All language subtitles for Jofroi.1933.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.GG - YTS.BZ]

JOFROI
A film directed by Marcel Pagnol

Downloaded from
YTS.BZ

restored in 2021 by
La Compagnie Méditerranéenne de Films — MPC

with supervision from Nicolas Pagnol
and Eric Vallée

Official YIFY movies site:
YTS.BZ

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"The transaction is made in accordance
with the terms set forth herein.

"First item. The buyer agrees
to assume all taxes, costs, and fees

"pertaining to the purchased property.

"Second item.
He acquires all assets and liabilities

"pertaining to the purchased property

"at his own risk
and discharges the seller

"who hereby declares being unaware
of any such liabilities.

"Third item.
The buyer will assume the closing costs

"for a total of 1,210 Fr.

"Now therefore,
the purchase is agreed to

"at the price of 12,000 FR.

"The seller hereby declares
receiving the sum

"in cash payment
before the undersigned notary,

"from Mr. Alphonse Durbec,
the buyer,

"henceforth sole owner of the property."

- Is all well understood?
- Yes.

I understand.
He is to give me 12,000 FR.

Precisely.
He is to give you 12,000 FR.

And Jofroi will give me his orchard.
So we agree.

Yes.
I give you the Maussan orchard.

The orchard, not the house.

Quiet, Barbe.

- The orchard, not the house.
- Yes.

I sell you the orchard.

Not the house.

Only the Maussan orchard.

Quiet, Barbe!
Stop interfering.

The orchard only.
Do you have that written down?

Yes, here it is, rest assured.

I'm keeping the house myself.

That house is worth a hefty sum.
Right, Barbe?

Tell them it's worth a hefty sum!

Yes, a hefty sum.

We had the roof replaced before the war.

In 1905.

- So I'm keeping that house.
- We agree.

Where is the money?

Right here.

- See.
- Hand it over.

I will.
After you give me the deed.

I ought to give you the deed
without the money?

I ought to give you the money
without the deed?

That's too much!
Mr. President…

A president?
What are you going on about?

Forgive her.
She's losing her marbles.

Now.
Cough it up.

At the shop, what do you do?

First you take the goods,
then you pay.

Enough quibbling.

Fonse.

You surrender the money to me.

And I will give the deed to you.

That's better.

It's not that I don't trust you, Jofroi.

Yet you balk at giving me the money.

I get it.

Mr. President
will give you the money, Jofroi.

Please, Barbe!
Enough of your nonsense.

Stop bringing ridicule upon yourself!

Here, Jofroi.

Please sign.

Right here.

Are you certain

that the deed doesn't sell him
the house?

Quite certain, rest assured.

Then I'll sign.

Does Mrs. Jofroi know how to sign?

A little bit, Mr. President.
Just a bit.

Not much, surely.
Moderately.

- Can she sign?
- Naturally.

Why do you ask?

Because she has to sign.
It's the law.

And what kind of law is that?

Why should my wife
sign off on my orchard?

I want things done the orderly way.
Make her sign.

Then I'll sign on her behalf.

It's the law!

The law doesn't govern my marriage!
I do.

We all know that, Jofroi.

Even so, you seldom refuse me anything.

Not true!
I always refuse.

Anyway…

Why would you sign?

To have them think you're the boss?

No, Jofroi.
But I'd be so happy if you let me.

But why?

For the honour of putting my name
next to yours on such lofty matters.

I reckon…

That's true.

I've only ever signed once.

Once, I signed my name next to yours.

Where?

On our wedding day, Jofroi.

Sign, Barbe.

Go on.

No, you sign first.

Marie!

My pickax!

It's in the cart.

Off we go, old fellow.

Hey, Fonse!

Who's there?

- It's me, Tonin.
- I hadn't seen you there.

What are you doing?

You see, taking it easy.
Where are you going?

To the Maussan orchard.

- I bought it from Jofroi.
- Yes, I know.

The baker told me.
A fine piece of land.

But it's hard work!

Must be ten years since Jofroi
laid hand on a pickax.

Ten years?
More like twenty.

Since he started having pains.

I'd like to see you clear that land.

Those old fruit trees.

- It's a harrowing job.
- I'm all set.

I've got me a shining new pickax.

See for yourself.

Look at that.

What's this cart out there?

