All language subtitles for Leolo.1992.720p.WEB-DL.x264.DD2.0-bebos123.ENG

This is my place
in the Mile End neighbourhood

in Montreal, Canada.

Everybody thinks I am
French Canadian.

Because I dream, I'm not.

Because I dream, I'm not.

People who trust only their own truth

call me Leo Lozeau.

They say he is my father.

But I know I'm not his son.

Because this man is crazy.
And because I am not.

Because I dream, I'm not.

SOMEWHERE
IN A VALLEY IN SICILY.

Because he was partly hidden,
I never

saw the face of my real father.

What are you doing to my tomatoes?

I'm giving life
to your fucking tomatoes!

Stop it, asshole,
you're gonna ruin them!

Who gives a shit?!
This load is going to America.

A FEW DAYS LATER, IN AMERICA.

Best ones are in the front.

Faced with my mother's panic,

the doctor didn't dare tell her
she'd been impregnated

by a contaminated tomato.

Since that dream, I have fought
to be called LEOLO LOZONE.

No one has the right to say

I'm not Italian.

Italy is too beautiful

to belong only to the Italians.

Between my room and Sicily,

there are 6889 kilometres.

Between my room and Bianca's place,

there are 5 meters 80.

And yet,

she is so much farther away from me.

"Bianca, my love."

It only takes three words to write

"Bianca, my love"...

I took the shortest way.

Leo! Go to bed!

Leolo!

Leolo Lozone!

My name is Leolo!

Shuddup, bozo!

Shut the fucking door, it's freezing.

Leo, go to your room!

I don't try to remember
what happens in a book.

All I ask of a book

is to give me energy and courage,

to tell me that there is
more life than I can take,

to remind me of the need to act.

It was the only book in the house.

I never wondered how it got here.

It was thick.

The words were pushed together,

requiring enormous effort and
concentration to yield their secret.

At home, I never saw anybody
read or write.

Television and billboards
cluttered my brain.

At the beginning,

I read the underlined passages
without really understanding.

I remember wanting to give up

because there were no pictures.

I find my only real joy in solitude.

Solitude is my castle.

That's where I have my chair,
my table,

my bed, my breeze and my sun.

When I sit anywhere
but in my solitude

I sit in exile

I sit in Fakeland.

Because I dream, I'm not.

Because I dream, I'm not crazy.

I'm not, because I dream.

I had started writing down
everything that crossed my mind.

My family had become
characters in a fiction

and I spoke of them
as if they were strangers.

As far back as I remember

it was the smells and the light
that solidified my first memories.

My grandmother had
convinced my father

a shit a day keeps the doctor away.

Don't cry, my darling.

Do like mama.

Push, Leo.

Push, my love.

As far back as I remember

it was the smells and the light

that solidified my first memories.

My grandmother had
convinced my father

a shit a day keeps the doctor away.

So, every Friday,

we got a laxative shock treatment

to purify us from all the diseases
of this world.

Leo!

Come, Leo, come to Daddy.

Come, my boy

it won't hurt.

Shit had become

a family obsession.

As far back as I can remember

there was a rat in the bathtub.

And then,

one night, there also was a turkey

that my mother had won
at a movie theatre.

It was fat and filthy.

Its remaining feathers
were damp and stinky.

Don't cry, my darling.

Do like mama.

Push. Push.

Push, my love.

Don't cry, my darling.
Do like mama.

Do like mama.

Don't cry, my darling.

Do like mama.

And then there was the word tamer.

The tamer spent his nights digging
in the garbage of the world.

Only letters and photographs
interested him.

He carried every smile,

every word of love, every separation

as if it were his own story.

The tamer believes
that images and words

must mingle with the ashes of verses
to be reborn

in the imaginations of men.

You have to dream, Leolo.

You have to dream.

It took me a long time to understand

he was the reincarnation
of Don Quixote

and that he'd finally
decided to fight isolation

and protect me
from the black hole of my family.

Because I dream, I'm not.

Just the paper.

Leave the trash.

You can't do anything with this,
it's broken.

Even if the record was broken,

I remember

I kept the album

for the beauty of its cover.

Leo, I'm payin' you to work.

Pick up the rest, Leo,
and put it in the car.

Kid's a good worker, isn't he?

Fernand... you don't listen.

Paper is my business.

