Original subtitles

[slow bass guitar music]

[music continues]

[narrator] Henri is one year old.

He's lying on the floor.

His diapers are dirty, he is bawling.

His mother's walking back and forth

her heels clicking against the tiles of the floor

looking for her bra and her skirt.

She is in a hurry to go to her evening rendezvous.

This little thing, covered with shit

moving around on the tiles

exasperates her.

She begins to cry herself. [baby crying]

Henri bawls all the more.

Then, she goes out. [door closes]

Henri has got off to a good start

in his career as a poet.

[slow jazz music]

[slow jazz music]

The first step for the poet

is to return

to the origin

that is

to suffering.

All suffering is good.

All suffering is useful. [rock music]

All suffering

is a universe.

[speaking French]

[rock music]

The song that became Open Up and Bleed.

I don't know where it came from.

But somehow

I had a habit in life

that when I was uncomfortable

I'd start to scratch myself

or poke myself with a drumstick.

And

the words mean more than that, though.

It means that

finally, you're not getting what you need.

All the things you need

you're not getting those things.

Instead, you're getting

pushed and shoved and people trying to buy you.

And

people, not life or some, no, people

other fucking people

are insulting you

and you know they're cheap

but they win

and you can't do anything about it.

[traffic sounds]

[tin can clattering]

[traffic sounds]

[lighter clicking]

[speaking French]

[doors creaking]

[dramatic music]

[speaking French]

[music continues]

[speaking French]

[weeping softly]

[melancholic music]

[speaking French]

[sniffing]

[speaking French]

[music continues]

Do not pursue knowledge for its own sake.

All that does not proceed directly from emotion

is, in poetry, of no value.

Emotion

breaks the causal chain.

[music continues]

It alone is capable

of making possible the perception of things

in themselves.

The transmission of this perception

is the object of all poetry.

[speaking French]

[reading in French]

[fast-paced jazz music]

[narrator] Do not forget psychiatrists

who have a very disposable power

to grant sick leave.

However

a prolonged stay at a psychiatric hospital

is to be proscribed

too destructive.

One should use this

only as a last resort

as an alternative to destitution.

[speaking in French]

[speaking French]

[mechanical breathing]

[narrator] Mark is ten years old.

His father is dying of cancer in the hospital.

This pile of worn machinery with

tubes going down the throat and

intravenous drips

this is his father.

Only his eyes are alive

They express suffering and fear.

Mark suffers, too.

He, too, is afraid.

He loves his father.

And at the same time

he is beginning to wish that his father would die

and to feel guilty about it.

Mark has work to do.

He should cultivate in himself this suffering

this most holy guilt

so particular and so fertile.

[mechanical breathing continues]

[speaking French]

[melancholic piano music]

[narrator] This is Vincent.

He is 53 years old.

Once, he was a promising sculptor

with exhibitions in Paris, New York

and documented in Castle.

Now he still lives in the house where he grew up

and hardly ever leaves home.

The problem of where you spend your life

will generally not present itself.

You will live where you can.

[music continues]

Vincent is continuously working on something mysterious

in the cellar of the house.

An art installation that nobody has ever seen

called The Secret of Life.

Vincent is a heavy case.

[speaking French]

[lighter flicking]

[speaking French]

[water running]

[speaking French]

[melancholic guitar music]

[music continues] [woman humming]

[music continues] [woman humming]

[speaking French]

Michel is 15.

He has never been kissed by a girl.

He'd like to dance with Sylvie

but Sylvie is dancing with Patrice

and she is manifestly enjoying it.

He is frozen.

The music penetrates to the deepest core of his being.

It is a magnificent slow dance of

surreal beauty.

He never knew he could suffer so much.

His childhood up until now had been happy.

Michel will never forget

the contrast between his heart

frozen with suffering

and the overwhelming beauty of the music.

His sensibility

is being formed.

[slow love song]

[narrator] In the tunnel of life

always be the loser.

The universe is like a discotheque.

Accumulate frustrations

in great number.

And always return to the origin

which is suffering.

[song continues]

When you provoke in others

a mixture of horrified pity and contempt

you will know that you're on the right track.

You can begin to write.

[staccato guitar music]

[music continues]

[narrator] You will emit, at first, inarticulate cries.

And you will often be tempted

to regress to that stage.

This is normal. [music continues]

Plunge again into inarticulate cries

each time you feel the need.

If you do not succeed

in articulating your suffering

within a well-defined structure

you are done for.

Suffering will swallow you whole

from the inside

before you've had the time to create anything at all.

[music continues]

Structure

is the sole means

of escaping suicide.

And suicide resolves nothing.

Imagine if Baudelaire had succeeded in his attempt

at suicide

at twenty-four.

[music continues]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[laughs]

[indistinct background chatter]

[indistinct sounds on television]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[restaurant sounds]

[speaking French]

[thoughtful music]

[narrator] A lot of your past were hated

but let it remain present to you.

