All language subtitles for The.Wild.Child.1970

This is a true story. It begins in a
forest in France one summer day in 1798.

It's down there! It's down there!

Let the dogs go!

Let's tie up the dogs!

Get it out of there!

I got him!
Give me something to wrap him in!

A feisty little thing, aren't you?

"Canton of St Sernin.
A boy, 11 or 12 years old,

naked and apparently deaf and dumb,

while searching for acorns and roots
to eat was caught in the Caune woods

by three hunters as he was about
to climb a tree to escape from them."

"Taken to a nearby hamlet..."

If I could bring this child to Paris,

I could examine him and establish
the degree of intelligence

and the nature of ideas in an adolescent
deprived since childhood of all
education

because he has lived apart
from his species.

- Let's go into the barn.
- The little one is in there.

Everybody in Paris talks about the child
in the woods, the Wild Boy of Aveyron.

Public curiosity is high,
and my colleagues have permission

from the Minister of the Interior
Champagny to transfer him to Paris.

The Journal of Debates reports that
after attempting escape the boy was
caught

and is being held
at the Rodez police station.

Paris says we must leave this week.

Here, come with me.

He can't go as he is.

He's filthy and he smells bad.

Dirty pig!

Did he bite you? Let me do it.

He's quieter with me. He knows me.

We're fording the river.

Everybody out. We're fording the river.

Passengers, get back in the carriage!

"Apparently deaf and dumb,
the child shows astonishing traits."

"He uses his senses in reverse order."

"The sense of smell seems most
developed, then taste, sight, and
touch."

"But he is getting used to human
society."

"The wild boy will surely marvel
at the wonders of Paris."

"Hopefully he will soon be able
to tell us about his strange past."

Reread the passage
about the wonders of Paris.

"The wild boy will surely marvel
at the wonders of Paris."

Incredible, really incredible.

Professor, Doctor Itard,
the wild boy is here.

- Let's go and see.
- Don't be nervous.

He bit the doctor!

NATIONAL INSTITUTE
FOR DEAF MUTES

There's nothing left to see here!

Four feet seven.

He must be 11 or 12.

Skin: Fine-grained, dark.

Face: Oval.

Eyes: Black.

Long eyelashes.

Hair: Brown. Chin: Rounded.

Mouth: Medium. Tongue: Normal.

He is not tongue-tied.

Dentition: Normal.

On the surface,
nothing out of the ordinary.

Did you notice? He didn't react.

Seat him with his back to the door.
I'll try something.

He's deaf.

In the village, I've seen him turn
around when a nut was cracked behind
him.

Write this: "Indifferent to loud noises

whereas he turns around
when a nut is cracked behind him."

Four scars on left arm.

Scars on shoulder. Two scars, right arm.

Three scars, right leg.

Two scars, left leg.

About 15 scars in all.

Lacerations, abrasions.

Mostly from animal bites.
To survive, he must have had to kill.

All these marks are like battle scars.
There is one that is different.

Write this: "There is visible on the
trachea

a suture about one-quarter inch long."

It appears to be the scar of a wound
made with a sharp instrument.

No doubt whoever abandoned him
meant to kill him.

Possibly. Yes, I think so too.

Dress him.

This is how I see it.
They wanted to get rid of the child

by cutting his throat,
probably with a knife.

They left him for dead in the woods.
Leaves covered the wound and it healed.

He must have been three or four.

Younger, he couldn't
have fended for himself.

But the wound did not make him dumb,
however he doesn't talk.

I think the only cause of his dumbness
is the isolation in which he lived.

Look at him.

Where is the wild boy?

Oh, yes.

There you are.

Let's go. You have some fancy visitors.

Those Parisians.

They all want to see you.

Look at your handsome visitors.
Here is the wild boy.

- How old is he?
- 10 or 12.

- Can he talk?
- No, he only grunts.

- Can he hear?
- We don't know. Please, not on the bed!

- Does he have parents?
- He was found in the woods.

- Will he be baptised?
- What does he eat?

Mushrooms, roots, acorns.

- Meat?
- No. And nothing sweet.

- I heard he attacked animals.
- That's possible.

- His teeth are normal?
- Everything's normal.

- Is he dangerous?
- Only at times.

- You could be more careful.
- I'm sorry. The visit is over.