You can't go on hurting me
like this, you know. Deal?

Lozeau...

Listen to me, Lozeau.

You'll have to pick another alley,

'cause this one's ours.

Fernand!

Since that day,

fear had given my brother Fernand
a reason for living.

Kid, put some more rock.
It's gotta be heavy.

Pour it on.
It don't matter if it spills over.

Fernand would no longer fear anyone.

And when my brother
becomes a mountain,

I too will no longer be afraid.

And I shall walk
all the alleys of the world

and tell the wretched of this earth
what I think of them.

Cursed be those who will not bow
as we walk by.

Even the Arabs and the Jews
will fear me,

so tall will I be
on my brother's shoulders.

I'm an early riser.

Awaking from the kingdom
of dreams is brutal.

I sleep with Fernand, I always have.

A large bed. My grand-parents' bed,

worn out by my parents
and abused by us.

My hand scratches wads of gum
from the time when my father

was afraid to wake my mother
with his boozy beery breath.

Cursed be those who will not bow
as we walk by.

Even the Arabs and the Jews

will fear me,

so tall I will be
on my brother's shoulders.

If you wash your hands you can
sit down and have some pie.

Don't worry. It's like brand new.
Still wrapped in plastic.

My grandfather was not
a mean man.

Yet he'd already tried
to kill me.

Children, be careful
not to splash grandpa.

Come eat some chips.

Grandpa!

I remember not being afraid

and dreaming about the beauty
of the treasure...

Perhaps because
I knew I was already dead.

I mostly remember
the whiteness of that light

that I saw for the first time.

Albert! Let go of the kid!

Let go of him, Albert!
You're gonna kill 'im!

It was a frightening cry.

A huge "I love you" that resonated
from the depth of her soul.

I love you, Ma.

My mother had
the strength of a frigate

ploughing through troubled water.

Albert, let go!

Try to be nice, this time, Leo.

Leolo, Ma! Leolo Lozeau.

Sure, Antonio.

But talk to the doctor,
it's for your own good.

Sometimes, at the hospital,
there were also my sister Nanette,

my sister Rita,

my brother Fernand,

and my father.

As if my grandfather's legacy
had exploded within the family

and that little extra cell

had lodged itself in everybody's brain.

Good morning.

Who talks first today?

Why not you, Leo?

Because my name is...

Leolo Lozone.

And you don't talk
about people you don't know.

Edged on by her mother,
she cried for Sicily.

Her plaintive voice was close to good.

At the time,
the few years between our ages

seemed to me
an impassable frontier,

and I lived my desire in silence.

We were rarely together at home

and we looked like a real family.

Will you stop day-dreaming?

You're better off studying
than scribbling.

My father was a man
like so many others.

A dog that bit his bitch of a life.

He was a small, stout, jowly,
with red cheeks.

Wrinkles line his face
but reveal nothing

but the age

that dug them.

Somewhere between good morning
and goodbye,

an eternal untouched noon,
pricked by a silver of time.

A forehead that stretched
beyond his chin

into a neck that clung desperately
to bulging shoulders.

Nanette.

My pretty Nanette,
I'm not mad at you.

At times, their lunacies harmonized.

And it was easy to visit them
in the main hall on Sunday morning.

At other times,

you had to go everywhere
to see everyone,

and the corridors were immense.

Sometimes, it took an entire day.

Leo...

They stole my baby, Leo.

They stole my baby.

Those were
our beautiful winter Sundays...

Strange,

harrowing,

stinking,

with no friends,

and no light,

hidden in the bowels of the earth,

my sister,

Queen Rita,

had become the curator
of my bestiary.

I'm keeping your jar of bugs.

Oh no, Rita, not my deerflies.

Here, take this but not my deerflies.

Leo!

Wait, 'pa!

Don't push, pa! Don't push!
You'll be pleased!

My father was as gung-ho
as a baseball coach.

He was proud
as if I'd come back from war.

My love!

My beautiful love!

She was warm and loving.

My only love.

I loved it when she pulled me
into her fat.

The smell of her sweat soothed me.

One night,
my father discovered our hideout

and barred the door to the cellar.

Trapped in the daylight,

alone, without a kingdom,

without a swarming of the flies
to calm her down,

my fragile little sister,

Queen Rita,

drifted away.

When he was younger,
Fernand had problems in school.