- It's Fonse.
- Fonse?

He's going to the orchard.

So soon?

He has tied his mule to a tree.

He has tools.

Just let me go have a look.

He needs telling a thing or two.

Fetch me my hat.

Hello, Jofroi.

- What are you doing here?
- You see.

Removing the trees.

You mean, all of them?

That's right.
To plant wheat instead.

Wheat, Jofroi!
Handsome red wheat.

- Red lammas wheat!
- Yeah…

- Red lammas wheat!
- Yes.

This one won't give in.

Going thrush hunting, Jofroi?

No!
Bastard hunting!

Leave that tree alone,
you murderous coward!

What's got into you?

I reckon that if you kill that tree,

I'll shoot you up like a pigeon!

Are you mad?

I may be mad,
but you're a dead man!

You tree-killer!

You have the nerve to hide
behind one.

Listen to me!
Let me talk to you, Jofroi.

Then talk.
But out in the open.

I'll come out
if you point that gun away.

It could misfire, Jofroi!

Go on then, talk.

- Why can't I remove them?
- And you?

Why do you want them removed?

- Listen, Jofroi!
- I don't want to.

Now look at me, Fonse!
You see this old shotgun?

I'll cut a hole in you,

so big the sunlight will shine through!

- Now scram! Beat it!
- Jofroi.

I'll count to three.
One…

- Two…
- Jofroi!

Jofroi!

So we agree!

Don't ever set foot here again,
you murderer!

Jofroi!

At least send back the mule!

Let's see, my friends.

There is a reasonable solution,
after all.

Jofroi restores the money.

And Fonse, the orchard.

It's the only way.

What do you say, Fonse?

It's not to my liking.
I wanted that orchard.

I saved up dime after dime to buy it.

I drew up new blueprints for it.

But if I must.

But Jofroi has to pay back the 1,200 FR

paid in closing costs.

Certainly.
He has to cover those costs.

Jofroi, speak your mind.

Well, I'd readily give the money back.

But it's gone.

I invested it in annuities.

- So that I don't have it.
- Well?

Well, I don't want you to kill my trees!

Lay a hand on any one of them
and I'll shoot you. There!

Come now, Jofroi.

Quiet down.
Don't be mean.

It's my nature, father.
I do what I say.

Jofroi…

You shouldn't persist in your refusal
to understand.

You know Fonse is within his rights.

- Listen to the professor.
- I don't care about the professor!

He can read books, no doubt,

but what does he know about our matter?

You don't learn these things in school.

I've said it.

Dear Jofroi,

bear in mind that I shared my opinion

purely upon request.

But I share it with Fonse,
not with you.

You are fully and wholly
within your rights.

If he won't abide
by the voice of reason,

you can appeal to the police.

The police!
Oh, my!

Why, don't even mention the police!

Don't put it in my mind.
If I were to appeal to them…

What about it?

If I went to them and reported
the matter as it stands:

that you want to tear down my trees…

They'll put you behind bars.
Period!

That's right. But I won't do it,
to spare your family.

- You'd put me behind bars?
- You heard me!

On what account?

You don't go around uprooting
another man's trees!

Those trees aren't yours anymore.
They're mine.

The trees are yours?
Father, please.

His trees, he says!
I planted those trees.

Why Fonse, you are out of your mind!

Where did you get that idea?

Listen, Jofroi.

What did we do the day before last,

at the notary's office in Aubagne?

I reckoned you'd remember that.

For signing
four miserable pieces of paper

from a rat-faced notary,

Mr. Fonse might have the right
to storm up

with pickaxes, shovels, and hoists,

to tear my orchard apart?

He purchased it.
He paid.

It's his right.

His right?
And my trees?

I bought those trees
at the Roquevaire fair.

In 1899.
That same year, Barbe told me:

"Jofroi. We may well yet
be getting a little one."

Before the fire in Pichauris
caused her to miscarry.

I carried the trees on my back
all the way from Roquevaire.

I worked by hand.
I dug the holes,

I carted the manure.

I got up at night to keep the frost
off the wet straw.

Dozens of times I treated them
with nicotine.

Each can cost 25 FR apiece.

What's more, father,

when I pruned them,

before cutting a branch,

I'd spend an hour doing the math.

Contemplating how sad it was,

to cut a tree's branch
to squeeze 6 FR out of it.

