All language subtitles for Journey.Through.French.Cinema.E06.Les.oublies_eng

Imagine you're at the movies.

MY JOURNEY
THROUGH FRENCH CINEMA

FORGOTTEN FILMMAKERS

Nearly all the directors
in this episode,

all these forgotten names,

had huge box office successes
and enjoyed prestige as well.

And then they virtually disappeared
from collective memory.

They were erased, eradicated.

Lack of attention from the critics,

lack of interest
in the types of movies they made,

a change in fashion, in sensibility,

disappointing late careers.

One man in the late 1970s

championed at least three
of these directors.

That was Patrick Brion,
in his legendary Cinéma de Minuit,

the only one to program,
to have restored

and to defend films
by Raymond Bernard,

Maurice Tourneur and Anatole Litvak.

Very early on, I was interested
in films by some of these directors.

I would discover the very brilliant,
very immoral and very incisive

With a Smile,

the portrait of a cynical
and wheedling opportunist

who stops at nothing

- blackmail, betrayal, lies -
to get what he wants.

Why that's terrible, Mr. Ledru.

So you believe my wife is cheating?

What?

You didn't know?

I'm so very sorry, Mr. Albert.

I think I've committed a blunder.

So who's criticizing me?

Dear me, sir,
I'm not an informer.

And it's someone

so close to you

that your immediate associate,

the person you trust the most...

Bruzin?

That hypocrite, that snake.

He won't be around long.

That will make Suzy Dorfeuil unhappy.

Why? He's her lover?

Didn't you know?

He even goes after
the Fine Arts School director,

blackmailing him by making him think

he knows secrets about his wife.

Her mugshot?

That's it.

Filed under the name of Miss...

Go on, say it.

Emma Piedoux, alias The Tireless.

Her maiden name.
I'd have never dared utter it.

Mr. Larmois,

burn the record
and I'll pay 100,000 francs.

No, I want the Opera.

You're obsessed.

Very well.

Four nice little 100-franc notes.

The film's particular originality,
as Jacques Lourcelles notes,

is that instead of being dark,

it is light-hearted,
charming and insidious,

double-faced like its hero's smile.

My capital is very small

I'm a Croesus in sandals

But there's a feeling inside me

This money will be multiplying

The clever,
original tone was credited

to dramatist Louis Verneuil,
author of My Cousin from Warsaw

and the play that inspired
Hitchcock's I Confess.

But Christine Leteux,
in her book on Maurice Tourneur,

informs us that Verneuil
only wrote a few paragraphs.

Tired of waiting,
Tourneur had contacted Carlo Rim,

and asked him to write
the screenplay and dialogue.

He is the one who finally wrote it.

Carlo Rim,

who wrote
the screenplay.

And here is Maurice Tourneur,
the director.

The equally remarkable
Justin de Marseille,

again written by Carlo Rim,

is an original blend
of Marseille comedy,

neo-realist moments,
exotic scenes,

and film noir

against a backdrop
of drug trafficking.

- Justin, good fresh fish!
- Thanks, no time.

The finest.

Doesn't Justin look fine today!

Nice tie!

Look at her eyes.

A mobster who no longer
respects the mob is done for!

You hear me?

Would you shut up!

It's full of unusual touches,

like this black pimp
who meets a violent death.

Or this shoot-out with police

that ends in a very Scorsese-like
tracking shot.

The tone changes constantly,

switching from a murder filmed
American-style to a comical touch...

- Oh boy!
- He sure runs fast.

to a hilarious scene...

No time to lose.

I'm chasing crooks
and I'm running on empty.

In this heat, I pity you, officer.

But duty is duty, right?

Say, officer,

how 'bout a drink while you wait?

I won't say no, but a quick one.

I'll tell you about the case.
It's like in the movies.

Or this memorable family scene...

If they do,
he knows how to respond.

Justin has men
to enforce his will. And fists.

- If that Italian keeps it up...
- Shut up!

I want to be left alone, Mama!

- Would you shut up!
- Only if I want to, dammit!

Forgive me, Mama.
I'm a bit on edge today, you know.

I know.

Another great Tourneur film,
Au Nom de la loi,

is striking
in its documentary precision:

these location shots,

the discovery of a corpse
in the river.

Poor Clamart.

It was bound to happen.

He took a bullet
in the back of the head.

I'll get the one who did it.

The film
is full of documentary touches:

There were no women
in the police then,

so it's the concierge
at police headquarters

who does the body searches.

There!

Grab his gun!