So soon?

- Other people are waiting.
- The papers exaggerated yet again.

If I'd known he was so beastly,
I would have brought the children.

Not bad.

This way to see the wild boy!

You came to see the wild boy?

Back to bed!

Do it your way.

Quiet now!

- What now?
- The child will die here.

All we do is exhibit him like a freak.

See here, Citizen Itard.
The boy is an inferior being.

- He's lower than an animal.
- That's just the point.

Animals are cared for, trained.

- You think he can be trained?
- I don't know.

But it's useless to bring him
from the forest

and lock him up as if he were being
punished for disappointing the
Parisians.

Listen to me. I think he's an idiot.

I can see no difference between him and
the poor idiots in my charge at
Bicêtre.

You should come with me one day.

- We can't send him to Bicêtre.
- I see no other way.

He can't stay here. It's not good for
him, nor for our deaf-mute children.

Don't you agree?

He can't stay here but we can't send him
to Bicêtre. I don't think he's an
idiot.

He's just had the misfortune
of spending six, seven or eight years

in the forest, absolutely alone.

In my opinion, the boy was left

and probably stabbed by his parents
because he was abnormal.

For you, his isolation made him
abnormal.

Yes.

Then why abandon him?

Because he was illegitimate, in the way.
To get rid of him.

Do you think you can help him?

Yes, I want to try to educate him.

I've thought about it since I first read
about him in the paper.

The authorities would have
to place him in my charge.

You would take him to your home?
How would you manage?

My housekeeper will look after him.

I live in the outskirts of Paris,
near Batignolles.

- Here is the child.
- Hello, my boy.

You'll be happy here.
We'll take care of you.

Madame Guêrin, he can't understand but
we must talk to him as often as
possible.

Here is the dining room.
Come upstairs and see the rest of house.

I've got custody of the child.

Madame Gu�rin will be paid
150 francs a year to care for him.

I know the difficulty of our
undertaking.

What fascinates me is that
all the boy's done since his arrival

he has done for the first time.

He usually sniffs at
everything he is given,

but today I managed to fill his nostrils
with snuff without his sneezing.

For the present
his emotions appear unaffected.

Despite the ill-treatment he endured at
the institute, no one ever saw him cry.

Doctor, it's hot enough. I couldn't
stand it.

He can. You should've seen him pick up
glowing embers with his fingers.

I'm afraid he'll melt like a piece of
sugar.

I want to soften him up.

What he'll lose in strength
he'll gain in sensitivity.

People from the south
are more open than others.

It's because of the sun
on their skin, the heat.

Doctor, I know he doesn't understand us,
but can he hear us?

He hears us but he doesn't listen,
just as he sees without looking.

We'll teach him to look and to listen.

- Help yourself, Doctor.
- Thank you.

Give me your hand. There.

Open your mouth.

That's better.

We'll tend to that later. He must learn
now.

Hold it tight.

Open your mouth.

This is your room.
Your room and your bed.

His first pair of shoes.

Help me, Doctor.

- What's he afraid of?
- He has never worn shoes.

He thinks they will hurt him.

Though he has seen shoes.

Take a few steps.

- Get up.
- Lead him to me.

Walk gently.

- Good!
- You can let go of him.

He is becoming sensitive to temperature.
We show him the usefulness of clothes

by leaving him in the cold
with his clothes beside him

until he decides to put them on
without assistance.

You can learn to light it yourself.

It's nothing. It's nothing.

- It's the first time I've seen him
sneeze. - Me too.

It must be the first time.
Look how frightened he is.

Come to bed, dear.

Good night, Doctor.

Good night, Madame Guêrin.

Nothing gives him more joy
than to roam in the countryside.

I take him daily to a neighbouring
estate

where Citizen L�meri has
accustomed him to taking milk.

I precede the trips by certain
preparations he may notice.

Around four,
I go in with my hat on my head,

his shirt on my arm,
my cane in my hand.

It is curious and moving to see the joy
in his eyes at the sight of hills and
woods.

The windows barely seem
wide enough for his eager gaze.

He leans one side to the other
and shows a lively anxiety

when the horses slacken
their pace before stopping.

