All language subtitles for loneyo

LOST IN NEW YORK

I cannot see very well these days.

My eyes are worn out.

Only my hands can see anything.

I still do not know if she has her eyes open,

half-closed, slit.

She is worn by time, too.

Chipped,

like the white paint of a very old horse on this merry-go-round.

A painted merry-go-round, every horse alike, all white,

they go round.

They are given an open mouth.

This merry-go-round is a cheap one,

without illuminations,

without a coloured wheel, without fairy lights.

without a coloured wheel, without fairy lights.

It goes round, making music,

and the children go round on it.

Without seeing their motionless mount call for help with all their might

from the mute mouth of a merry-go-round horse.

She's a crucified goddess, with open arms.

She looks at me.

I would love to see the little girl she once was.

The little girl from the coal region in Northern France.

The magic little girl,

who would travel through time.

Let me remember.

It was a holiday, I think.

A Sunday.

The merry-go-round was going round,

and I was on my way to the old church.

In the presbytery garden, was the magic little girl.

She was waiting for me.

She was crying.

Why are you crying?

Because no-one will play with me.

I'll play with you. What's your name?

Marie. You're Michéle, right?

How do you know?

The Moon Goddess knows everything.

She's magic.

Will you lend it to me?

It does look like the moon, it's round.

Is it really the Moon Goddess?

Would you like to go on a journey with the Moon Goddess?

Alright.

Come on, follow me.

- Do you want to get in the book?
- How?

Look.

The Moon Goddess was taking us inside the album,

open on our knees.

The book was becoming a theatre screen.

A screen for dreams.

We were on a journey,

where you can only go through the mirror.

This is where the young girls from Picnic at Hanging Rock disappeared,

where Errol Flynn takes Micheline Presle in The Adventures of Captain
Fabian.

You can see the boat which takes Stewart Granger away from Moonfleet.

We were heading through the roofs

to the place where the rebel kids in Zero for Conduct go,

Where the doves in Eyes Without a Face guide Edith Scob,

where the lovers in Dark Passage dance at the end of the road

that takes Chaplin and Paulette Goddard away form Modern Times.

We were the young girl with a white parasol

of whom Evertt Sloane only catches a glimpse in Citizen Kane.

We were every little girl in the picture of Deadly Run.

The odd flower that grows where Jennifer Jones and Gregory Peck died

in Duel in the Sun.

We were inside the music box of "The Living Dead Girl,

on the disused viaduct

where the brainless lovers in La Nuit des traquées wander,

hidden in the clock of The Shiver of the Vampires,

which opens at the stroke of midngiht,

behind the theater curtain of The Naked Vampire.

Beyond the bars she lives in, she is looking at us,

this little Asian girl in The Sidewalks of Bangkok.

We are waltzing on the drawbridge

with the 1,900 girls in Fascination.

Heroines of every soap opera, every serial, of every episode,

we were in search of the island of King Kong,

which hides away The Phantom of the Opera.

Balaoo, Mysterious Doctor Satan,

the Queen of jungles,

Monsieur Lange and Arizona Jim

Rocambole and Sir Williams.

And where do you want to go now?

If we were grown-ups we'd go for a walk.

On the beach, yes.

And we'd find the Moon Goddess.

She'd take us away.

Where would she take us? Where?

She would take us to New York.

She can probably do that.

Can you see the skyscrapers? Brooklyn Bridge? And Chinatown?

Look! I can see it.

Maybe you're a little fairy, too.

- How old are we?
- We're old. 23, at least.

Are we walking along the beach?

On the seafront.

Can you see over there? Under the cliff.

It's like a shingle beach. Can you hear the seagulls?

Yes, I can hear the seagulls.

And can you see the cliff, too?

Yes, I can.

I don't know how to live, without her, without Marie.

I cannot remember.

Suddenly, it was like magic.

We were on the pictures.

We were playing every character ourselves.

We were the book.

We were the travel magazine,

we were the adventures, adventures of the sea and earth.

Where is reality?

Where is the dream?

There was a cliff, I think. And the sea.

The seagulls were loud.

A very odd ballet is going to take place,

throwing the sceneries against each other,

mixing ages, places, characters,

under the impassive gaze of a magician

who makes statuettes appear at the door of the mystery.

