Original subtitles

Nothing so resembles virtue as true crime. (Saint Just)

GENEALOGIES OF A CRIME

On the st day of the 8th moon of Year One

of the Taiyuan era of Sun Quan of Wu,

a young man destined by the stars for murder

killed a woman of the family of Liu Bao.

A solitary woman hid him in her house.

But she was the ghost

of the woman he had killed.

He fell in love with the ghost.

She revealed her true identity

and that her only motive was revenge.

It was as if he was never there.

Not that he was absent-minded.

I'm listening...

He always seemed to be mocking one.

So you agreed to take him on...

That was the day...

Yes. It was then.

I'd just discovered my son had died.

He'd gone on a motorbike tour, I was alone at home.

I'm not sure why I slept in his room, in Pascal's room.

He was just 20

but he still loved nursery tales, fairy-tales.

A book was open on his bedside table.

I started to read, then fell asleep.

Who is it?

When did this happen?

I didn't react immediately.

I think I went back to sleep.

My mother woke me, it was daylight.

I spent the rest of the day doing mundane tasks.

The eggs mustn't emulsify.

I see...

As soon as they do, you add vinegar

salt

and chives...

Where did you find chives?

Secret...

Chives always disappoint one.

Then add the yolks, mashed...

Is that essential?

Any objection?

It's your recipe...

There, it's ready.

Don't move!

Don't reply!

Solange, it's Mathieu, good news.

A man who's killed his aunt, there's a witness,

He denijes it of course.

Plus - I know you'll love this -

he claims the real killer is a group... a club

The Franco-Belgian Psychoanalytical Society.

Fun, isn'tjt?

Solange, Judge Verret is here.

Evening Solange. Be brave. We'd better be off.

What are you up to?

Not much. Mathieu's found me something.

Of interest?

Hope so. I need something.

What about you?

I'm looking into this Society...

- Still? - It's tough.

- They're tricky. - Mother's seeing...

a member of that Society.

- Nol? - What?

No, I was saying, your... analysis group...

Mr Verret's looking into...

- Don't. They're quite respectable. - I'm sure.

They embezzle money, lots of it.

- One must live. - But Mummy...

They rob patients to fund a political...

Fine by me.

It's against the law.

- The law's stupid! - But it's the law.

- Nothing's proven! - It's quite obvious.

Sorry, you're not the first...

Are you a Socialist?

Do I have to say?

Of course not. My mother's crazy.

So like my daughter!

I'll be right back.

Know why I'm smiling?

- No I don't. - It's your salad dressing.

- What about it? - It's great.

Sure!

But first you make a mayonnaise...

Not here Mum!

I'm not being nasty. She's never managed a mayonnaise...

Stop it, Mum!

So she turns her mess into a vinaigrette!

Great isn't it? I don't know...

turning your failures into something new and creative.

I know what I mean. Il shut up.

Sorry, if you'll come this way...

Madam need not join us.

I want to see him.

The night of Pascal's cremation, I slept in his room again.

I found the book he'd been reading.

He'd marked page 97.

"One day, a young man destined by the stars for murder

"killed a woman of the family of Liu Bao..."

I went on reading till dawn.

- At last, he's here. - What?

Your ex,

your son's father, I mean.

Hello, Solange. It was hellish...

getting here. Hello, Louise.

Hello young man. Fit as ever.

I travel a great deal.

- How's work? - Fine.

Mathieu, Bob Christine, my... Pascal's father.

Mathieu's our senior partner... well, my boss.

A pleasure.

Bob writes children's books.

"Pascal's Book" is by him. It won a prize in...

- Where was it? - Grenoble.

Wasn't it Angouléme?

I'm not as famous as Solange.

I've got to go, I'm not bullying you but I need an answer.

Not here.

"Pascal's Book"! To think he's in there!

Perhaps you were wrong to cremate him.

Of course I was, Mum.

So I can count on you, yes?

I have no choice.

- You won't regret it. - I never do.

Of course you'll regret it.

She's defending that monster, that murderer.

- And she'll lose. - As usual, say it.

Fighting form, I see.

Excuse me.

Why "Pascal's Book"? I never asked.

I wanted to explain Pascal's philosophy

to a ten year-old: my son.

But Pascal was 13 at the time.

I'm a slow writer.

My condolences.

You don't know me. I'm a friend of our lamented Jeanne's.

Mad Jeanne, your new client's victim,

Is it too late to convince you

not to defend the boy?

Sorry... but who are you?

Franco-Belgian Psychoanalytical Society

The boy did us much harm.

And the cheek of it is, he's accusing us.

Too funny!

What does he say?

Everything. And anything.

It's a mistake. My name's Georges Didier.

Freudian slip, I expect! Only joking.

Not really.

You have nothing to fear.

I fear nothing. And no one.

I observe that we have many enemies.

- I lose all my cases. - I know.

You love a lost cause. As does the public.

I know.

You're in the limelight. Psychoanalysis requires...

shade and secrecy!

Do you know him?

We've just met.

Hello Mr Georges.

Didier. Georges Didier.

- Hello Judge. How is the enquiry? - Fine.

Oh I see, this Society is...

Yes. Our enemies are everywhere... which sounds paranoid.

No it doesn't.

It does. The age is paranoid. The paranoid are right.

Have some respect. You forget where we are.

Forgive me.

I didn't want to... My condolences Madam...

He's barking!

You'll see him often, he's your eye-witness.

Doctor, what's wrong?

I didn't recognize you.

Don't call me Doctor.

So you went to the prison

to meet the murderer,

knowing nothing about the case, not even the press-reports.

A legitimate technique.

What did you make of René Engel?

Nothing much except...

he wanted to make friends.

In what way?

In every way.

For instance, he'd suggest swapping roles.