Passers-by would think they're seeing
a young boy like other boys,

except for his manner of walking, so
heavy since the day he put on shoes,

and the difficulty he has in keeping to
my gait and his tendency to break into a
trot.

I'll give him his milk.

What are you looking at?
The wheelbarrow.

Go and play with Mathieu.

No, it's OK.

No.

The spoon goes here.

Very good.

What do you want?

That's his sign language.
He's trying to tell you he's hungry.

I noticed at the institute
he rapped on a jug when he was thirsty.

Look.

I'll show you something.

You look for it.

I'm trying to keep his attention by
various amusements relating to his need
for food.

Very good.

Eat it.

It's your turn.

What have you done?!

Go away!

Our trips are now less frequent,
his fare less copious,

his sleep less long and his days
more dedicated to education.

By degrees, I make the game
with the goblets more complex.

I'm using an object he can't eat.
For now, a lead soldier.

Look at the soldier.

Find him.

He was there.

Pay attention to what you're doing.

Bravo!

I think he heard me.

He often turns when
someone speaks behind him.

Oh!

As if he placed the sound.
Especially the sound "O".

If he isn't deaf,
perhaps he can learn to talk.

Perhaps. It takes an infant
18 months to learn a few words.

Poor wild boy. He hasn't even got a
name.

You're right.

Since he is sensitive to the sound of
"O", we could find him a name with "O".

Aurêlien, Oscar, Nestor.

Victor.

Did you see him? He likes that name.

Victor.

Good, Victor. You will be called Victor.

He is used to being called Victor. When
it is said, he turns his head or runs
up.

We have agreed to exercise his
attentiveness to the sound of "O".

May I have some water?

The water is cool.

I like water.

No.

Water.

Water.

Water. Water.

Water.

Give it to him.

Where I have failed with water,
I may succeed with another food.

His taste for milk has made him
express himself in his own way

on his last visit to Citizen L�meri,

Before he left home,
he hid something under his jacket

but I decided not to pay
too much attention.

Did you see?

Since he broke his bowl, he thought
you wouldn't give him any milk,

so he brought his porringer.

Wait. Ask me for some milk.

Come, Victor.

I'd like some milk. Milk.

Here is some milk.

No, Victor. Ask for it.

No.

Madame Guêrin, I'd like some milk.

Thank you, Madame Guêrin.

Milk. Milk.

Milk.

Milk.

Milk.

Give it to him anyway.

Milk.

Very good, Victor.

It was the first time Victor had
uttered an articulate sound.

Madame Gu�rin heard it
with great satisfaction,

but I realised something
that lessened this achievement.

Only after she had poured the
milk did the word escape him.

I felt we shouldn't let it rest
and waited for him to ask again.

Victor, ask me for your milk.

Milk. Milk.

No. Wait.

Milk. Milk.

Look what I'm doing.

No, Victor. No.

No.

Milk.

It was not what I had hoped.

Had he said the word before the
thing he desired was conceded,

he would have grasped the use of words,

communication would
have been established,

and rapid progress would have followed.

Instead he showed only a sign
of the pleasure he experienced,

which was of no use to us.

Victor has been here three months,
and I see I've gone too fast.

I must awaken his hearing,
which is understandably dull.

Before, his ears served only
to alert him to falling fruit

or the approach of a dangerous animal.

P.

P.

U.

Good.

U.

O.

O.

A.

E. E.

E. E.

Good, Victor.

O.

Good, Victor.

- Good morning, Doctor.
- Good morning, Madame Guêrin.

He shelled as many as I did.

Look at him, Madame Guêrin.

This morning I moved the objects.

Have you noticed, Doctor?
He has a passion for order.

That proves his memory can be trained.

I'm going to see
the carpenter in Batignolles.

Oh!

Victor.

Look at the key.

The scissors.

The hammer.

No, Victor, wait for me.

Stay there.

Victor, bring me the hammer.

Victor, bring me the key.

Victor, bring me the scissors. Victor!

No, not that.

I shouldn't have neglected
his natural inclination for order.

Victor, hang the things up.

Very good, Victor.

Drink.

Victor has always shown
a marked preference for water,

and the way he drinks it shows
he finds great pleasure in it.

He stands near the window,
gazing upon the countryside,

as if in this moment this child
of nature sought to reunite

the two blessings to survive
his loss of freedom -

a drink of pure water and the sight
of sunlight on the countryside.