In grade 5,

he was put into a class of retards
with schizophrenics,

psychopaths,

a set of epileptics twins,
a transvestite and an albino.

Even there, he'd failed his exams
three years in a row.

Mme. Lozeau.

One day, a visiting counsellor

asked him to draw something.

After an hour,
Fernand gave a blank page.

He insisted he'd drawn
a white rabbit in the snow.

In the snow. On both sides.

But it's here!
Can't you see? Right here!

But, Mr. Principal...

Counsellor, madam. Not Principal.

Mr. Counsellor.

Then counsel me

about a 14-year-old

who won't go to school.

I'm sorry, madam,
it can't go on like this.

Sorry.

Come, let's go home.

Three days later,
he started working at Dominion Glass.

Asshole!

You went to school but

you shit and stink like me.

I could've gone till I was 40.

If the old man hadn't fucked me
15 bucks for rent.

Who did they think they were?
They shoved me

in a class full of dildoes.

Didn't think I was normal.

Anyone hassles me

today,

I'll hit 'em between the eyes.

Don't get smart, punk,
we come from the same hole.

And I got here before you.

Don't play with the food.

It'll soon be spring.

The birds are endlessly bitching
about winter.

Fernand pipes in
with a snot-filled snore.

My stomach turns every time
he breathes.

He lies in fetal position,

his little night-shirt
barely guarding his decency.

He rests, oblivious as usual.

200 pounds...

of muscle: A beautiful
little baby got too big.

The room is split in half:

My side and Fernand's.

His side swells as his biceps balloon.

There's his radio
and my record player.

Fernand's radio has priority, since...

he pays rent and his muscles
mute my music when he gets angry.

Bianca my love.

My beautiful love.

My only love.

My Italy.

No... Not that. Not like that.

I don't like that.

You know what I want.

One last time.
- No.

Please!
- No.

Bianca...

Bianca... For me.

Leolo!

Leolo! Come...

One night, I finally understood

where that light came from.

It was Bianca
who'd been singing to me forever

from the back of the closet.

All I had to do
was to take the time to write.

Bianca, my love, my beautiful love,

my only love,

my Italy.

"John" and "Mary" were
our guides through English,

models of propriety.

At school I thought
I was the only one upset!

The only one anxious
because some details were missing

on "John"'s and "Tintin"'s bodies.

At 12, I knew what "nose"

meant in English,

and that the Congo
was a former Belgian colony in Africa.

But nobody talked about that tail
that swelled between my legs.

It was absent
on the chart of "John's" organs.

I didn't know the English
or the French word for this thing.

And for a long time,
I believed the Anglos didn't have one.

Casablanca.

Capital?

Dakar.

Country?

Senegal.

Dammit.

I'm coming!

Open the door or...

I'm coming!

Wait!

Wait!

Enough!

I'm coming!

Now!

Just a minute!

I'll bust the fucking lock!

Open the fucking door!

Open up!
- Coming!

What's going on?

Nothing.

I was taking my bath,
the water was hot, I fried myself.

Smells funny in there.

No...

Well...

Anyway,

shit, or make it shoot!

I stopped seeing pink. Dirty pink.

Dead pink.

I don't feel my flesh.

I'm not there.

Drawn to pleasure,
I forgot about Tintin,

and about the Belgian Congo
becoming Zaire

in 1960.

I was obsessed.

Fernand couldn't wear himself out
doing his push-ups.

So he paid me to sit
on his shoulders...

That's how I began to enjoy reading.

You don't want it?

No. I don't like dead animals.

Look at your brother, helikes it.

And it's got iron in it.

He's strong.

What's this?

I don't know.

Maybe the pig had gallstones.

As far back
as I remember having a hard-on,

Bianca was there.

It was the name
of a beautiful Sicilian neighbour

who'd never seen Italy
and occasionally baby-sat me.

My grandfather helped her
make ends meet.

Not with scissors.

Do it with love.

I told you no, I don't want to.

Here.

Take

everything you want.

It's all yours.

But do it one more time.

No.
- Please.

Just once.

Do it one more time.

Do it to me.

When I was small,
I liked to hide under the water.

The bottom of our pool

was sky blue.

There was pirate's treasure
in a gutted wreck.

I started stealing
to buy my first diving mask.

Your titties.

Show me your titties.