In the end,
when I came around to it,

it was like cutting off a limb.

You reckon you've bought that all
with your money?

Can money buy everything?

Tell us, father.
Can money buy everything?

No, Jofroi.
There are things money can't buy.

That much is true.

But money can surely buy trees.

Especially 40-year-old trees like yours!

You've had your time.

I know that, father.

And yet, when you and I die,

it is not the end.
But as for trees…

There is no tree-heaven.

When they die, they are only lumber.

So don't press mine along!

Don't hunt them down with an axe.

Let them die a natural death.

A peach's natural death
is to be cut down after ten years.

- So what?
- Your trees have had 30 more years!

- They're old as Methuselah.
- Methuselah?

Precisely! They're old,
and they shouldn't be harmed.

I don't want to harm them.
No one does!

No one wants to harm them,
but you all want them gone.

And for what reason?
Let me tell you, father.

- Because they're fruitless.
- Naturally.

It's not to upset you.
It's because they're barren.

If you like fruit so much,
go to the grocer's!

Nonsense. Those trees haven't
carried fruit for twenty years.

Twenty years, and so what?
What's it to me?

Take me.

I can no longer have children.

You'd make me walk the plank!
And the priest,

you'd swing your axe at him?

It's nonsense, all of it!

- He's crazy.
- Why am I crazy?

Because trees aren't human beings!

A tree isn't a human being!

Says who?

Is that what you teach in your school?

Come now, professor,

with your city airs, your collar,
and cuffs!

It's obvious the trees
have never talked to you.

Maybe because
you're not interesting enough.

Listen here, father.

These trees, it is true,
no longer bear fruit.

It is true, they are very old.

It is true, the apricot tree

is losing his marble
and his branches grow askew.

Be that as it may!

These trees are still healthy.

Left in peace,

they could live 15 more years!

- Hope at last!
- Why do you say that?

How will I eat in the meantime?

You took all my money.
If the orchard doesn't yield,

- you'll have to feed me.
- Don't count on it.

- It won't be me.
- And what will become of me?

You? It's always about you.

I don't care about you!

But I know one thing.

You'll be dead
before you lay a hand on my trees.

He's insane.

Lock him up.

He wasn't born that way.
The trees bring him sorrow.

It's understandable too.

Maybe to you.
I can't say that I do.

Jofroi!

Jofroi, come back here.
Listen.

Fonse, come nearer.

I've thought of a solution
that is honourable for you both.

Listen to me.

Fonse needs to yield some profit
from the orchard.

It's understandable.

As for you, Jofroi.

You'll be coming into payments
from Fonse's 12,000 FR.

Yes.

I have 970 FR a year.

Then you surrender that income
to Fonse.

With that money,

Fonse can lease and cultivate
a piece of land.

And for as long as you live,

no one will touch your trees.

What do you say, Fonse?

I just want to solve the matter
without the police,

and without any shots fired!

What about you, Jofroi?

I don't get it.

You turn the money over to Fonse.

Fonse will let you
full enjoyment of your orchard.

In other words,
he remains the owner.

- Right?
- Yes.

While you become his tenant.

So that you can enjoy the orchard
for as long as you live.

Right. For as long as I live.
I see.

- And after that?
- After what?

After I die.

What about it?

Will your remove them then?

Here we go again!

- Will you uproot them?
- Of course I will!

Yes, I'll uproot them.

Those ghosts of trees!
Cardboard trees!

You'll drive me crazy, you raving fool!

They're not even trees.
Just sticks planted upright.

Their trunks smell of building timber.

I'll tear them out!

Fonse, don't get yourself worked up.
Take it easy.

Be reasonable, Fonse.
You'll remove them at your leisure.

At his leisure!

Well… very well.

I see.

You'll murder my poor trees.

I'll never reconcile myself to it.

But I know a way to get back
at all of you.

Take my own life.

What did you say?

That's right.
I'll commit suicide.

That ought to teach you.

Teach us what?

Fonse…

My death will bear
on the rest of your life!

Knowing you have killed
Jofroi de Maussan.

I'll kill myself this minute.

- What new madness is this?
- Let him be!

Jofroi! Please, come back here.

You very well know

that suicides go to hell.

If I end up in hell, father,
I don't care.

The Lord will forgive me.

He sees everything.