I want to avoid Victor making
each arrangement by memory,

and I achieve this by constantly
changing the drawings around.

Victor, look over here.

Victor. Victor.

Look carefully, Victor.

Victor.

Victor!

Victor! Madame Guêrin,
have you seen Victor?

No, Doctor. I thought he was with you.

- He has disappeared.
- Victor!

Victor!

Victor!

For an interminable moment
I thought what I'd dreaded

since Victor came
to live with us had happened:

That his fancy for the freedom
of the fields had prevailed

over his newfound needs
and burgeoning affection.

Victor!

Victor!

A rustle in the tree made me
look up to the highest branches.

Victor, what are you doing up there?
Come down and study.

Very good, Victor! Here's your water.

I decided to complicate this gross
system of comparison by another more
difficult.

I placed around the drawing
the letters that spell the object,

then erased the drawing,
hoping Victor would look at the word

as continuing to represent
the object for him.

Go on.

Go on.

It's the same as before.

Madame Guêrin!

- Madame Guêrin!
- What's wrong? He's exhausted.

Doctor, his nose is bleeding.

No, I'll take care of him.

I know now if he hasn't understood,
it is my fault.

There is a great distance between
drawing and spelling an object.

At this stage the difficulty
for Victor is insurmountable.

I must seek a way better suited
to his undeveloped faculties

whereby each obstacle mastered
prepares him for the next one.

I had a carpenter make
an alphabet in wooden letters.

Victor quickly learned to put the
letters in order, but I've seen he has a
trick.

He piles up the letters
under the board in reverse order.

That's fine, Victor.
You have invented a device

which allows you to forgo memory
and discernment, but I don't mind.

It is a tribute to your intelligence.

Here. Drink.

Now, to work.

Madame Guêrin!

Calm down, Victor. Calm down.

Calm down.

Calm down, calm down.

Calm down.

- His tantrums are so frequent.
- His tantrums are your fault.

You make him study
from morning to night.

You turn his only pleasure into
exercises.

His meals, his walks, everything.

You want him to catch up
in one fell swoop.

He works ten times
more than a normal child.

You're right. I'll make his walks
longer.

Victor has been here seven months
and I'm not sure I can keep him.

Madam Gu�rin has been in tears all day.

I must go to Paris to plead
the boy's cause to His Excellency.

Citizen Pinel has persuaded
the administration

that the idiot children
he observed at Bicêtre Hospital

share traits with the Wild Boy of
Aveyron,

and therefore Victor
isn't capable of being sociable

and nothing can be hoped for
by continuing his education.

His Excellency was unable to see me.
I remain worried.

That's your way of talking.

But language is also music, Victor.

Perhaps you will learn.

Put the new letters in the right places.

Good.

No, not the alphabet.

No.

You're mistaken, Victor. Begin again.

Pick them up.

Victor, into the closet!

Victor's rages often stop us
in the midst of our work.

I remedy them not by gentleness,
which one cannot rely on,

but by disturbing methods
Boerhave used at Harlem Hospital.

Yet I must not overdo
the use of the closet.

If this method fails, I fear all such
treatment will be useless.

Come, Victor.

Don't cry, Victor.

You can do it. Come on.

You can do it.

Good!

Good, Victor.

It's for you when you're done.

Good.

Today, for the first time,
Victor wept.

Good morning, Victor. Look at me.

Madame Guêrin?

- Did I do it right?
- Yes, Doctor.

- Milk.
- Milk.

There.

Victor, I know you can write it.

Listen, Victor. Pay attention.

- Milk.
- Good.

MILK

See you later, Madame Guêrin.

Ready, Victor?

A.

E.

I.

O.

U.

Very good, Victor. Very good.

I.

No, Victor, don't laugh.

I.

Don't laugh, Victor. O.

No, Victor.

O.

No, Victor.

U.

No, Victor! No!

Go ahead. Cry.

I give up.

I'm wasting my time with you.
Sometimes I'm sorry that I know you.

I'm discouraged, Victor...
and disappointed.

Had I not known his limits,
I'd have thought he understood.

I had barely spoken when I
saw his chest heaving noisily

and a stream of tears falling
from underneath the blindfold.