I never knew whether to puke

or jerk off,

hate her or envy him
so much I'd want to kill him.

Do it one more time.

No.

Yes.

They're old, and yellow,

and dry.

Even washed, they stink.

Do it.

Bastard! Pig!

My mother offered us
a beautiful rose made of plastic.

Supposedly to brighten up the room
because a flower is an image

or rather, an idea of nature.

The scarlet red is muted
by the dust that buries it

more every day.

If only someone

in the family would realize

how unnatural this flower is

with its little golden...

"Made in Hong Kong" tag
glued under a petal.

Yet

all it takes is
an effortless gesture from me

to take off the tag
and begin to believe in the illusion

But I refuse to touch it.

I don't want to rest
in this cemetery of the living dead.

And now my toes remind me
I'm still here,

sticking out a hole in the blanket.

Day after day, without realizing,

I've slipped one toe more
than the day before.

Tomorrow it'll be my whole foot,
then my leg,

and soon my entire body.

I feel I must leave this life
before the rip becomes a noose.

Hey, don't run in the hallways.
- Sir?

Are you Mr. Deguire, Leolo's teacher?

Leo who?

Leo. Leo Lozeau.

Oh yes. Are you his father?

No. Just a friend.

Have you read Leolo's writings?
You should have a look.

I've got forty pupils.

If I gave each an hour more a week,
I'd never leave this place.

And he's like all of them heading
for tech school.

The brains'll write parking tickets,
if they're lucky.

Poetry won't fix a piston.

But you're his teacher.
You could tell him what to read.

I'm the third teacher this year
to take Lozeau's class.

The first two were beaten up.

My specialty isn't French,
it's fucking judo.

And I plan to get through the year.

Leo, come to dinner.

Leolo!

Leolo Lozone!

I loved Fernand
for his sweet ignorance.

Because I dream, I'm not.

It's too tight, dammit!

I don't wanna ride a bus again
to pick you up in hell and gone.

I haven't finished my sandwich!

You're never gonna buy
a bike sitting on your ass

eating and watching boats go by.

Gimme a hand?

Listen, if your prices were better,
I'd take 'em all.

You always break my ass
over 25 cents!

As if I should give it away!

It's 3 bucks for the pail.

It's all rusty, Fernand.
Fucking expensive.

Have you ever worked
in your entire life?

Got one.

Rewind and pull.

Shit, I lost it.

I told you to rewind.
- You said pull.

I said rewind and pull.
- You said pull first.

It's great you don't feel the cold.

You'll soon be able to buy your bike.

Gimme a good deal, Fernand.
3 bucks is too much.

He could catch pneumonia
diving in this fucking shit

and it's too much?

2 bucks. And I'll throw in 2 eels.

Okay, I'll take it.

Well, if it ain't
the frog brothers themselves.

Hey, Fernand!

Ben Weider's been good to you, eh?

It still pays to put little Leo to work.

You won't scare us today.

Want him to smash your face

and have you eat the street?

Hold this, Leo.

Is this for real?

Took your nose vitamins?

Oh, that's beautiful, Fernand.

Can I touch?

Wanna see something really great?

Check this out! Now that's gorgeous!

Come on, Fernand,
come and fight me.

Come on, Fernand, fight me.

Let's go, Leo.

Fernand?

Come on, Fernand!

Fight me, you fuck!

Drop your bike.

Stand up, fight me!

Fight me!

That day,

I understood fear lived
in our deepest being

and that a mountain of muscles

or a thousand soldiers
could not change a thing.

Tired and found guilty
for all the problems in my family,

in a moment of utter despair

I had decided to kill my grandfather,
whom I liked.

Leo, come to supper!

Leo?

Albert! Leo! Leo!

Do you know
what attempted murder means?

You were never violent.

You'll destroy yourself

if you keep thinking your grandfather
is totally to blame for the family.

Your mother is strong.

Very strong.

She's a force of nature.

She never caved in.

In spite of everything
she went through.

You're a lot like her, Leo.

I know your fear.

But there's nothing I can do

if you refuse to talk to me.

To do my homework,
I use half a small desk,

unless Fernand needs it to count
and recount the 42 bucks

he makes at Dominion Glass.

Twenty-seven.

Expenditures.

Movies...

Two bucks.

Had some fries. Fries:

Ten cents.

Bus...

