove the strikers' dream...

THERE'S JOY IN STRIKING

When your courage is exhausted,

you should still have
the courage to say

that it wasn't courage
but weakness.

Odette asks if I can read
between the lines.

I reply, "Not very well."

She says it's a serious flaw

because the counter-revolution
was very good at it.

It slipped between our words,

just like in phone conversations

where, to double the traffic,

the engineers place the words
of one conversation

in the silences of another.

THE IMAGE OF THESE SOLDIERS
IN UNIFORM,

AN ARMY FOR THE PEOPLE,
WHISTLING THE INTERNATIONALE

Instead of spending
fifty years shouting,

"Down with Fascism!",

you should have studied

Shannon's model instead.

"There's a problem with this text."

She added,
"How did that happen?"

On Wednesday,

I told Marianne off.

She kept making mistakes.

Here's what she wrote...

"But how come?" you wondered,
"She's a capable girl."

Because she was trying to decide

if she should keep her baby

or get an abortion.

And it was her sixth week.

This urgent decision combined
with your edition to be finished.

And this was the result.

Her hands were getting mixed up.

It's an image that
"weighs heavily on the process".

THE IMAG4 OF THESE SOLDERS
IN UNIFORM, AR2 FOR THE...

If she could have seen the image
and relied on it to think,

she'd have made fewer mistakes

for herself and for you,
you rotten journalist!

For Odette,
objectivity had become a crime.

It was a crime to be paid
to give news of others

and not speak of them.

It was a crime to speak of others
and not use their voice.

A strike is primarily silence.

I knew that.

So why when I had talked about

the Joint Français strike
did I not first go on silence strike?

"Why? Because, in fact,

"you used others' words
to sell your own.

"Your crime was to keep your position
while taking the position of others.

"Your crime was to keep your position
while taking the position of others,

"you rotten journalist!"

Rotten journalist!

It's true that the speed

with which my desire
had represented another's desire...

ended up causing a commotion.

We speak of a wall of sound,

but there's a wall of images, too.
It turns into a wall of silence.

Sound of silence.

Silence before the storm.

Storm in the night.

Fascist night.

Deformation, information.

IN THE AGE OF DARKNESS,
WILL SONGS STILL BE SUNG?

I didn't know how to answer that question.

"Then say that all you know is,
in the age of darkness,

"the Song will be sung."

"What about the words?"
"Just look!"

It is never either/or.

There is never one problem
and two solutions.

But always two problems
and one solution.

There must never be
equal work for equal pay,

On the contrary,
there must always be unequal work

for equal pay.

A couple does not have a problem,

but two problems.

A male problem
and a female problem.

And one solution.

One solution.

One solution.

There is a photo problem
and a text problem.

And the solution is one newspaper,

one type of information.

You cannot choose
between day and night.

Nor can you choose
to live or to die.

The only choice is,
there is not any choice.

- He seems to be crying.
- Yes, he's crying.

The other guy is near to tears.

DOWN WITH FASCISM!

I read Fascism.

And if I am Chile, for instance,

then I am also Fascism.

The two go together.

Because you saw nothing.

You saw nothing in May '68
or at Hiroshima.

Because your hands control
your eyes.

Because it is written.

You don't see Vietnam,
you read Vietnam.

You don't see unemployment,
you don't see women.

Your eyes do what your hands
should be doing.

The tragic thing is,
it isn't even manual work.

Marianne, on getting home,

will even be happy
to do the laundry

or the washing-up,
or touch her kid.

At least her hands escape
and find a meaning.

Not a great one,
but it's something.

Not you, though.

You're a journalist,
but you can't see.

You don't want to see.

Even if you wanted to,
you couldn't.

How is it printed on the mind?

And what will it do?

It will control your life,
always in the same way.

In fact, you're afraid to see.
This photo of Portugal scares you.

This guy looks a bit crazy.

If he were a rock star,

you would accept his mouth
and his gestures,

which are slightly dumb
but still quite beautiful.