Now, ready to renounce the task
I had imposed upon myself,

seeing the time I'd wasted and how
deeply I regretted having known him,

I condemned the curiosity of the
men who had wrenched him away

from his innocent and happy life.

Don't cry, Victor. Don't cry, Victor.

- A letter for you.
- Thank you.

"The care you have taken of the child
known as the Wild Boy of Aveyron,

the changes which have taken place,
those still expected,

and the interest which
so strange a fate inspires

recommend him to the
attention of science and the
government's protection. "

"His Excellency has decided
to renew the annual pension

accorded to Madame Gu�rin
for the care given to your pupil. "

Madame Guêrin! Good news!

Good, Victor. Good.

You are Victor.

Yes, it's the same.

Victor is you.

Victor is you. Do you understand?
Do you understand?

He doesn't, yet each day brings
fresh proof of his intelligence.

Madame Guêrin, did you make this?

- No, Doctor.
- Victor made it.

Victor?

- It's the old leg-of-lamb holder. -
It's a chalk holder. He made it himself.

- Wonderful!
- Indeed.

Did you make this, Victor?

Yes.

It's magnificent. Congratulations.

Victor just invented something.
Victor is an inventor.

One must have suffered
all the anguish of such teaching,

followed and directed this child
in his laborious progress,

from the first act of attention
to this spark of imagination,

to comprehend the joy I feel.

Forgive me for presenting
with a degree of ostentation

a fact so simple and ordinary.

Pay attention, Victor.

Book, scissors, picture.

Brush, key, bell.

Scissors, glass, book.

Hammer, comb, box.

Book, brush, candlestick.

Bell, quill, book.

Comb, key, bell.

Bell, candlestick, glass.

Key, brush, comb.

Comb, key, bell.

Box, hammer, glass.

Here you are, Victor. Drink.

When he succeeds, I reward him.
When he fails, I punish him.

Yet I can't say I have inspired
a sense of justice in him.

He obeys me and corrects himself
out of fear or hope of reward

and not out of a sense of moral order.

To obtain less ambiguous results,
I must do an abominable thing.

I will test Victor's heart
with a flagrant piece of injustice

by punishing him for no reason after
he succeeds right before my eyes.

By putting him forcibly in the dark
closet,

I shall administrate punishment
as odious as it is unjust

precisely to see
if his reaction is one of rebellion.

Victor.

Book, key.

Book, key. Go.

What is that, Victor?

What is that?

To the closet!

Go, Victor!

Go!

Go, Victor!

You're right.

You're right to rebel.

I wish that my pupil could have
understood me at this moment.

I would have told him that
his bite filled my soul with joy.

How could I rejoice half-heartedly?

I had evidence that what is just and
unjust was no longer alien to Victor's
heart.

By provoking the sentiment,
I had elevated the savage man

to the stature of a moral being by
the most noble of his attributes.

Victor has been deprived of his outings
for I am bedridden with rheumatism.

Madame Gu�rin has called Dr. Gruault,

forgetting that Victor hates the
presence of a visitor in the house.

So, Doctor?

Your pulse is normal. It's just a cold.

Just stay indoors a few days.

Thank you. I hope that...

Victor. Victor.

Our young friend
has put an end to our consultation.

Goodbye.

I can't take you, Victor.

Listen, Victor. Listen.

I can't take you for a walk.
I'm ill. I am going to see the doctor.

You stay here.

Go on.

Victor, go and get some water.

My hen! My hen!

Help! Thief!

I believe we shall see Victor no more.

I can affirm to His Excellency
he had full use of his senses.

He furnished constant proof
of attention and memory.

He could compare,
discern and judge,

and apply his understanding
to objects used in his instruction.

This child of the woods endured
the confinement of apartments

and all the happy changes
came about in nine months.

Unfortunately, Victor has escaped...

Victor.

Come here, Victor.

Madame Guêrin!

Madame Guêrin!

- Victor is back!
- Who brought him?

No one. He came by himself!

My boy has come home all by himself!

You're in tatters, but you're here.

I'm glad that you came home.

Do you understand? This is your home.

You're no longer a wild boy,
even if you're not yet a man.

Victor, you're an extraordinary young
man with great expectations.

Madame Guêrin, take him up to rest.

Later we'll resume our lessons.