He'd say, for the next half-hour, I'll be you and you be me.

For example?

The following week...

Isn't it cold here?

No. Quite the opposite.

Must be me.

I am going to ask you something very painful.

Naturally.

I shall ask you

to tell me very precisely what happened.

I don't know if I can. Where do I start?

Well you might say...

I came in the door, the window...

I entered the room, searched it, she found me.

Did I do all that?

I am here to defend you.

Naturally.

If you don't want to help...

Madam...

Call me Solange.

I have to say, I remember nothing.

I don't believe you.

I didn't kill her.

The Franco-Belgian Psychoanalytical Society did.

You can laugh.

I'm sorry.

You remind me of someone I liked.

Your aunt.

You're very alike.

She just loved it,

being one step ahead of everyone.

Tell me about her.

She enjoyed games.

- Games? - One game.

You played together?

She'd say, now you be me and I'll be you.

Did this happen often?

In the end, yes. Fancy a go?

- What? - It's easy.

What for?

You need to find mitigating circumstances,

seeing it my way is the perfect method.

Don't worry, it's fun.

If you get it wrong, I'll go 'beep. And you do the same.

Right then.

I'll start.

I am you.

When did you first decide to kill your aunt?

- Never. - I don't believe you.

- As you wish. - I don't wish to waste time.

Because your time is precious?

Yes.

You're in a hurry to lose.

How do you know?

You know you'll lose, Solange.

I'll be convicted and you'll confirm your reputation.

You lose all your cases and never refuse a lost cause.

What is it, Solange?

Did we go too far?

You're very good. We'll call it a day.

I'm sorry.

After this, you read Mrs Higgins' diary

and viewed the tapes.

- Why not before? - I don't know.

Maybe he had me well and truly hooked.

Meaning?

My interest was not just professional.

I was under his skin. I was him.

I started thinking like Pascal, seeing what he saw.

Pascal? You mean René?

Sorry yes. I mean René.

I was able to visit the victim's home, stay there.

I read everything, tried to understand.

Can I see René's room?

The monster's room?

Of course. There's nothing to see.

Why not?

Mr Didier emptied it. He's planning a museum to Mademoiselle.

A museum...

We get pilgrims already.

Really?

Well, you've come.

Only for work.

Yesterday we had three, more tomorrow,

a coachload from Belgium at the weekend. She was very famous.

This is the monster's room.

You don't sound like he was a monster.

Things are never as simple as they seem.

That's true.

Why was it emptied?

It wasn't my idea.

I'm sure not.

Anyway, people are sick.

I don't mean to be nasty

but they're all like you. They want

to see the monster's room.

Don't be shocked, we all called him that, he called himself that.

When he arrived, he was nine,

he doffed his hat and said the monster's arrived.

The little monster.

I never thought of that.

He was tiny then,

scared he'd never grow up.

Those ones weren't expected.

You should have called.

I can see him,

he spent the whole afternoon at the piano.

But he won't have lessons.

He'd rather sit and pretend to read the score. He loves pretending.

6th January.

At night, he tells me his dreams.

He dreams of my lipstick.

Today he said, your lipstick's killing.

He says "such-and-such is killing" all the time.

Connection between lipstick and penis.

21st January.

He wakes me and says "You can't

sleep if I'm awake."

He dreams of a wooden statue

his father brought back from Asia before he died.

What are you looking at?

He's masturbating already.

Knives fascinate him, he won't cut bread,

he stabs it for pleasure.

I re-read one of Von Hug's lectures:

"After the age of 5, criminal tendencies cannot be corrected."

Is René a criminal?

In my opinion, yes.

It's late,

you can stay here.

There's a spare room.

You're very kind.

Is it yes or is it no?

Yes.

That's a surprise.

Why?

Nothing.

There's some food in the kitchen.

- I'm not very hungry. - Justin case...

You'll be me

and I'll be you.

Some Gascon fox, or Norman perhaps,

starving saw, high on a trellis, bunches of...

ripe-looking grapes and buttocks of gilded dames.

The rascal grew hard...

He came yesterday, with only a hat for luggage.

He sleeps naked, except for the hat.

- The monster! - He loves to shock

and when ignored, throws a tantrum.

He's shattered eight pieces of china.

Today we heard his mother had died.

René refused to cry.

He hid in the garden, all night long.

He'll live here.

I'll be able to monitor his behaviour.

I'll follow his development, his descent into hell.

It's too early to discuss it now.

He must stay innocent. He mustn't know what is in store.

Yesterday, he killed a cat, to save it he said.

He gave it ether and gutted it alive.

He took out the liver.

Where are you?

The monster!

René has been here seven years.

His behaviour seems normal, but deep down nothing has changed.

Today, at breakfast,

he was at his dubious puns again.

I love bread. It's seditious.

Specially with blackamoor jam.

Mmmmikilling... what's funny?

Nothing.

Course not.

Actually,

I've never seen you eat blackberry jam.

Because I'd never seen it before.

You said blackamoor jam.

A mate of mine in school says that.

Really? Who?

He's called Salar.

Salsar, or something...

He's Spanish, he always says,

blackamoor jam.

He says blackamoor jam is mmmikilling.

He's killing.

Mmmmikilling, she says?

He not she.

You love blackberry jam

but you haven't touched it.

I'm not hungry.

My fears were confirmed the next day:

René's friend does not exist. He's an invention.

There's no Spaniard in René's class.

Did he mention a foreigner?

Maybe in another class?

Mrs Higgins,

I am sorry but your nephew...

Don't. My friend Didier has told me already.

The worst is

he denies it all,

- despite the evidence. - I know.

I must rush.

15th November.

He's been gone 9 days now.

He wrote to arrange a meeting.

He was late. I was due to see Georges at 5.30.