That scene is realistic.

They really come to blows.

But above all,

they bring the suspect back alive.

You've got no evidence.

You almost killed an inspector.
You're good for the penal colony.

Go on, talk,
you're done for.

It's not the colony,
it's the guillotine.

You killed Clamart.

It wasn't me.
I swear it wasn't me.

There's a strong-arm interrogation
scene with Gabriel Gabrio,

suddenly interrupted
by a meal being served.

It gave the expression
"sit down for dinner,"

i.e. "Spill the beans."

What's funny
is that crooks say it, too.

They "sit down for dinner, "
spill the beans.

Ritually, it seems crazy.
It's incredible folklore.

When they confessed,
they sat down for dinner.

Amédée.

Drink this.

The taxi driver didn't talk.

I don't think he did.

But then Vanel
offers him a glass of wine,

and the look the two men exchange

is quite amazing.

Thanks.

Come on.

I'll get you, you know.

Jean Gabin told me that back then

shooting could last
10, 12, even 15 hours

according to the producers' wishes.

And he added
- I can still hear his voice -

"They paid us in wax beans."

I'd asked him about Jacques.

But he preferred to talk about
his father Maurice, saying

"He was the first director

"to impose set hours,

"who stopped at 7:30 or 8 p.m.

"whatever we were shooting.

"And then Tourneur would say,
Now boys, make me laugh.

"But he never laughed."

Isn't there enough to do
at the squadron?

I don't have time, sir.

Why not?

I'm always in prison,
so I can't go.

I can't resist
showing some shots

from Gaîtés de l'escadron.

The film contrasts with
the coarse vaudevilles popular then,

like Le Tampon du capiston.

First because it's not a vaudeville

but a satire of military life

that's quite faithful to Courteline.

There's no plot per se,

no sudden developments,
no mistaken identity,

just a series of little incidents
that Tourneur films

with a slightly

amused distance.

- I'm too kind.
- But sir...

Everybody makes
a monkey out of me.

But they won't get away with it.

Things are going to change!

Smoking?
Making a fool of me, too?

Give me a light.

Raimu portrays the ultimate Hurluret.

I'm too nice.

Some stencil colored shots
that have been restored

are marvelous.

When you're a prisoner,

the best chore is cleanup detail.

So when's it finished?

When there's no more dirt.

With this, there's always dirt.

Fooled you!

You rascals sure have tricks.

Dimwit!
You almost knocked me down!

Unable to work after a car accident
in which he lost both legs,

he translated thrillers.

No one was interested in him
except Jean Mitry.

But he had help,
writes Christine Leteux,

from his former assistant,
Clarence Brown,

who had become
an important director.

Appalled to see him
in such dire straits,

Brown offered his support

to this man whose work

had had as much influence
as Griffith's.

As for Anatole Litvak,

Pierre Rissient and I both regret

to have passed him over,

to have never tried to meet him.

This Russian émigré

who'd worked in many countries:

Russia,

Germany, which he left very early,

France, the United States,

was apparently generous,
warm and welcoming.

Admittedly, we were influenced
by the tone of other critics.

It's a very French habit to defend
one director against another.

We defended Preminger
- that was fine -

against Litvak, who had made

several outmoded,
disappointing films.

As a result, we passed over
a no doubt fascinating figure,

a director who shot
the first anti-Nazi film in the US,

and several good films
such as City for Conquest,

Sorry, Wrong Number,

and especially, Decision before Dawn,
showing the twilight

of Nazi Germany on the brink.

Even his remake of Le Jour se lève,
- The Long Night -

deserves better than what was said.

And he played an essential role
in making the documentary series

Why We Fight.

People like Carl Foreman
and Budd Schulberg told us

that he'd been the conscience
of those films.

He'd been the brains,
and his intellectual role

had been much greater than Capra's.

And all the films he made in the US

- most of them in any case -

were written by communist
or very progressive screenwriters.

It's no accident that he left the US

in the late 1940s,

when McCarthyism was on the rise

and the witch-hunt had begun.

I'm sure he could have told us
much about all that.

The first revelation
came when I saw Lilac.

The highly inventive mise en scene
plays with sound

as brilliantly as Renoir
in La Chienne.

Look at these location dolly shots.

The choreography of various marches

that end with a brilliant scene:

the discovery of a corpse.

Look at that guy!

There's a guy in the grass.

His head's all bloody.

He's certainly dead.

I thought you were a cop.

Lilac masterfully juxtaposes

very different genres and tones.