If you told a worker to strike,
would you dare

to dance with him
for obeying you?

Why won't you say
what this photo reminds you of,

not someone else?

I, the reader, who receive it
from you, the journalist,

need the text, if there is one,

to help me see where I am.

You're afraid to see
where you are.

We're afraid to see when
we're afraid of losing our position.

Maybe wanting Fascism

is being afraid of
losing our position.

So we say nothing.
We close our eyes.

That's the really distressing thing

about Portugal...

It proves how quickly
things can change...

Because...

The people behind the bar,
just look at their faces.

They don't appear to be
in communion, united.

It doesn't seem...

It's aggressive.

It's very aggressive.

You can't tell if...

Independent look.

Or absent look.

Present on a sheet of paper,
which splits two truths

rather than uniting them
and making them embrace.

Lights were still on
in the Central Committee,

where I'd got a dressing-down.

I walked back to the office,
thinking of that German writer

who once said,

"What is wrong

"is not that the world's sad,
but that it's big."

It's a photo.

Of Portugal.

And there's a text around it.

I did what I was told, you see.

I made up an excuse

to call a meeting
of the workers' council,

to try to put Odette
in the minority.

Why can't we run pictures
without words in the newspaper?

I would like us
to discuss that right now.

Does a photo without words
mean anything?

Yes.

I soon realized
it wouldn't be easy.

The guys were bowled over
by what she had done.

They didn't get it,
but something had moved them.

Maybe Odette had a screw loose,

but it had loosened them up.

And it got me thinking.

If we want to play on the link
between the soldiers and the people,

the guy who represents the people

looks kind of hostile...

But there's solidarity too,

the raised fist and then...

That isn't the question.
For once,

it isn't about seeing
what's in this photo,

but about trying to see why

the photo is just as ambiguous
with or without the text.

To avoid any ambiguity,
the photo needs a text

because in itself...

The text doesn't explain.

It says,
"The image of these soldiers...

"whistling the Internationale...

"will weigh heavily..."

You're right,
it doesn't explain the photo.

Your caption says,
"Porto, September 11.

"2,000 soldiers

"joined 10,000 protesters
on the streets."

The photo has nothing
to do with this text.

The writer put it there
for another reason.

And there's no explanation for it.

Without a text.

With a certain type of text,

which could easily be shortened
or summarized in a sentence.

You'd reconstruct it
according to the photo?

If you just put photos,
and they moved, it'd be cinema.

It's funny.

I was struck at once
by the guys' sincerity

and their immense stupidity.

It isn't their fault,

but when they expressed an idea,
they didn't really see.

No, it isn't their fault.

They shouldn't have watched TV,

listened to the radio
or read the papers,

not even ours.
So it was actually their fault.

After a while, I stopped listening.

I looked at photographs
published by the Left and the Right,

which Odette had collected
for the project.

Why do we never use them?

But a photo must condense
several meanings.

If it conveys so little
that it needs a lengthy explanation

then it isn't worth using.

A photo is supposed to summarize

a text that would be
too long to develop.

If it's the reverse,

if a text has to summarize a photo
that is not enough on its own,

then there's no point using it.

You should work
your text and your photo

in a way that's related.

That's right.

Totally related.

Relationships between men

are determined by
their relationship to women.

If your photo is commenting
on the text,

say it is commenting on it

and then talk
about this commentary

or about the way
it happens to comment.

Won't the reader comment
on the photo

even if the text
is slightly different?

What do you mean?

One day I entered a corridor:
your mother's cunt.

And a few months later,
you came out of this corridor.

This tunnel. This canal.

There was an input
and an output.

And your mother
had received a signal.

How does she communicate it?

How does it go from
the entry to the exit?

Of the reproduction machine.

The copying machine.

You are a copy of me.

But maybe your mother
made mistakes when copying.

Maybe, even surely,
she transmitted information

that she shouldn't have.

He could explain why he took it.

No one does that.