I was just leaving when he came.

Where were you?

- I need money. - Oh Lord!

You've no money on you! See you!

- René - Yes.

- What time'll you be home? - Late.

- We'll talk then. - Will you...?

No. I won't. Ever.

- 1 only want 2000. - 2000. Then 3000.

- I can't help it. - Is it your girlfriend?

- No. Not her. - Some other girl then?

It's a boy. I'll explain.

The Spaniard. Remember?

Tell me tonight.

20 minutes later, waiting for Georges,

I saw him pursued by a crowd shouting "Thief I".

Jeanne! I'm sorry I'm so late.

It doesn't matter.

You're so pale!

I've just seen René.

René! I was just with him.

Where?

My place I think... Yes, definitely.

Was he...? I mean... all right?

I wouldn't say that, no... But...

You know more about that than I do.

Am I wrong?

Only joking.

You are forgetting the bill, Madam.

I wasn't not going to pay.

We've so many thieves about.

You are ill-mannered, Sir!

- Better that than... - Than what? Say it!

I shan't make a scene. I'll see you again Sir.

Whenever you say.

- Wherever you like. - The honour is yours.

- Monday! - What time?

-8 pm. - I can't.

- We close at 8.30. - You're mad!

Indeed, a thing like that drives me mad.

8.35 then.

8.45. I've got to do the till.

Slippery, aren't you? Tricky.

You're back-sliding.

"Her pure nails display their onyx, the lampbearer, Anguish, at midnight...

"Vesperal dreams burnt by the Phoenix...

"Though she, nude and defunct, yet

'in the oblivion the mirror frames,

"there rain scintillations of the septet.”

Amazing! The "Sonnet en X"!

He knows Mallarmé by heart.

Mallarmé's my favourite.

René was here.

And what will Sir have?

A coffee.

- What did he want? - Guess!

- How much? - 2000.

No way!

- But what can I do? - Resist.

I've found him a job - fairly decent too.

What about school?

He's about to get expelled, he doesn't like it.

Now he'll earn a decent living.

I've found him a cheap flat.

- Where? - Not near you.

I need him nearby.

I need to know how things turn out.

Calm down!

Things'll turn out fine, or not at all.

Not at all!

You know we can't force him, if he doesn't want to.

I know, but...

Forgive me, I believe we are colleagues.

If you say so...

I am Christian Corail.

So what?

Is our conversation

stimulating?

I thought you'd know who I am.

Corail. Sounds like a train.

You must've heard that before.

Endlessly.

Which is how you came

to psychoanalysis.

Georges, the session is about to start...

All I can say is

for a therapist you seem fairly unstable.

And you're a bore.

Waiter! The bill.

It's just that in the case in question...

How would you know?

- Thousands of them. - That's untrue.

Luckily.

You're barking up the wrong tree.

What the hell is this?

Société Psychanalytique de /'lle de France.

The SPIF! I knew it!

You do a great deal of damage.

Well you lot, the SPFB,

you manufacture killers.

So that's the SPIF!

You spy on people, you bug them!

Your voices do rather carry.

I'd like to smash your face.

Go right ahead.

- 83 francs. - What!

You wanted the bill.

- 83 francs! - Il do it.

That's it! Settle your debts!

I don't need you to...

I'll go and pay.

I gather Mallarmé was a frustrated killer.

- Who said that? - Your friend.

Me too. I'd kill them all.

Keep the change!

Thank you, Madam.

We're off, Georges.

We shall meet again.

I look forward to it.

Bugger off.

Triple bugger off.

Figure three fetish!

Stupid bastard!

When I got home, René was in the study.

He'd found my notes on his case.

So you're keen, now?

Yes, now I'm keen.

Very keen.

It's all there, nearly.

You shouldn't have looked.

It's about me.

You shouldn't be aware. It could harm you.

So I'm a gonner then?

No one's saying that. It's not that easy.

"We reckon a human being is formed at 5.

"After, there's nothing to be done." Is that true?

Yes. At least I think so.

No, it is true.

Well, good night.

I'm staying, to know my fate.

You can be so silly sometimes.

You're pretending René! Don't fool with me.

Silence please. We're working.

At 3 am, a sound woke me.

The shoes he'd stolen earlier were on my table.

I went to his room.

He was pretending to sleep.

I'd not pretend to wake him.

I'd not enter into his game. He must enter into mine.

I'm scared.

- Let me go. - No. Why?

There's no need to be scared.

Don't worry, don't be afraid.

There she is!

The monster!

Come here! Come on!

The next day, I called René in. I'd decided to treat him

after all.

Shall I lie down?

That won't be necessary, not yet.

So what will we do?

We'll play a game.

You'll be me and I'll be you.

Sit over there.

Let's have a chat.

Here?

Yes.

Must I talk about growing up?

No.

Not that either.

You must try and be me.

You can imitate me, make fun of me if you like.

I'll do the same.

No one will ever know.

What's the point?

Who knows? We'll see.

You look unimpressed.

It seems a bit trivial.

Perhaps everything is.

My problems are trivial, are they?

See? I'm being you now.

I'm René. You are Jeanne... Please.

All right, René. I'm listening.

Jeanne, did you enjoy seeing me nude?

- Were you perturbed? - Of course not.

- You're lying. - René! I ought to slap you!

Go on, slap me.

I deserve it.

Now tell me, René.

Why are you afraid of stealing?

Afraid? You must be joking.

I'm not.

Look what I've found.

Why did you conceal it here, and not sell it? Look!

Necklaces...

Bracelets...

You're crazy!

Look!

Money...

You're mad.

Everything he'd stolen was in the house.

I was relieved, triumphant.

A few minutes' play had done more than years...

of formal therapy.

Now I saw René differently, he was complex.