Your papers.

A police investigation
with an undercover cop...

Alright.

Sentimental moments reminiscent
of Frank Borzage's masterpieces...

Still not getting off?

You seem to like my car.

Once more to the end of the line.

Still 6 francs.

Or comic moments

like Fernandel's song...

Don't cry
if the bride's too pretty

If she's got many charms

Don't cry

Don't cry if she's in other arms

If she's stolen away

Don't cry

Shouldn't have chosen the envy of all

An ugly one would be all yours

Don't cry if the bride's too pretty

If she's got many charms

Don't cry

The film turns its back
on many clichés,

as in this fight scene
relegated off screen...

We'll leave you
to your happiness.

Or this final scene,
a breakup

constantly interrupted
by a wedding party...

I thought that through you...

And you figured,
I did it.

Lilac, listen. I'm telling you...

I don't believe you! Not anymore.

You've told me nothing but lies.

You said you loved me.
It was a lie to make me confess.

Well, I confess.

I killed Loriot.

What are you waiting for
to collect your bonus?

Now what?

Long camera movements

and long takes
were Litvak's trademark,

as here,
right from the opening scene

of Cette vieille canaille...

You came. You kept your word.

In his autobiography,
Elia Kazan writes

that Litvak was the only director

to impose that style of shot
at Warner Bros. in the 1930s,

the only one to choose
his own angles and frames,

never delegating to the cameraman.

Flight into Darkness,

with its remarkable aerial
combat scenes

underscored
by Arthur Honegger's fine music

was my second revelation.

It was the first collaboration
with Joseph Kessel,

with whom he made five films.

A story of friendship
between two pilots,

one of whom realizes
he's in love with the other's wife,

which will divide them,

is hardly diminished

by Jean-Pierre Aumont's
rather tepid acting.

Charles Vanel,
once again admirable,

ever so subtly plays

a solitary character, tragic,

vulnerable and unloved.

Sorry, I'm ridiculously sensitive.

Don't think badly of me for that.

But sometimes
I'm at the end of my rope.

Life doesn't want me

and neither does death.

At times,

I'd rather end it all.

How can you say that?

There are people who love you,
waiting for you...

You're right.

I'm crazy. Yes...

Of course someone loves me.

My wife.

We found the lyrical,
yet restrained directing

superior to Hawks' Dawn Patrol.

In this admirably filmed scene,

see how the horror of war leaps out.

Come on!

Get him out. Quick.

A stretcher, fast!

Maury!

Sir?

Didn't you notice
you'd been hit?

No, sir.

The engine was talking too loud.

Easy.

Can't be any fun flying
in that murk.

You also sense it here
in the mess hall,

where they await the return
of a crew, sent to slaughter

on the general's stupid order.

The love story
brings out the violence

and moves toward the tragic,

as in this shot of Annabella,
splendid,

following the truck
carrying her lover

without noticing
the wounded she passes.

I might add this amusing tidbit:

The Lady in the Car

is one
of Quentin Tarentino's favorites.

He thought it was
the coolest swan song

of a filmmaker in the 1970s.

Another long-forgotten director,

Raymond Bernard,
was recently rediscovered.

Cahiers du Cinéma and Le Monde
even ranked Wooden Crosses

among the masterpieces
of French cinema,

taking the filmmaker out
of a long purgatory,

at least in France,

despite the efforts
of certain champions:

Lenny Borger, Patrick Brion
and Jacques Siclier.

For many years, Wooden Crosses,
based on a novel by Roland Dorgelès,

was simply the film
that ran on TV on Veterans Day.

And yet, it is an exceptional film.

Nearly all the actors
had fought in World War I,

which may explain
the film's conviction,

a blend of stark realism,

as when the soldiers realize

that a mine is being laid
beneath their trench to blow them up.

Yes.

That's what it is. No surprise.

They blew one up last month.

Now what?

I'll inform the major.

And I'll go see about orders.

What about us?

Do we wait here?

Of course.

We can't abandon Mount Calvary,
can we?

After days of waiting,
they meet the relief troops,

a stark, devastating scene

all the more terrible

for its restraint.

How many men were there?

Eleven.

And four gunners.

The night attacks
are among the finest war scenes

in the history of cinema,

with a remarkable use of sound,

the first example of sound mixing
in French film.

The din of shellfire,
whistling, explosions,

had to be very pervasive
without drowning out the dialogue.

Artillery's firing short, sir!

David, run to command.

Have them advance our line of fire.