All I had to do was read or write

and she'd come back and sing for me.

The tamer was right.

There was a secret
in words strung together.

Bianca my love,

my only love,

my sweet love.

Bianca my love,

my sweet love,

my only love.

A peddler shouts in the void.

There's enough blood this morning
to stain a hundred pages

and enough people to buy them
to appease their rage.

I pull out my riffle and shoot at cars.

I look down the barrel
and aim at my father.

I want to stick a firecracker as big
as the universe up his fucking ass.

Just because I'm waiting for the bus.

And I'll be waiting next week.

I'll still be waiting.

Every Sunday, we take the bus
to picnic on Île Sainte-HéIène.

As my father doesn't have a car,

it's our bit of the country in the city.

At the docks, we get bored
watching boats sail away

we will never sail on.

And we eat cucumbers on the grass.

Maybe I should stick
the barrel up my nose

and blow my thoughts
all over the place.

The bastards!

It sure would shock'em to see me
blow myself up before I retire.

Although instinct
would have lead me directly,

I still asked for her room number.

I felt strange after I said her name...

'cause it was also mine.

Rita.

Here, I brought my flies.

You can keep them.

Rita?

That was the only time
I dared caress my sister.

And all I could think of
was a wonderful scene in a movie.

And as always,

I was a spectator of my own life.

Leo Lozeau, I don't want to see you

bring live animals in the hospital.

Don't keep that in your room,
it stinks!

Coward! Coward!

I wouldn't dare?!

Put 5 bucks on the table and I'll do it.
You guys don't have the balls.

5 bucks on the table and I'll do it.

None of youse man enough.

Not you, not you. None of you.
Put 5 bucks on the table and I'll do it.

Tonight, the Godin kid
will be late for home.

His mom will check his fingers.

She's really worried
her son might be smoking.

No, Mme Godin!
Your son fucks anything that moves.

His dick is eaten up by bugs.

He swallows any pill he can

just to forget you.

The bath you make him take

before church, he uses

to trick with his hockey coach.

White meat sells better.

But no, don't worry.

He doesn't smoke.

It makes him choke.

Sex,

I discovered
between ignorance and horror.

Deep down, we all knew

that money was just a pretext,

and that he'd do it anyway.

The betting just defanged the fear.

The poor cat didn't defend herself.

She'd been declawed.

Mme Ouimet took good care
of her curtains.

How lucky you are, Milou!

Tintin didn't have the Godin kid
for a neighbour.

I didn't have the courage
of my love for Bianca.

So I settled for getting it off
with Regina.

I'm coming...

You smell good... Keep on.

Faster, faster...

Sometimes I spent entire nights

reading and writing dozens of pages
without seeing her.

Bianca had become very demanding.

She knew I cheated on her
with Regina

and she decided to punish me.

Bianca!

Bianca!

Leo!

Ma!

Leo is sick!

Leo!

Don't do this to me!

Not you!

You're too strong!

Get up!

Don't go!

Leo!

Don't do this to me.

Leolo!

Because I dream, I'm not.

Because I dream.

I dream...

Because at night I abandon myself
to my dreams.

Before I receive the day...

Because I don't love...

Because I was afraid to love...

I no longer dream.

I no longer dream.

Because I dream, I'm not.

Because I dream. I dream...

Because at night
I abandon myself to my dreams.

Before I receive the day...

Because I don't love...

Because I was afraid to love...

I no longer dream.

I no longer dream.

Reduce the Largactil chlorpromazine
to 100 mg. intramuscular.

I no longer dream.

Tomorrow put him in the ward

with the rest of his family.

You my lady,

Bold melancholy,

Solitary cry piercing my flesh,
offering it to ennui,

Haunting my nights when I no longer
know which way my life should go,

I have paid you back a hundredfold.

You, my lady,

Bold melancholy,

Solitary cry piercing my flesh,
offering it to ennui,

Haunting my nights when I no longer
know which way my life should go,

I have paid you back a hundredfold.

The embers of the dream

Left behind the ashes

Of a shadow of a life
you told me to hear.

The white serenity,
minute of eternity,

Was a dark-haired wicked waif

who pierced my sorrow

With a sharp and sacred breast

Leaving only the remorse of seeing

The sun rise on my solitude.

And I shall rest my head
between two words,

in the Valley of the Vanquished.