Alas, his complexity was to prove lethal

and my game would have awful consequences.

Yves Leclerc...

Two weeks later,

René arrived with an unexpected friend.

His problem is like mine. Only worse.

He went to Georges, but he's useless.

I said maybe you'd help.

Cool...

Would you like an appointment?

- Yeah. Great. - Hang on. Let me...

- We'd like to start now. - Right. Wicked.

That won't be possible.

Jeanne! Don't be a stiff like Georges.

The treatment won't work with witnesses.

I told you.

Treatment? I thought it was a game.

It is a game, and it isn't.

René, this is not right.

René, stop it!

René, I could slap you.

That isn't cool, man.

Enough! Get the hell out!

From then on, I sought a new kind of treatment

which I discussed at our weekly gathering.

Oddly, the Society concurred. The meeting went on late.

I came home to an unpleasant surprise.

Jeanne!

René was there, with two accomplices.

They were ransacking the house.

René, kindly put all that back.

How can I?

I am not alone.

You can't want me to lose face.

Do as I say.

You can't want me to call the police.

After all we've been through, I don't understand.

- You're drunk. - Want a drink?

Don't worry, it is not yours. But it's excellent.

Madam, if I may...

René lied... He said you'd be out,

he said we could take this stuff,

- as a favour to you. - I never said that.

- I never said she'd be OK. - You did.

He's right, Madam.

Our apologies.

- I look a fool. - That's not our aim

but what will she think, that we're burglars?

Don't worry. We're not burglars.

You're from a thrift store then!

Almost. We like doing favours. Right?

He's right. Don't worry.

René said you wanted a change. A night job, he said - oddly.

She loves it, he said. Would you like a drop?

No thanks.

Don't worry. We've more.

No thanks.

All right, I believe you. Please put it all back.

René! You're mad!

Jeanne, you're half-asleep. Wake up.

- Go to bed René. - No. I'm scared.

- You can't sleep when I'm awake. - I shan't leave.

- She stole the lot. - She did? You're mad, Jeanne.

What the hell is this?

You can't do this.

Come here. Why did you...? What is this mess?

Shit! You can't do this. Are we burgling or not?

Know what René? I know one thing.

You're dying to kill me.

Go on. You've got a gun.

See? I never touched it.

At last!

Some action.

Hurry up though.

Shit!

Beep, beep! You're mad!

Listen, Jeanne...

I'm scared now, I'm terrified.

Jeanne Higgins' diary ends there. 4 months before she died.

It took me 8 hours to read it.

I thought this is like ending a nightmare.

But was it really over?

This is the murderer's room. There's nothing to see.

Nothing. Indeed.

Excuse me, I'm very sorry.

Don't worry, lawyers are naturally curious.

Part of the job, right?

- The mirror's... - A one-way mirror.

It's a period thing.

There are three in the house.

Jeanne kept them, she liked them.

Perhaps you know, this house used to be a brothel.

The pictures belonged in it.

- But the pictures... - Yes. Originally,

they weren't of Jeanne but... local talent, shall we say.

She took out the faces

and put herself in instead.

Yes, Jeanne was quite a... player, shall we say.

So she could spy on her nephew?

She didn't need that. Not her.

And he... there was nothing to see. nothing at all!

Not that I was always here.

Well, that's it.

I must go.

Did you read it?

- Yes. Everything. - Well?

Nothing. We must speak.

I thought so.

The door... She doesn't close the doors.

Out!

All right.

I must...

go back to Paris, I'll come back... I'll call.

You're very welcome.

Goodbye.

The truth must out. I can say nothing.

Why not?

Goodbye.

Right, the idea is

a young man is driven to crime by his victim.

I am certain. I have proof.

- But he killed her. - Under the influence.

- Under her influence. - Meaning?

Suicide.

Think they'll believe you?

If you read the file carefully,

you don't need a psychology degree.

I see a weak point: the eye-witness.

He's the only one for a start. Met him?

Georges Didier. Yes.

I may be wrong, but I'd start there.

Is that it?

No. The accused.

Of course, I'm not you

but couldn't you push him a mite? Tell me I'm mad.

I'll get nothing from him.

I don't know.

There's something fishy about him. I don't want to... but...

Fishy? What do you mean?

I've offended you.

Yes.

Did I say, you look great?

No. Is that it?

The boy's a bother.

He's not guilty, he's not innocent. So what is he?

I've offended you again.

I'm off. Unless there's anything else?

- Are you cross? - No.

It's over, Mathieu, stop it.

Sorry, it's for Solange.

Aren't we lunching?

Sorry, I quite forgot.

Where shall we go?

Chinese.

Very fascinating.

Except Mathieu won't hear of it.

He's a git. It's too good.

That's what Mathieu says.

It's a gift. They're up to their eyes in...

- That, what's his name? - Georges Didier...

Judge. I didn't recognize you.

Christian Laplace!

- How are you? - And you?

Looking for solitude.

In Paris!

True. City of encounters.

You know Solange?

I don't think so. Or maybe I do. Where?

She's defending the murderer.

Forgive me, I live in the clouds.

The Higgins-Engel affair.

I do see...

Will you sit down?

Why not? We can have coffee together.

I'll just get my briefcase.

Who's that?

Christian Laplace. Ethnopsychologist I think.

He calls himself Christian Corail.

Where would I know him?

Narrative syndrome? Shared romance?

- Means nothing. - Read it.

He's Georges Didier's official enemy.

There.

Large coffee please.

Two thirds decaf, one third caf.

- I was recommending you. - Thanks.

What do you do?

She's a lawyer, I told you.

Oh vyes.

Is it fun?

- Not always. - She's lying.

She always gets the best cases,

now it's Jeanne Higgins' killer.

Killer? Victim you mean.