I had tremendous difficulties.

The talkies had only just begun.

First we had to create

the aural ambience of war.

To create this ambience,

we first needed to record
the explosions

of cannon fire,
the rattle of machine guns, rifles.

To achieve that,
I tried out any number of things.

I can't tell you
how many microphones I ruined.

After you, sir.

Are you afraid?

Me, afraid?

I'll go over first.

Morache is chickening out.

He'll go over.

Easier than putting them
in the clink.

A humanistic attention to character,

a lack of incidental detail,

- little is known
about the protagonists -

inform an unsparing denunciation

of what they are enduring.

No speeches, no statements,

just facts

and images remarkably
photographed by Jules Kruger.

There are astounding shots
of incredible power and emotion.

Forward!

I wanted to make Wooden Crosses

in a genuine human atmosphere.

I shot Wooden Crosses

almost exclusively in locations

where battles had taken place.

As a result,

on several occasions,

we unearthed bodies.

And some could even be identified.

It created quite a stir,

which was rather painful, I must say.

And this went on for ten days

Don't talk, pal. It'll wear you out.

Don't worry.

Charles Vanel
had just done a scene

in a cemetery, at night.

He was dying in the cemetery,

and I remember someone said,

"You played that so well."

And Vanel simply answered,

"For that sort of role,
no need to play,

"you just have to remember."

Les Misérables is probably

the best adaptation
of Victor Hugo's masterpiece,

with an ideal cast:

Harry Baur,
an unforgettable Jean Valjean,

Charles Vanel,
once again brilliant as Javert,

Florelle,

not to forget Charles Dullin

and Marguerite Moreno,

consummate Thénardiers.

We're keeping Cosette.

The missus and I thought it over.
We can't let you have her.

Her mother entrusted her to us.

I'm an honest man.
The child is a sacred trust.

I swore to her mother
to love her like my own daughters.

It marks you.

We won't tear out our heart
for 1,500 francs.

Raymond Bernard
indulges in his favorite tilt shots

but proves wholly inspired
in many intimate scenes:

the meeting with Bishop Myriel.

Monsignor...

He's a bishop?

You arrested

this man?

You're mistaken. He's not a thief.

That silver

was given to him by me last night,

along with two silver candlesticks.

He's very poor,

and I had nothing else to give him.

Why didn't you take
your candlesticks?

Madame Magloire, go fetch them.

The scene
with the Savoyard boy.

Mister, my coin.

My coin, please.

Give me back my coin.

My silver coin. My 40-sous coin.

- What is it?
- It's mine, sir.

Give me back my coin.

You have your foot on it.

Lift your foot.

Scamper, little brat!

And the epic scenes,
such as General Lamarck's funeral,

shot with hand-held
camerawork.

Or the capture
of the barricades.

I tried to be as faithful
as I could to the poet,

and that prompted
these particular compositions,

the rather special lighting,

and a pace
that was as much as possible

a cinematic version

of the pace in Victor Hugo's story.

I robbed Bishop Myriel,
it's true.

I robbed the Savoyard boy,
it's true.

But perhaps
the fault is not all mine.

Hear me, members of the jury,

a man fallen as low as I

has no bone to pick with fate

and no advice to give society.

But you see,
the infamy I tried rise above

is something

abominable.

It takes a galley
to make a galley slave.

We must also remember

Raymond Bernard's
remarkable Faubourg Montmartre

and The Mayor's Dilemma,

a pacifist drama

written by
Victor Trivas and Jean Anouilh,

finished in 1939,

bad luck.

It couldn't be released
until after Liberation.

Well then.

I need four volunteers.

Why four?

You just said five.

As first citizen here,

you won't deny me the right
to volunteer automatically?

First citizen?

Some censored scenes
were found in Swiss prints

subtitled in German.

So what does that make me?

Rabbit dung?

And my ancestors,

who kicked your ancestors' behinds
under Louis IX?

- Doesn't that count?
- No, that doesn't count.

Look at him.

The man wants to be a hostage
because he made money in trade.

Saturnin Fabre is fabulous

both in his scenes

with Charpin

as in those with his wife.

I'll wear my white gloves
and monocle

to look at them.

Take out my top hat,
naturally.

I'm the only one here who has one.
Show them who I am.

Take a muffler, mornings are chilly.

A muffler, she says.

I'm representing France.

France, France!

She's not asking you to catch cold.

I don't want to lose you.

I love you, you fool.

So do I.

I wish it could have lasted longer,

the two of us, but duty calls...