Yes, I agree.
That's why I told you I agreed

or rather that I understood
your reasoning.

But when I look at this photo,

which was taken
by someone in Portugal,

I want him to talk about
the moment it was taken

and why he took this photo
and not another.

Well, to achieve that,

I think it can only be achieved if,
rather than starting

with the person who took
the photo in Portugal,

you start with the person
who is looking at this photo.

The first text must be
from his perspective

and tell us
where he is looking from.

Information.
Deformation.

Fascism.

"The incredible energy unleashed
by rock is revolutionary."

"An image that many Germans
dream about every night."

"An image that many Germans
dream about every night."

"An image that many Germans
dream about every night."

He sees nothing
because he doesn't want to,

because one could perfectly well
see nothing.

SUCK OFF YOUR BOSS

What changes the use
of a photo like this

is the reader's relationship
to the reading of the paper.

You don't account
for the reader here.

The reader doesn't even think
that he has an opinion.

He thinks that he has
but he hasn't.

It's more to do with the reader.

How had my text
deformed my image?

How had I deformed you?

The receiver doesn't even give
his own reasons anymore.

He doesn't even realize
that he has become

a receiver. He was a transmitter
when he worked,

but he doesn't work anymore.
No one reads the papers.

No one watches TV anymore.
We just switch it on.

So the idea

is to slow down
at a certain point.

But people don't want to.

The people who complain
that everything's going too fast...

I don't know of
any newspaper journalist

who hasn't complained
everything's too fast.

You say to him,

"Don't write 40,000 words,
just write three.

"You'll have more time."

He refuses. It's more tiring.
"Which three?"

Yes, show relationships,
as opposed to truths.

Spain '36, do not say,

"Don't live on your knees."

To clean up the blood

shed by Franco,

Spain will have to get on its knees
like a cleaning lady.

THE KING IN UNIFORM

Spain 75,

the uniform is king.

A waste of time chopping off
their heads in '89!

Thanks to ITT,
the uniform is king in Chile, too.

Algeria '56, if the Communists
abstain from voting to send troops,

say they abstain from commenting
on this image and say so now.

Yes, a few words.
Which ones?

Hi. How's it going?

How is it not going?

Step by step.

Controlling my life.
How is it printed on the mind?

In which printing plant?

Rotten journalist!

It's true, as a printer,
I had become

the king of real things,

instead of saying and showing
how things really are.

I have told a few stories
in my time,

but never said how I was part
of the story. This was the result.

A TALE OF RESISTANCE

How does it go
from one place to another?

How does a page 2 follow on?

A strike at the Renault factory.

The 373 press operators
who went on strike on March 21

provoked a reaction.

He prints his point of view.
It's biology, not philosophy!

It's all right!

No, it isn't all right.
You refuse to see what's wrong.

From Renault to Palestine.
From day to night.

How does an event occur?

From day to night,
from love to labor.

Where does all this happen?
Among us.

This "us" definitely exists

when I take it upon myself to write
that Portugal concerns "us".

Odette had filmed the discussion

and we watched it with a feeling
it was the end of something.

Or the beginning.

Or both.

I suddenly decided
to back up Odette

and face the Political Bureau,

which, as I knew from
a Central Committee friend,

had decided to do its utmost
to put an end to our little project.

Little?
Maybe not that little.

After all,
what was she saying, Odette,

with this little video?

That TV and the press
were corrupt,

and since we were looking at them
and reading them,

our eyes were corrupt too,

and our mouths and our hands.

In short, we had cancer,

us especially,
and we weren't saying anything.

We didn't say so
because we didn't know.

We didn't know
because we didn't want to.

We didn't want to
because we couldn't.

We couldn't
because we didn't show.

We didn't show
because we didn't want to.

We agreed to show
an ad that said,

"There's always something happening
at Galeries Lafayette."

But we didn't say what

because we had sold
our silence too.

And as a result,

your love letters don't convey
anything anymore.

Your love is as blind
as my holiday postcards.