Why do you say that?

Because I knew Jeanne well, Jeanne the Terror.

Thank you.

She came here often, with the nephew.

She was tough, I was fond of her.

At the end, she was about to change.

She was opening up.

A bit anyway.

To the end, she was loyal

to the orthodox way.

I don't understand these subtleties,

- I'm only a judge. - You're wrong.

Our jobs are similar.

Only for people like Jeanne,

the subject is guilty as soon as charged.

To me, he's only guilty at the end.

Behind any social science, you'll find the Law.

And behind the Law, a fairy-tale.

I find your theories fascinating.

Where can I send you my book?

Our friend believes fairy-tales

are dangerous.

- I never said that. - Approximately.

I said fairy-tales and stories in general

act on us like illnesses

or demons.

You, for instance,

may be one of the brothers Karamazov.

And me another.

Together, we can relive the novel

and drag in innocent victims

who will die without knowing they've been murdered

by a blood-thirsty tale.

I'm sorry, once I get going I can't stop,

like all dreamers.

So according to you, who was Jeanne Higgins?

What story did she embody?

She's a special case.

It wasn't a novel or a tale.

She was more unassuming,

she was reviving a true, turn-of-the century story:

the case of Dr Hermine Hellmut von Hug,

which doctor was replaying

an 18th century Neapolitan tale,

and so on.

The odd thing, you know,

is that our Jeanne was well-informed.

Her thesis was on Dr von Hug.

I am puzzled by that.

1 do not know you, Sir.

Nor me, Sir.

Please excuse me.

- Oh, the coffee... - Settled.

Really? How kind.

As you wish.

Christian Corail! I know!

Jeanne refers to him in her diary.

Mathieu was right. I had to start with Georges Didier.

I had a line into him: my mother.

I invited myself to lunch.

I put the soup in the bowls,

if that's all right.

Fine.

I'm so cramped here.

You can move in with me.

I know, but what's the point.

How long would we last? Three months? Six?

I nearly broke the sweet-dish.

I know.

Wine?

Just a little.

Funny...

- What? - I'm watching you.

And?

Funny, that's all.

How's the wine? Tell me.

Good.

- 15 francs. - Where from?

The Arab store.

It's nice.

Very. For 15 francs.

You get nothing for that.

That isn't true.

I found something decent for 13 francs. Well 13.50.

Well the wine's good, the soup delicious.

It's OK. It needs chives.

What is it, Mum?

- I'm watching your hands. - So I see.

You haven't done that for ages.

The boy I'm defending...

- The monster? - Yes.

He's like me. He can never decide between two objects.

More soup?

No thanks. It's delicious.

I know. More?

No thanks. I've had enough, I said!

You've had enough!

And I'm to move in with you!

What about it?

You'd soon have enough, my dear.

Remember when you started doing that?

I've always done it.

Not when you were small, you didn't,

only after your father punished you.

Well - sort of punished you.

I took it badly?

Very.

But at least it stopped you throwing cats out of the window.

Did I do that?

Yes, don't pretend.

I'd forgotten.

That's a bit easy.

- How's your analysis? - Fine.

It's going well.

So I threw a cat out of the window?

One, she says! Lots!

Really? Was it fun?

We thought you'd end up a murderess.

See how wrong we were.

Perhaps I am - potentially.

I doubt it. You'd have killed me.

That's true.

What's the cheese?

Ahal A surprise.

Vacherin! I hate you.

87 francs a kilo.

Where?

That's a secret.

How many cats did I defenestrate?

I can't remember.

How many were there?

You were the one who liked cats!

You insisted on being given one...

Then, after a while, bang! no more cat! Till...

I was punished.

If you can call it punished.

I knew it!

I'm so sorry.

I see her standing there

and, totally unselfconsciously, I cut her up.

I say, it's only a hen, it'll need a lot of boiling.

Then she arrives, her or her double, and says:

"Sorry I'm late, Mum,

what have you got me for dinner?"

She says, "What have you got me"

That's right.

Go on...

Then she rushes at her body, that I've just carved up,

and swallows it raw.

It's horrible.

Does it scare you?

Worse, Doctor.

Don't call me Doctor.

Is that the end of the dream?

Not at all, it gives me goose pimples.

Me too...

I watch my arms

and see the hair grow, cat hair.

Now she runs after me yelling,

"A hen after a vixen, it's the world upside down."

Are you offended?

Naturally. So I say,

"I'm not a vixen, I'm a cat."

And she chucks you out the window.

That's all for today.

Will I have the same dream tonight?

I have no idea.

Don't you think

this dream's an omen?

Really! There's no such thing.

But in your lectures you say...

It's not that simple...

They all say that,

but my daughter's monster killed his aunt

after using her house and money for ten years.

True.

My daughter's the same.

- It's not the same. - It is the same.

See you on Monday.

Doctor...

Don't call me Doctor.

Georges,

have I said the analyst next door will take me

and charge a lot less?

Go right ahead!

And...

he believes in prophetic dreams.

My dear lady, if you enjoy masturbatory fantasies, go ahead.

Does he masturbate?

I don't know who you mean.

But you know him!

He said you'd had a fight. Well, he beat you up.

That's untrue.

- I'll say no more then. - You can't stop now.

- Let me go. - No, I won't.

- 'I yell! - I can yell too.

I yell loud. We can both yell.

What'll the papers say?

You don't mean that?

- You're scaring me. - I don't believe that.

Calm down. Sit down.

- You're out of breath... - Alittle.

Tell me what you know

about him. Did he say I was a coward?

Not exactly.

What else did he say?

He wasn't talking to me.

- He was talking to my daughter. - Where?

At her place. They were not alone.

He was with the Judge.

Bravol!

- Can I leave, Doctor? - Don't call me Doctor.