We're alone,

spare me the speeches.

You're still my little teddy bear.

Don't call me teddy bear
at a time like this.

During Occupation, as a Jew
he was excluded from the industry.

The script for Caprices
was extorted from him,

and he went into hiding in Vercors.

His father, Tristan Bernard,
was interned at Drancy

and his nephew
deported to Mauthausen.

When I became interested in movies,
it was fashionable,

- and I admit
having adhered to this attitude -

to look down on René Clair,
even scorn him.

He was an official filmmaker,

elected to the French Academy,

who seemed very remote

from the cinema we loved.

We set aside his silent films:

14 Juillet, which I'd enjoyed
at the Cinémathèque,

even Man about Town.

I couldn't stand

A Nous la liberté,

La Beauté du diable left me cold,

and most of Clair's recent films
didn't interest me at all.

Pierre Billard's biography
shook my certainties a little.

But watching
several of his films again,

I was stunned.

14 Juillet:

I was dazzled by certain scenes,

but also by the very warm,
friendly evocation

of a working-class Paris
filled with blue-collars...

Isn't this a find?

We can have a toast.

...shopkeepers, craftsmen,

hoodlums.

This looks nice.

Though Paris was partly fantasized,

it reflected a certain reality.

It'll look nicer tonight.

And watching these films again
produces a touch of melancholy,

because that Paris is gone forever.

The empathy Clair
shows for his characters

largely explains the film's quality.

Look how he films Annabella,

how he makes her at once vulnerable,

proud, fragile

and incredibly sexy.

Can't you shut the door?

She is amazingly beautiful.

At the time she was thought

to be a limited actress.

Probably because she didn't overact,

she didn't add effects,

she didn't telegraph.

And finally, seeing her films again,
her performance seems much less dated

than many actresses
of the time.

It even appears very modern.

She acts like Isabelle Huppert.

Fine, all together now...

Under the roofs of Paree

There's also
the contribution and complicity

that Clair had with Lazare Meerson
and Alexandre Trauner.

The sets they designed

inspired magnificent
camera movements.

All these qualities
make watching Clair's films again

a very stimulating experience
that shows

one mustn't always trust

youthful impressions,

especially when they are dictated
by others.

Living in the hollow of the night

Clair often worked

with Georges Van Parys.

I find you as you were before

You sense a great complicity

between director and composer,

not surprising coming from Clair,
since, if I may indulge

in a quick flashback,

Clair was someone
who used music

in a very novel way
in Le Million,

switching from
realistic dialogue to song.

I don't mind being kept awake,

but at least tell me
why you're all so merry.

You haven't heard?
They haven't heard!

They haven't heard the story
so we'll tell you

But you'll never believe it
Though every word is true

But you'll never believe it
Though every word is true

Van Parys wrote
a lot of film music.

- Jacqueline.
- What?

Your piano lesson.

Oh, darn!

I'll mention Beauties of the Night.

First because Van Parys mentions it
often in his memoirs,

calling it a musical exercise

that was exciting, fascinating even.

An exercise in scales.

René Clair posed me a problem
for the film:

I want you to write me a waltz
that starts with a scale.

Because the little girl

taking lessons with Gérard Philipe
is playing a scale.

The scale turns into a song
sung by Martine Carol,

and we go from reality to dream.

So the song has to begin like this...

The variations on a rising scale

are also a good way
to show how a character slides

from the rather
stuffy real world

to a fantasy world,

a world of imagination

and dreams.

Georges Van Parys
is one of the great French melodists.

We can thank him
for dozens of familiar tunes.

Who wrote that lovely piece?

- I did.
- You did?

As one might expect

As one might expect...

And Arletty chimes in:

He found her vicious

As one might expect...

We had great fun with this song.

Nice voice,
don't you think?

The steps up to Montmartre

Are steep for the lovelorn

The sails of the windmill

shield lovers from the storm

Among the films
Georges Van Parys scored

there is, of course,
Casque d'Or.

Kiss me, Manda.

One of Georges Van Parys'
great achievements

is the music he wrote
for Madame de...

At the beginning Darrieux sings,

answers and plays with the music.

I'd rather die than give these up.

My cross.

My cross?

No. I love it.

These are the ones I like least.

They're mine, after all.
I can do as I please.

Many said it reminded them
of Mozart's late work,

that the film
was tinged with that feeling

of the fragility of human essence.

Van Parys' music captured that.

Your turn, Michel.

- I'm waiting.
- Alright. That's it.