He's looking down on you
as we speak.

Thinking: "There's a handsome bunch
of bastards."

Farewell.
I have a life to take.

What a cuckoo!

A typical case of senile lunacy.

- You believe he'd do it?
- Surely not!

It's merely blackmail.

You never know with these lunatics.

He could put the barrel of his gun
to his mouth like a teat!

Crack! Good-bye, Jofroi.

You believe him?

To be sure, no.
But it's not impossible.

What will be said of me?

That you killed him.

It wouldn't be true.
But it'd be said.

No, Fonse.

Don't fret over it.

Despite Jofroi's blasphemous words,

I trust in his Christian sentiment.

Nevertheless, a piece of advice:

don't rush back to the orchard.
Let a week go by.

In the meantime,

he'll come around.
He'll think it over.

He might even forget.

I have an idea.

I will visit Barbe, his saintly wife.

I'll expose the facts.

She will bring him to his senses.

What's that noise?

It's just the cloth merchant
peddling his rags.

Now, as for Jofroi…

Father, come quick!

My man is on top of the church
fixing to kill himself.

Jofroi, don't jump!

Jofroi!
Jofroi, don't jump!

Stand aside!

Jofroi, I beg you not to jump!

Don't stand so close to the ledge.
You'll get dizzy and fall.

Mary mother of God!
Father!

Save him, please!

And what kind of men are you?

He barred all the doors.

Don't jump, Jofroi!

Don't do it, Jofroi!

Why do you want to jump?

Because Fonse wants to kill my trees!

Then it's out of pettiness!

Get down!
Listen, you're making me hoarse.

Jofroi, do not jump!
Think about the salvation of your soul!

I am.

Then don't jump!

As for me,
nothing would please me more.

But someone is pushing me
over the ledge.

That person is Fonse!

I'm not pushing you!

Or anyone else.
I'm standing right here.

Jofroi, don't jump.

A mattress!

Get that mattress out of here!

Stand aside.

Do not jump!

Remember the Lord looking down on you

and the cauldrons of hell!

Satan never ripped out any trees.

I appeal to your good sense
and reason!

Reason commands me to jump

to punish this orchard-slayer!

Now stand aside, you puny man of cloth!

Look at you standing there,
at your age!

You ought to be ashamed
of such silly behaviour.

Come down and talk!
We'll find a solution.

Stand aside,
or I'll crush you flat!

Alright then.
Stand aside.

We might as well be in for a show.

You, fetch a sheet to fold him in.

You, a stretcher to carry him away.

Jofroi, don't jump!

There, we're all set, Jofroi.
Jump.

I'll count to three.
One…

Two…

Three.

You want me to jump, do you?
Too bad.

- I'm not jumping!
- What a clown.

Let me alone, Barbe.
I know what I'm doing.

Well now, Jofroi.
You had us fret over nothing.

You didn't jump.

I got to thinking.

Tomorrow is the village fair.

I'll take my life during the fair.

Come on, Barbe!

More wine, father?

Thank you, my child.

After the Christian view,

there's a practical view.

It's a fact.

To all the villagers,

Fonse is responsible
for Jofroi's madness.

They are wrong.

- They said that?
- Earlier.

After the scene on the roof,
I overheard a conversation.

The road-mender said,

"Who would have thought Fonse
was so nasty?"

- You hear that?
- Yes.

Just wait till I give his wife
a piece of my mind.

No, my child.
Let's not add insult to injury.

Jofroi's tale is over and done.
He did not jump.

Let's forget all about it,
and play dominoes.

That's why I mean!

There's yet another point of view.

The metaphysical angle,
you might say.

Let us assume

Jofroi had jumped and died.

- He's dead?
- No.

I said, "assume."
It's a conjecture.

He's dead.

- Did Fonse kill him?
- No!

On that point, we agree.
But where I to ask:

"Did Fonse play a role
in this burlesque tragedy?"

"Was Fonse in any way involved
in Jofroi's miserable fate?"

I'd say yes!

He'd say yes?

Sure he would.

And so would I.
And then?

When a roulette player hits the jackpot.

He gives the dealer a handsome tip.

And yet…

The dealer has not favoured his number
over another.

Nevertheless!

He carries a so-called
metaphysical responsibility.

By the same token,
in Jofroi's story,

Fonse bears a responsibility

metaphysical in nature!