Sorry, Doc...

Georges.

Antoinette,

you sometimes get in the way.

Antoinette? My name is Louise.

Antoinette is unwell. Fetch a Doctor.

- That is Louise. - Fetch the Doctor.

Where are you going?

Doctor Tabiusse, please...

Solange! My condolences.

Thank you.

I'm sorry to bother you but I had to.

It's the Higgins-Engel business,

the boy tried to kill himself.

When?

This morning. He's in hospital.

He's fine. He's well.

He wants to be alone.

I understand.

- Can I leave a note? - Of course.

You'll find everything you need there.

Excuse me!

What is it?

That's enough. You can't do that.

René, I know you don't like me but we have to stick together.

- All right... - What is it? Wait!

He got the wrong ward, he spoke to a stranger.

That is when you began to suspect Georges

was not a reliable witness.

I knew it straightaway.

Mathieu and I set a trap.

I'm sorry I'm so late.

- It does not matter. - Yes it does.

What can I do for you?

- I have some questions. - I'm all yours.

The plan was to meet him in a café he knew well.

He never agreed to meet in a place he didn't know.

I got Aline to stand in for me,

she was Mathieu's secretary.

We recorded the scene.

For ten minutes,

he answered Aline without noticing.

Then she must have said something wrong.

The time had come to confront Georges.

He won't come.

Anyway, he can't escape.

Better late than never.

I was just passing...

I don't believe it. May 1?

Yes of course.

Hello...

I thought the decor would be more kafkaesque.

This is more Musil.

No. Balzac.

Part Balzac, part Akutagawa,

Paul Auster without New York,

Robbe-Grillet basically.

How do you do.

Christian Corail. You've heard of him.

It's a pleasure.

The pleasure is mine.

Mathieu Toubian...

I know you. I've seen you on TV,

I doubt it... but I've seen you.

Weren't you on last week?

No, that was Toubiana.

Whisky? Port?

Thank you...

Three thirds whisky, plus a third of port, with water.

Whisky for me.

Please sit down.

You must wonder why I've come.

- You're always welcome. - Yes, yes...

It's about our friend Verret.

We don't see him much.

I realize.

He's more Thomas Mann.

Well, go on.

He's remarkable.

There are three kinds of man.

The majority act out of ignorance as to their place on earth.

Some have too many ideas,

they have projects and imagination, they deserve respect.

The third type is much rarer,

the Judge and I are among them:

people who have only one conception of the world.

Only one.

His idea is this:

that corruption will vanish, at least from this country,

when we have found the right scapegoat,

someone both innocent and guilty.

This is what I call the Christly function.

He thought he'd found a Christ in Georges.

Well, Georges is over. He's plain irresponsible.

Now he thinks I am his Christ.

He must be mad!

Quite. He's in hospital. A breakdown.

Which is why

I have come.

I've just seen him. He's delirious.

The papers must not print what he says.

Because then I should defend myself.

And he knows I can.

Fine whisky, fine port.

I hope you got my book.

Yes, thank you.

Was it any use?

Not yet. I'm sure it will.

See you soon.

Oh Lord!

I forgot why I came. Georges - you know, my official enemy -

begged me to give you this invitation.

He asked you!

Yes, we lunch on the first Friday of every month.

Can we meet between 9and 117

Can we meet between 9and 117

So I went to meet Georges.

When I arrived, it was almost 11.

Esther was there to greet me.

Without a word, she led me upstairs.

They'd put out the red carpet, it was vintage Georges.

At first, it looked like a party

but as soon as I appeared, a silence fell.

Hello. I said I'd be back.

Esther! What are you playing at?

You wanted to see me, I believe.

I did.

Well here we are.

Me and my colleagues, I mean.

- Am I a prisoner? - Certainly not!

The thing is, the situation has got out of hand,

we've decided, me and my colleagues,

there is no obligation of course,

that it might be helpful if you discovered

some of our therapeutic games.

- Your games? - Therapeutic games.

I must inform you, Madam,

that you are now in René's place, his place during treatment.

This is where he stood for a ceremony... the ceremony.

René stood in my place?

Yes, the technique I invented

owes nothing to Moreno. Nothing!

Jeanne and I developed it, despite the others. Despite the others!

Basically, our technique was

to use tableaux to represent

the instant

just prior to a fatal gesture.

For instance, this evening we're doing

the moment before

our lamented friend was slaughtered.

My colleague will play our lamented friend.

This delightful creature

will play Demeter or Isis or whatever, it's of no significance.

Are you interested?

Very.

She represents destiny,

i.e. an impulse to be fought against.

This colleague will stand in for

the patient.

So you say you were trying

to overcome René's criminal impulse

by representing the crime.

The moment before the crime. That is crucial.

Well?

We failed.

René was about to go through the looking-glass

and things went wrong.

You may have seen the blindfolds

by which my colleagues and I indicate to the patient

his extreme solitude

in the face of the criminal act

he has been contemplating since childhood.

He and only he may see -

see and act.

This can last an hour or more.

Then the rules are reversed.

We can see, but he may not. It is prohibited.

Then we tickle and titillate him,

we irritate and excite him.

Finally,

we leave in silence.

He remains with the victim, alone.

Blindfolds! If you please...

That night, it was raining...

After the ceremonies, we have a drink,

and sometimes go out to dinner.

We were all in the drawing-room,

I'd lost my notebook, so I came in here.

I saw her. She was dead.

And he was laughing.

I returned to the drawing-room.

I said nothing, wrong of me, I know.

I didn't want to spoil the evening,

that's my social weakness.

When they had gone, I called the police.

Come on, let's go,

quick, quick...

Was all this necessary?

Absolutely, Madam.

It's like cooking. Truth is absorbed through the eyes.