Earlier,

or later maybe,

or even right now, actually,

the two little girls dive into the book

and emerge as charming young girls,

who dream of New York's skyscrapers and Brooklyn Bridge.

Suddenly, they find themselves in a strange world,

their fantasy world has become reality.

The thud of the sea, the noise of the pebbles moved by the waves,

the cry of the seagulls,

it's all in their head as they discover New York's buildings,

the New York streets, the New York crowd,

the incredible roar of New York.

But the magic in them, which can abolish time and space, separates them.

In New York City, this ghost city, in a present which is not the real one,

Marie and Michéle run towards each other,

entering deeper into the mysteries of New York's streets,

buildings and blocks.

The Chinatown of Lys Brisé

where you can still feel the shadow of Dr. Fu Manchu or Red Barry,

closes on her.

Suddnely, a strange silhouette follows her footsteps.

They must run, escape this city, as it grabs at them

like hands preventing their retreat.

Marie and Michéle,

maybe you never ceased to be little girls reading a book.

Maybe your masked spirits still linger on this beach.

Or maybe you're running all over New York

desparately hoping to find each other.

With the parting of the day comes the hour of magic.

The most beautiful appearance, more sumptuous than the black night,

is of the white woman vampire who will haunt the New York night.

It is a dream within a dream.

The same dream, at the same time, for Marie and Michéle.

In Marie's dream, a red rose appears.

In Michéle's dream, it is a white rose.

Fantasies die at dawn.

In the loneliness of New York, Marie and Michéle desire each other.

Above the city, their spirits search for one another.

Remember the two little girls.

The Moon Goddess takes them to New York,

to Rome, to Tokyo.

Everywhere.

And in these cities of dreams, two little magic girls play hide-and-seek.

Slip inside my head. Listen.

I can hear the sea. I can hear the seagulls.

Carry on searching. Take a look. Take a look inside my head.

I can see the birds and the waves.

I can see and hear with your head, your eyes, your mind.

I can feel with your body. I am you.

Now it's my turn to come inside your head.

With your eyes, I see New York's buildings,

on the other side of the river.

And you are surrounded by the current.

I can see your journeys when you're looking for me,

your race in time and space,

in every city, every country.

I'm reeling with your boat.

New York approaches. Listen to the wail of the city's sirens.

I exist in New York, somehow.

I will always be hiding in a corner of your mind

so you can find me.

Every time you close your eyes, I will be there.

On your closed eyes, imprinted on your retina.

Magical objects only work once.

Where are you, Marie?

Why am I the only one to return from our journey?

Since then, my masked spirit roams the beach,

and on the footbridge above the grain silo,

and in the presbytery garden in the old church,

where we were little magic girls,

enchanted young girls.

The scenery is empty.

The actors went God knows where.

And I am alone,

the only proof of our journeys, this statuette of our Moon Goddess.

Pathetic piece of wood!

I'm waiting.

I'll wait until maybe one day,

another magician gives me another goddess,

so our journey can resume, Michéle and Marie's journey.

Marie,...

..it's you who's calling to me.

This is your sign to me.

Wait for me! I'm coming.

I'm coming.

- Marie.
- Yes, Michéle?

My eyes are here.

Is the tide coming in?

It is moving over there,

it's threading its way through, crawling.

It will be here soon.

Marie?

Will we have time?

The time to be magical little girls again?

Can you remember?

It was windy, I think.

There was a whilte light. So white.

It might have been summer.

It wasn't. It was the same moment as today.

An autumnal moment when the tide comes in.

Michéle is a little girl from the north of France.

She grew up in the coal region, where the bricks are red.

Marie is a little country girl.

Clay and the start of autumn, the frozen winter ground.

In the grain silo, she is dreaming.

In front of the pictures in the travel magazine.

She dreams that they have grown.

On the beach, they pick up a magical statuette

which takes them away, captures them, makes them travel.

A long crossing.

Michéle, it is time.

The time has come?

Yes, it has.

The tide is nearly in,...

..so let's carry on with our journey.

- Shall we go on our journey again?
- Yes, forever. We'll never return.

Where are we going?

Look! The cliff has split.

It looks like a mouth now.

The path that Michéle and Marie enter is forever sealed.

You only go there once, never to return.