You hear that, Marie?

If Jofroi dies,

Fonse then becomes

the instrument of fate.

What a twist!
You'll want to avoid that.

He has done no wrong.

Naturally, he has committed no wrong!

Nevertheless,

he feels most obscurely guilty.

He has looked sheepish all day.

One might almost say,

miserable.

It's true.

Me, miserable?

Miserable as sin.

Maybe I am.

Making him suspicious.

How so?

We are blamed for our grief
more than our sins!

Fallacy, my friend.

A great fallacy.

Fallacy to a near criminal degree!

- Criminal?
- Yes!

Please, father.

Come, my friends.

Do not try to understand,

as you never could.

The matter is beyond your reach.

It is a conversation
for idle men and rhetoricians.

And yet it is a very simple matter.

Do you feel guilty, Fonse?

I felt fairly innocent this morning,
father.

All this talk…

It poisons you.

Scratch your nose, it starts to itch.

I for one am telling you.

Have no fear.

You are an honest man,
who never hurt a fly.

Forget about it.

Coming to the boules court?

I'm not quite myself today.

It's still on your mind?

It's a fallacy, Tonin.

A fallacy.

- Did you hear them talk?
- Yes.

Say, what do you reckon
a fallacy is?

You see…

Maybe it is my fault.

Say it is.
What difference would it make?

The fair is in town.

Fetch your boules.

Then come along.
Take your mind of it.

Fine, I'll come.

Just let me finish my lunch.

- Going to the village, are you Jofroi?
- Yes.

Today is Sunday.
You forgot your shirt-collar.

I know.
I don't need any collar today.

It would only get in the way.

Now get on home.

What is he fixing to do with that rope?

Look who's coming.

It's Jofroi.

- Have you been to the orchard?
- No.

I let it rest.

Hey, Jofroi!
What are you up to?

- What do you need a rope for?
- To hang myself.

- To hang yourself?
- Yes.

Fine, get it over with.

I most surely am.

Do us all a favour.

Don't torment yourself, Fonse.

He won't hang himself.
It's just an act.

It could come to a dramatic end
just the same.

That's true.
You were wrong to goad him on.

What if he does it?

If he does then he'll be hanged!

Well said.

You scoundrel!

What kind of man
doesn't respect a hanged man?

I'm a fool?
Well you're a clown!

I don't like the look of this one.

Here, just what I need.

Well, Fonse, what do I do?
Point or shoot?

Can you pull a carreau?

Then go on.

Hey, Tonin!

He's hanging himself
in your orchard.

Quick, run!

- What are you doing?
- Hanging myself.

What for, you old bastard?

You have no reason!

- You're pulling on the rope!
- Liar!

Hang yourself, if you must.

Jofroi, do me favour.

Do it in your cousin's orchard.
It's his business.

Do it from his cypress tree.

No way!
Cypress trees are bad luck.

Then hang yourself to a plane tree!

You'll have a nicer view.
Get up there.

Always true to form, Tonin.
You selfish devil!

Won't raise a finger for no one.

I'll hang myself farther.

But say…

- Can you lend me the crate?
- Take it.

Did you hear that?
I'm pulling on the rope!

He wants you to be guilty.
For what?

- He won't do it, I'm certain.
- So am I.

Most certain.

Quite certain…

He went to Ernest's.

- Is Ernest around?
- He went to town.

Let's go around his place.

Suppose he hanged himself,
tongue sticking out?

My Lord!

Oh, my husband! Help!

What is it?

Please, come quick!

My man is dying!

- Where is he?
- Swinging from a plane tree.

Come, quick!

Cut the rope.

He's alright.

The Lord would not have this sin.

Rhythmical tractions of the tongue.

- Rhythmical?
- Yes, of the tongue.

Don't touch me, you murderer!

Get him away!
He wants to strangle me.

You! Stop strangling my husband!

Faster! Faster!

He's slipping!

- What is it, Fonse?
- It's Jofroi!

Jofroi! I've got him by the shoe.

- I can't hold him any longer!
- Fonse!

My poor man.
Oh, my goodness!

Hey, Fonse! Fonse!

Oh, goodness!
What a ride.

Jofroi had jumped in the Maussan well.

I was holding on to his shoe.

Take it out of your mind.