Fine. Now, please let me go.

- No! - Yes! Enough!

At least you know everything now.

You're invited to drinks with members of our Society.

Don't be like that!

I'm glad he told you. The truth is a comfort.

You don't believe it all. Quite right!

- Meaning? - Nothing.

It's not for me to speak. I must shut up.

Come on. A pick-me-up will do you good.

It's pure treachery, no point denying it.

Combining techniques never works.

- Where's the toilet? - I'll take you.

- Don't bother. - They're the cleanest.

- Sorry. - Come in, I've finished.

Did you enjoy the show?

Enjoy's the word.

I think it's a farce.

They're all so serious. It's killing.

Were you involved, before I mean?

Oh vyes.

I'm, well I was René's girlfriend. They hired me...

Was it paid?

Oh yes, quite decently.

If a session went wild, I got a bonus.

Went wild?

They call it therapy. Well, I'm Spanish, I trust my eyes.

I call it orgies.

Therapy's just an excuse.

Soledad!

Yes, Jorgito!

Come on, we're waiting.

Coming...

I must go, I'm afraid of him.

I thought I saw what'd happened.

Georges, the only witness, said he saw René

but he wasn't credible. I needed René's version.

But he refused to speak.

When I wouldn't, there was a stand-in.

Who?

Could be Antoine,

or Yves or Bertrand.

And they'd accept.

Oh ves... it was paid entertainment.

And that time...

I told you, I fainted.

No. I remember.

It was raining that night.

The traffic was terrible, I was late.

The room was empty. I saw something.

Someone knocked me out.

When I woke, the room was all lit up.

She was there,

dead.

On the carpet, a knife...

Unthinking, I picked it up. Then I understood.

I panicked.

I scarpered and got rid of the knife.

Now I had what I needed.

The trial went according to plan.

René was acquitted. We were delighted.

Someone wants fo speak fo you...

Yes? Who?

It's the Judge.

Solange?

I am desperate to see you.

/cant. We're celebrating René's acquittal.

There's a party. You must come.

René Engel is...

He should rest now.

Where is René?

I've not seen him. Must be with his girl.

She's here.

Solange, my dear! What a pleasure.

See? I recognized you. Or am I wrong?

Or should I call you Jeanne?

What?

I don't know... I'm sorry.

So you should be.

What does this mean?

You'll see. If we can talk alone... For the last time, I swear.

This way...

Solange? Are you OK?

Fine... thanks.

So this therapy was criminal after all.

Revolutionary, I'd say.

How so?

If the aim was to destroy the foundations of our society...

That's enough.

- More? - No, that's fine.

I've only one thing to say.

You understand nothing.

So tell me!

All right, I think

you've ignored the main issue.

Unless... you're keen on the boy.

I am.

Well watch out. He's very nasty. He killed her.

Easy to say...

Easy to do.

Let's meet.

- Too late. - Tomorrow?

Too late, too late...

Do you think they'll understand our gesture?

Unconsciously, they will.

In whose unconscious?

People's.

Not the collective unconscious? Not you!

Don't worry...

Go on, I'm listening.

You're not. You never have.

You're too sensible.

One says things and you understand the opposite.

What's wrong? Are you all right?

It's OK, it's as expected.

- You're very pale. - I'm not surprised.

Solange...

My dear...

I said you would know all...

You shall know what human sacrifice means.

You shall measure, at last...

how radical our commitment is.

- Don't move, I'll get help. - Stay.

In all true commitment... there is

what can I say...

a primitive element. Don't forget...

all men's troubles stem from an incapacity

to give up their lives...

Calm down... stay quiet...

What is happening?

He's mad! He's mad!

The fooll!

My dear colleague, would you...

remove my shoes... I cannot.

Never wear shoes at the end, it spoils it all.

With pleasure.

What's happening?

They're dying.

But human sacrifice with no victims...

I wonder if defenestration wouldn't have worked better,

so the world knew...

Georges said, no risk... the bystanders.

Only willing victims.

Well, fire...

Fire's dangerous.

Or a knife.

Frightens children.

Solange, record all this...

- This'll take ages... - Call the police.

Amazing...

Collective annihilation, for the cause.

We've been sullied, insulted...

I know, but still...

It's settled.

Your health!

Your health.

Champange's delicious.

They sponsor us.

That's what we needed, a sponsor for sacrifice.

He's kept his sense of humour.

The man is a Socrates for our time,

with a touch of Empedocles.

So you noticed.

The incident gave the Judge another heart attack.

Three days later, I found a surprise waiting.

Surprise, surprise.

I should have come sooner, I'm shy.

How did you get in?

I stole a key, ages ago and copied it.

- Do you do that in jail? - You do everything there.

Please have a seat.

I wanted to say... l heard about Georges.

I'm in shock.

He wasn't that bad to me.

It was his decision.

Still, it's tough.

Tell me, René,

these ceremonies... you participated willingly?

I don't know.

I loved my aunt, I think.

And she?

She loved observing me. I was a model.

Did you say you loved her?

Me! She would have made fun of me.

Are you scared I will too?

A little.

Not anymore. I wanted to say...

- You love me. - Does it show?

No, it doesn't.

Shit! What a fool.

You are not a fool.

I shouldn't have said that.

Yes you should.

Solange, don't laugh at me.

I hate people being one step ahead.

You are one step ahead of me.

In public, we played mother and son, in private,

we played /amour fou.

He stayed for a month.

Then he vanished without trace.

I went back to work, painfully.

And the Judge had a third heart attack.

They're all getting at me.

We judges are the big bad wolves now.

Let's not talk about that.

Yes, let's not.

René, what's become of him?

I don't know.

He'll come back sooner or later, when he needs cash.

Why do you say that?

I don't know, I just did.