Jean Boyer was discredited
by critics and then by movie buffs

due to a disastrous late career.

Les Croulants, scene 346R, take 6.

He had made several lazy films.

We remembered them
as excruciatingly awful.

Boyer was almost the example
of what not to do.

Now I find that terribly unfair.

Suzy Delair told me

she thought he was
one of the best comedy directors.

And Georges Van Parys,

in his autobiography,

describes him
as sensitive and talented,

very talented for comedy.

He also said
he was a remarkable lyricist.

It's true that he wrote
dozens of songs.

"Totor, t'as tort.
Tu t'uses et tu te tues"

was Jean Boyer.

"That makes excellent Frenchmen"
was Boyer.

Instead of kicking up a fuss

As one might expect

He simply kicked her

In the tush

As one might expect

I had in memory Nous irons à Paris,

a film full of good humor,

enthusiasm and joyfulness,

a lack of pretention, too.

Lack of pretention was characteristic
of all Boyer's films,

even the most successful.

In mid-August
Hearts are all on a picnic

In mid-August
Gals are not so modest

And if the lady says

"I love furs

"When do I get my mink?"

Just sing to her with a wink

In mid-August
That will save you money

In mid-August
The tomcats sing in chorus

And it was one of the first
evocations of a pirate radio.

Now, dear listeners,
that's it for Radio X.

The big stars you just heard

all wear Lotus girdles.

Lotus, the no-hurdle girdle!

But I had other surprises

as I strolled back through the 1930s.

Back then, Boyer wrote and directed

a number of films, often musicals,

that are wonderfully full of rhythm,

good cheer and energy.

Excuse me, excuse me

Please don't refuse me

We'd like, we'd like

Some information

Give us the itinerary

Of the trip for our holiday

It begins,

like with Jacques Demy,

by a scene with everyone singing,

not on a stage,

but in the Touring Club office.

When you belong to the Touring Club

Don't hesitate, we're here till late

We humble secretaries

Never do we travel, never go beyond

The city's outer boundaries

But we know by heart

Itineraries the world over

And travelers we send

From their home to land's end

It continues
with other remarkable songs,

again by Van Parys
and Jean Boyer.

Take the road,
you can choose it

Take the road,
you can't lose it

It's all yours

Paris air dulls your complexion

The country air dispels all infection

No more drops to take for a cough

Take the road and don't scoff

Take the road and you're off

He films on location
using tracking shots

with lots of camera movement
for "Always a railroad crossing."

Whether you have 8-cylinder power
Or an old jalopy

You won't be early,
no matter the hour

Like a torpedo speeding

Or a tortoise creeping

It's like one big family meeting
At the railroad crossing

There's always a railroad crossing

That blocks the road
You're ready to explode

You arrive too early or too late

You whizz through or have to wait

Up or down is the gate

You wonder where the orchestra was,

if the songs were filmed
in direct sound,

where was the orchestra?

There's always a level crossing gate

Un Mauvais garcon has fewer songs,

but the title song is very famous,

sung by Henri Garat
and Danièle Darrieux.

We are bums
Unloved ones

For the bourgeois sort
Who only eat and sport

You gotta have
For them to adore ya

A clean white collar
And a fedora

A newsboy cap

has no dazzle

It makes you look like a rascal

And that is why
When a bourgeois sees us

He points a finger to tease us:

He's a bad sort of guy

Not a straight shooter

He's not one to meet

At night in the street

He's a nasty sort of guy

Who works on the sly
When an argument starts

The fists begin to fly
From head down to toe

A bad sort of guy

Un Mauvais garçon
is an excellent comedy

with André Alerme,

one of his favorite actors,
who's fantastic.

Listen up.

If in 18 months you don't have
some sort of position,

if you're not well on your way,

I'll tell you, daughter

- put down your cigarette -

I'll say, daughter, come home.

Marry a fine young man
and give me a grandchild.

And you'd do what I say

to thank me
for doing what you wanted.

Yes, Papa.

The film owes a lot to Darrieux,

who's incredibly spontaneous.

She brings a freshness,
pace and vivacity to her character

that's remarkable.

I wouldn't trade places
For a cannonball

I wouldn't trade places
It's right for me

All my troubles fade away
Hope is in my heart

To all the people who come this way
I'll say I'm happy as a lark

I wouldn't trade places
With my neighbor

I won't give up my job
And need no other favors

Subtitles:
Cynthia Schoch & Lenny Borger

Subtitling: ECLAIR