You should acquire

a complete knowledge of yourself.

Thus

little by little

your deep self will detach itself

from you

and slip beyond the sun

while your body will remain in place

swollen

blistered

irritated

ripe for new sufferings.

Life is a series of destruction tests.

Pass the first of them

and fail the later ones.

Ruin your life, but not by much.

In your heart you know it's true

but still, you do what you're told to do.

And everybody just looks the other way.

Hey, tell me lies

place your loving arms around me.

And the things a man can need

don't they make you

make you want to

open up and bleed?

Twenty-four hours

twenty-four dead.

A better way to use your head.

Twenty-four hours

twenty-four fools.

Open up and bleed.

Bleed.

It's not the kind of song where you're saying, like

you know

here's why you should fuck me

here's why you should follow me.

No, it's none of that.

It's an interior non sequitur.

Doesn't mean anything

except what you feel it means.

It doesn't mean it's your identity.

It's about your identity.

How many people, how many of you

looking at this feel that you have a real identity?

How many people, out of a million people in the world

how many have an identity?

[upbeat jazz music]

[speaking French] [music continues]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[melancholic music] [woman humming]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[clears throat]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[music continues]

[speaking French]

[speaking French] [coughs]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[melancholic music]

[narrator] The universe cries.

The concrete blocks of wall

bear a record

of violence

with which

they have been struck.

Concrete cries.

Grass moans between the teeth of animals.

And man?

What can we say of man?

[intense jazz music]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[narrator] Do not feel obliged to invent a new form.

New forms are rare.

One per century is already a brisk pace.

On the matter of form

never hesitate to contradict yourself.

Bifurcate

change direction as often as necessary.

Do not try too hard to have a coherent personality

as personality exists

whether you like it or not.

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[narrator] You will never really know

this part of yourself which compels you to write

or paint

or sing.

[speaking French]

[narrator] That said

survival is extremely difficult.

A dead poet does not write.

Whence, the importance of remaining alive.

This simple reasoning

will sometimes be difficult for you to adhere to

in particular, during periods of

prolonged creative sterility.

[telephone rings]

[telephone ringing]

[narrator] One could consider adopting what could be called

Pasoeas strategy. [telephone ringing]

[telephone rings] Find a little job.

[telephone rings] Publish nothing.

[speaking French]

[narrator] And await death peacefully.

In practice, one would be going forward

to meet significant difficulties.

[speaking French]

[narrator] The feeling that one is wasting one's time

that one is not in one's place

that one is not being esteemed at one's true value.

[melancholic piano music]

[speaking French]

[speaking French] [music continues]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[narrator] The goal of the society where you live

is to destroy you.

You have the same goal with regards to society.

All societies have their points of least resistance

their wounds.

Put your finger on the wound

and press down hard.

Delve into the subjects that no one wants to hear about.

The other side of the scenery.

Insist upon sickness

agony

ugliness.

Speak of death and of oblivion

of jealousy

of indifference

of frustration

of the absence of love.

[music continues]

[speaking French] [traffic sounds]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[traffic sounds]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

Uhuh.

Uhuh.

Uhuh.

I get it.

Jerome.

Look.

Just send Etienne win or lose last night.

[laughs softly]

[muffled music]

[narrator] Henri is one year old.

He's lying on the floor.

His diapers are dirty.

He is bawling.

His mother is walking back and forth

her heels clicking against the tiles of the floor

looking for her bra and her skirt.

She is in a hurry to go to her evening rendezvous.

[baby crying]

The world is suffering

unfolded.

All existence is an expansion into crushing.

All things suffer into existence.

Nothingness vibrates with pain

until it arrives at being.

Once a certain level of consciousness is reached

a cry is produced.

[baby crying]

[baby crying]

[baby crying]

Belong to nothing

or else, belong

and then immediately betray.

No theoretical engagement

should hold you up for very long.

Militancy makes one happy

and yours is not to be happy.

You are on the side of unhappiness.

You are the dark adversary.

Anne Claire is taking the stage.

At some point you overcome your timidity

and you just go.

She's gonna grow.

Right on, Anne Claire, you do it.

[speaking French]

[speaking French] [siren in background]

[speaking French]

[speaking French]

[singing in French]

[singing in French]

[narrator] When I was a little teen boy

I wanted to be a singer.

Nobody believed I could do it.

I sang the blues in front of a bar band one night

and everybody was embarrassed for me

and snickered at me.

And I went to see a Doors concert one night

and that singer was

stoned and couldn't do shit.

But he was pretty, and I thought

that's it, I could do that.

Just get pretty

be an asshole

and let one go.

[loud rock music]

[sustained electric guitar note]

[sirens]

[narrator] Once, upon certain little-known places

like where they welcome the insane

no matter how one arrives

at this heart of the holy

most essential

is to have gone off the road

pretty hard

to have really fucked up your life

in order to get free admission

a guided tour

and stay

for an undetermined time.