Strange.

That boy is behind all my cases.

Every time I'm about to solve one,

- he appears. - How so?

He's not poor, as you know.

All those embezzled funds end up in his pocket

by bizarre routes,

it's all very lovely and elliptical,

Sooner or later, he'll fall,

he's the brains,

the Antechrist, the Beast.

It's all my fault, my shameful fault.

The Judge must have been unpopular.

His daughter and I were alone at the funeral.

Oddly, Christian Corail came at the end.

My condolences, losing a father is hard.

Yes, it is.

But he left us when I was 5.

That's right, he walked alone.

He was Steppenwolf, though I'm sure he never read the book.

Goodbye.

How do you do.

I am expecting you. Come and see me.

Il show you my museum.

I've something for you,

as a tribute to your work.

Really?

The genealogy of your crime. Genealogies, rather.

I did not take him up on it.

Solange, a fax for you.

I got endless letters, faxes, calls...

One day, I was at a loose end...

You nearly found a ghost.

This morning, I almost died. This way.

Have you moved?

I often do... the bombs, you know.

This is my work.

Yves,

this is Solange.

She got René Engel off.

Well done. How is he?

He's... fine.

He lives with me. Did you know?

No.

No? I told you the other day.

I'd forgotten.

Do you see each other?

Yes. He came to visit me in jail.

Poor boy!

They thought he was Jeanne's killer. Luckily he had a perfect alibi.

- Didn't you? - I spent the night with Christian.

Working on my archives.

Come.

This is my Mnemosyne.

That's what this is called.

There's a Sarajevo section there.

What am I doing here?

You know the idea,

it is a visual exposition.

There are an unlimited number of stories

which have captivated Man since time began,

stories which take place in various times and places.

What is Kennedy doing here?

The Julius Caesar syndrome.

Christian foiled a plot against the President.

Mitterand?

Not him... I'd rather not give the name.

You're so modest! You saved his life!

Please, Yves!

He just put an ad in the paper...

Tell her! It's wicked!

According to my theory,

people assume stories happen to them,

actually they are possessed by stories.

A few minor alterations,

the story is foiled and vanishes into nothingness.

Which is a relief.

In this case, I just put an ad in a well-known newspaper...

"Liberation"! Brilliant!

I published an ad which said,

"Seeks Brutus for

"life size performance of the death of Caesar."

And the President's life was saved. Neat!

- What about Jeanne? - I couldn't do much.

Yeah, it stank.

Her story was too recent.

The more recent, the more predatory they are.

What about my story?

Your story... must be here.

I saw myself.

I'm trying to help.

Am I in danger?

Great danger.

Christian Corail's way with words seduced me.

I got in at midnight.

Where are you when I need you?

Sorry... what's happening?

I need money.

It's really serious, I'm done for.

Calm down. What is it?

That guy came by.

What guy? Who?

Yves.

Yves, the murderer?

Yes, the murderer.

- Is he free? - They released him.

He came by with his girlfriend.

- What did he want? - Money.

How much?

Ten thousand.

For starters. I'm done for.

You're having me on, I've spent the day with Yves.

How come? Where?

With Christian Corail. His boss.

Not just that. He gave him an alibi. Queers!

What did he say?

Look at me, René.

You're not telling the truth.

He's blackmailing you right? But why?

I lied to you.

It was him who...

He told me all,

as if it was totally natural, blushing like a child.

- We meeting later? - Not before 11.

- At "The Cannibal"? - OK.

You're mad, Jeanne, seriously mad.

I've been going too far,

you turned a blind eye.

- You mean the cheque? - And the credit card.

And the money I borrowed from Georges and Esther.

My colleagues are madly generous,

as long as you pretend to rob them.

You're blind Jeanne,

they want something.

Look at me, René.

René, please!

- I won't go to jail. - You will anyway.

I'll call the police.

You wouldn't.

Yes I would.

And you forgave him.

I absolved him.

I absolved myself.

Tell me about the last six months.

I'll tell you: they were hell.

He wanted more and more money, all my savings.

Then a week ago, at 3am...

Hi Aunty!

Good evening.

Aren't you bored alone in bed?

Couldn't you be more tidy? Look! This isn't a home?

Say something!

What are you waiting for? We're hungry!

Jesus, we're starving. If we don't eat, we'll get drunk.

There must be food in the kitchen.

These guys are unbelievable!

Yours is the worst.

Well, ours.

I assume you know his game.

He promised Yves you'd...

He said he could make you do anything.

They bet 10,000 francs.

Isn't that the amount he wants?

Is that the truth?

Yes.

You don't look the sort, but you're like the other.

What other?

René's aunt.

A right bitch, she was.

I don't want to hurt you...

I'll see what they're up to.

- You! - Yes, me!

Give me that, it's not for you.

What is it darling? You wouldn't!

I'm awkward, but I'm not mean.

Remember? You'll forgive me...

Give me that.

Forty wounds.

- It happened in a flash. - Right.

It's the next bit I want.

I've got to go!

Two cats.

I must inform you,

unanimously,

we've decided to plead insanity.

But the Judge was right. René inherited the lot.

The Society members left him everything.

And the odd thing is that now I inherit.

I am the universal heir.

Goodbye, Solange.

On the 1st day of the 8th moon of Year One

of the Taiyuan era of Sun Quan of Wu,

a young man destined by the stars for murder

killed a woman of the family of Liu Bao.

A solitary woman hid him in her house.

But she was the ghost of the woman he had killed.

He fell in love with the ghost.

She revealed her true identity

and that her only motive was revenge.

Before he died,

the young man had time to write a poem.

"Incessant rain

"Broad river

"Deep water

"My heart like the rising sun.”

Subtitles by Pierre Hodgson

Processed by C.M.C. - Paris