I won't let Jofroi rob us of our sleep!

- He never even hanged himself.
- But he did!

I know it
because we had to get him down.

What a fallacy!

- Such a fallacy.
- Enough now, lie down.

Go back to sleep.

Alright.

I'll go to sleep.

- But leave the candle on.
- Right.

Fonse!

Hey, Fonse.
Jofroi is dead.

What?

He fell on the big road.

He's lying on the ground,
his arms stretched out.

He had it coming.

And it came alright!

A suicide?

I don't know.
But he's dead.

Let's get the priest.

Go on,
I'll get the professor.

Hey, professor!

- What is it?
- Jofroi is dead!

He's lying in the road,
arms stretched out.

Come quick!

I'll be right down.

I'm getting the professor.

- Well, Fonse?
- He's down the road.

How long has it been?

It smells already.

You're the who one reeks, you pig!

- Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
- What's he doing?

How would I know?
What are you up to?

I'm waiting to be run over by a car.

They'll surely spot you from afar.

When I hear them nearing,

I'll make myself so flat and thin,
that they won't see me.

It's a stupid plan.

Fonse, don't question my plans!

You, of all people!

As you wish.

I'll stand on the side of the road
and stop the cars.

"Drive slow," I'll say.
"Yonder down the road

"is a wicked old geezer
fixing to be run over out of spite!"

Stay till dawn for all I care.

Drop it.
Leave this poseur alone.

My poor Jofroi.

Trying to commit
the most wretched of sins.

The devil has robbed you
of your good sense.

I see now that you no longer fear hell.

But you do fear catching a cold!

That's true.
I'm afraid I'll catch a cold.

At this time of year, on a cold road,
you certainly will.

Are you certain, father?

Perhaps.

You're right, father.

Thanks, father.

I'll kill myself another time.

It's merely your nerves, Fonse.

Your nerves!

It's not my nerves.

It's Jofroi.

This wretched Jofroi is tormenting him.

How many times has he committed suicide?

Maybe thirty.

Maybe more.

So it's obvious.
He won't kill himself.

I know he doesn't want to.

But if he keeps on fooling around,

he'll end up killing himself
by accident.

Remember how he tried to swallow nails?

On the square.

He ended up swallowing a fistful.

Where are the nails now?

He jumped in the canal.

Say no one had seen him.

He'd been found at the gate

with a stomach like a melon.

Or take the time he went to buy acid

from the grocer.

Say he'd given him.

What then?

Add to that

that he talks!

He rambles on and on.

He tells everyone:

"That Fonse.

"He's a monster."

And people believe
I've done terrible things.

You can't deny it.

And yesterday.

Marie.

She came home weeping.

My poor Marie.

Guess what she'd seen.

She'd seen children playing.

Pretending to be Jofroi.

The custodian's son was playing Jofroi.

As for the grocer's boy,

he had been asked to play Fonse.

What did he reply?

"No way!

"I refuse to play an assassin!"

Come now, Fonse.
It's children's talk.

The priest was right.

It's a fallacy.

A great fallacy!

A fallacy…

A very strange one indeed,
this fallacy!

He was upset by the orchard.

So I stopped going.

I have no crops.

Come spring, I'll have four chickpeas

from Marcellin.

Save a few beans from my field,
and some melons.

How will I feed my wife?

She can eat the pig!

And I'm here, aren't I?

Yes, I know, Tonin.
You're a good man.

But it makes me sick.

There's one thing left to do.

Lay down and die.

- He's dead.
- No, not yet!

Marie?

Did you call in the priest?

No, Fonse.

That's not it.
Jofroi is dead.

I've heard it before.

It's the truth.
He's dead, Fonse.

I gave him the last rites.

- Did he kill himself?
- No.

He had a stroke.

Barbe came to find me this morning.

He died a good Christian.

Finally!

- Are you quite serious?
- Yes, it's true.

Quick, my pants!

Quick, Tonin!

Tonin, hitch up the mule.

- Where are you going?
- To the orchard!

To my orchard!

You tore out a few.

Not all of them.

I'll leave a few.

Jofroi's dead, bless him.

If he looks down,

he'll be glad.

He can say to himself:

"Fonse, after all,

"wasn't a bad man."

THE END

Subtitling: HIVENTY
Adaptation: Armelle Chrétien