Do you remember
that Czech hand writing,

"The chains of mankind
are made out of red tape"?

And today's technique

is the violent activity of knowledge.

"The image of these soldiers

"in uniform."

Read it again.

Have you quite finished?

No, come on, we're looking!

Go on, once more.

Your eyes were doing this.

My eyes do the same
as your hands!

No, that's my point,
my hands do what your eyes do.

And hands aren't made to see,
so I'm working blind.

When you look carefully,
it's a funny job.

My hands move in every direction

but within a defined space.

In every direction,

but as if something
were leading them.

And the leader is
the meaning of a sentence.

Yes, it's as if I were blind

and feeling my way along
a straight corridor.

When I hit it,
it puts me back on the path.

And I'm being watched.

And I'm being watched.

And the leader is
the meaning of a sentence.

Yes?

Yes?

FROM THE DIRECTOR OF
"THE PLEASURE PUSSIES"

Yes?

Sobibor.

The first death camp
he ran before Treblinka.

He doesn't see
because he doesn't want to,

because one could perfectly well
see nothing.

Business kills daily.

The meaning of a sentence.

Work brings freedom.

We have the right to work.
We have the right to freedom.

Meaning breaks down.
No one recovers.

Maybe that's why news is said
to "break" when it happens.

Spain, Vietnam, Chile, Palestine.

And behind,

always you and me.

Informed, disguised, deformed

by the same old news again.

And not unhappy about it either.

Except when it becomes Vietnam,
Chile, Palestine, Ireland.

While our co-workers argued
before the vote,

we sat in the adjacent office.

Two people would definitely vote
to continue the video.

Michel, that's me, and Odette.

What about the others?

Paul, maybe.

Isabelle, definitely not.

Christine. Odette said no
and I said yes.

Claude, probably yes.

Jean-Pierre, no.

Paul, impossible to know.

José, no. Francis, no.
Mario, yes or no.

Hector, yes.

Jacques, no.

Evening fell.
And, in the end,

the workers' council
decided unanimously

to complete the video

and then fight for its distribution.

Are you happy now?
Everything has worked out well.

What's wrong?

You look glum.

The final decision lies
with the big bosses

and they're bound to say no.

Think about what we've tried
to say with this video.

Never mind.

Anyway,
I'm sure it'll be rejected.

It won't.

I'm telling you that it will.
I know them, they'll overrule it.

No, they won't.
There's no need to worry.

It'll be accepted.

It'll be accepted, end of story.

Yes, it'll be like Fascism.

What do you mean?

Remember
what happened with Fascism.

It will never be accepted!

Come on, lads! Move it!

Evening fell.

A lad from the Central Committee

brought their decision.

A resounding 'no'.

Odette sneered
and I tried to discuss it.

As expected,
besides Francis and Juliette,

everyone chickened out.

A long, industrious silence
fell in the office

after everyone left.

Odette took a few more notes.

I suggested we go eat
to get our strength back.

And I invited her.

It was just the beginning.

But she declined.

It was the holidays.

She had to pack her daughter's bag
for her school ski trip.

She'd see me after the holidays.

She needed to have a good think.

Maybe we'd finish
our little film elsewhere

because here,
despite the fine talk,

it was evidently impossible.

Then I never saw her again.

Hey, turn the radio down!

What's up, Nancy?

The neighbor's moaning
about the radio.

We've the right
to listen to the news!

You should give your own news

instead of receiving others' news.

What's wrong?

Franco died at 5:30 this morning.

You refuse to see what's wrong.

The flag outside
the Caudillo's window...

You refuse to see
how things really are.

And that's what is wrong.

At 11:30, escorted by members
of the armed forces,

Franco's coffin left La Paz.

The huge crowd fell silent.

No shouting, no applause,
just a few women in tears.

An immense sadness.

A FILM BETWEEN THE ACTOR
AND THE SPECTATOR

A FILM BETWEEN
ACTIVITY AND PASSIVITY