Never had such freedom

as among the crazy and insane.

The insane are truly themselves.

That's why

they lock them up.

I've known them young and old

those who speak

and those who are silent.

Even one who is quite crazy

but not so foolish after all.

She had been cured in Lourdes by the Holy Virgin.

It was her secret

but no one believed it.

I've seen some smoking

pacing, talking

measuring one hundred steps

passing and returning, going round in circles

or not circles after all.

A young woman

tied to her bed.

In her cries

the return of electro-shocks

and chemical straitjackets.

One rainy day

I spinned off the road.

Many will tell you about the insane.

They were never there.

Not invited.

On their road

no exit lane.

But better beware

on days it rain.

[thoughtful music]

You must attain the point of no return.

Break the circle.

And produce some gains

before crushing yourself into the ground.

You will have glimpsed immense spaces.

Every great passion

opens up a prospect on eternity.

Ultimately, love resolves all problems.

Likewise

every great passion leads ultimately

to a zone of truth

to a different space

an extremely painful one

but from which one can see far

and clearly

where purified objects appear

in all their clarity

their limpid truth.

Believe in the identity of the true

the beautiful

and the good.

Not that you have the least cause for hope.

On the contrary, know that you will be very alone.

Most people come to terms with life

or else they die.

You are living suicides.

♪ That's all right ♪

♪ Particles of pain ♪

♪ In my brain ♪

♪ I guess they're here to stay ♪

♪ They work their way inside ♪

♪ And I can't hide ♪

♪ Or even walk away ♪

♪ You can convince the world ♪

♪ That you're some kind of superstar ♪

♪ When an asshole is what you are ♪

♪ But that's all right ♪

♪ Waiting ♪

♪ Hating ♪

♪ The shit life throws my way ♪

♪ Hating ♪

♪ Waiting ♪

♪ To make my escape ♪

♪ I wanna go ♪

♪ To the beach ♪

[thoughtful music]

♪ I wanna go to the beach ♪

♪ I don't care if it's decadent ♪

♪ I don't know where my spirit went ♪

♪ But that's all right ♪

♪ I wanna go ♪

♪ To the deep ♪

♪ Because there's nowhere I want to be ♪

♪ And nobody I want to see ♪

♪ But that's all right ♪

♪ Particles of pain ♪

♪ In my brain ♪

♪ I guess they're here to stay ♪

♪ They worked their way inside ♪

♪ And I can't hide ♪

♪ Or even walk away ♪

[music continues]

[doorbell rings]

Michigan.

This is just like my parents' house in Michigan.

-Huh? -Yes.

They're, they're dead now.

When my real parents

lived here.

At first my grandmother had it.

And...

three months later it was mine.

[mumbling]

So you must live alone here then, Vincent?

Uhuh.

No girlfriend?

No.

You know, after a certain age

is not so easy to liberation.

[sighs] I have problems.

I mean, it's little formalities.

Shopping, laundry.

Manage to become medical

medical means twenty...

So you will give up?

This gift.

Well.

Yes.

Did you know

my first

compositions were

just, just instrumentals.

-My god. -Sound experiences.

Sort of like John Cage, I thought.

Louder.

But you are a very, very singular artist.

I mean it.

All what's happened after

in Great Britain you spank movement.

Nothing to do with you, it was a movie.

Performing arts shouldn't be a movement, you know.

I mean, even when it's a protest

it should be

individual protest.

Possibly maybe I'm a bit too strict on this

-point. -That's no problem.

I'll tell you

that was a very painful time for me.

They all dressed up in the same clothes

and marched all over me.

Like a pack of dogs.

What could I do?

I'd already been in and out of mental institutions.

I was just one person, what could I do?

How could I be that? How can you cope?

No truth.

No love. No nothing. Bullshit.

In my case

unfortunately I have to be alone.

I'm curious about the work.

We can have a look.

Just have to go downstairs and I will show you.

I think

you will

it will be more clear what I mean.

Shall we go?

Yeah. Let's go.

I have a feeling

something is about to happen here.

When I did break some of the walls and

and then I have twenty meter inside.

[mechanical sounds]

[contemporary love song]

[mechanical sounds continue]

[song continues] [mechanical sounds continue]

[mechanical sounds fade]

[slow piano music]

[sad vintage German song]

[song continues]

[soft emotional music]

[music continues]

[music fades]

[melancholic music]

[narrator] As you approach the truth

your solitude will increase.

You are walking through empty halls

which send back to you the echo of your footsteps.

The objects seem turned to statues.

At times you begin to weep.

You would love to turn back.

But ultimately you know that it is already too late.

Kiss the earth, you scum.

[narrator] Continue.

Have no fear.

The worst is already past.

To be sure

life will tear you apart again.

From your point of view

you even don't really have that much more to do with life.

Remember this.

Fundamentally, you are already dead.

You are now face to face with eternity.

[music continues]

Poets!

Attack.

[fast-paced ending music]