All language subtitles for Ismaels.Ghosts.2017.THEATRiCAL.BDRip.x264-GHOULS

ISMAËL'S GHOSTS

Ivan Dedalus...

Ivan...

Dedalus.

MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

Hello.

Jacques!

- You're here?
- Yes.

You're Parisian now?

No... I'm just passing through.

Is Dedalus still in the vicinity?

Dedalus was stationed in Vienna,
but no news since.

- Not at the Ministry.
- You're sure he's still with us?

- He fell off the radar.
- What radar?

Are you looking for him? Investigating?

I'm passing through.
I was wondering.

Ivan disappeared, so I'm asking.

I told my wife,
"We're spending three years in Vilnius."

- Where?
- That's what she said.

She wanted London or Trinidad.

- She hasn't spoken to me in two weeks.
- Poor you!

I'm too old for Vilnius.
I feel the cold easily.

Anyway, Vilnius is too much for me.

And yet I packed my bags
and began learning Lithuanian.

So I go to Prague
to meet the Ukrainian delegation.

Top secret.
They start talking about the Russians.

- I ask the First Secretary...
- Who was it?

That little strange guy...

Dedalus!

- Of course!
- Our best man.

Passport, please.

- Who's Dedalus?
- I came here to speak to him.

- But Ivan disappeared.
- That was his speciality.

- Meaning?
- You remember the rumours.

I'm not alone to have thought
at times that he was...

- An angel.
- Or a spy.

- No?
- Yes.

- An interior agent?
- Why would he be interior?

How did he get in?

He came out of nowhere at 35,
no diploma, unlikely face.

Best score, external candidate.
Too good to be true.

Mr Dedalus?

You know who really liked Ivan?

He hired him, mentored him.

- Claverie!
- That traitor!

Claverie. Thirty years on the job.

Stationed in Warsaw under Gierek.

Thought to be a communist mole.

Then they said that
the Americans recruited him.

In Asia, rumours of corruption.

Quai d'Orsay found nothing.
But he was put out to pasture.

Mr Claverie will see you.

Follow me.

Shall I sit?

Please do.

We're here to find you an assignment.

Really?

Your exam results were excellent.
Congratulations.

Thank you.

I'm in charge of security,
confidentiality, things of that sort.

Which is very precious here.

You've found an apartment?

Not yet.
I arrived by train this morning.

You have an atypical trajectory.

Excuse me,
you're no longer very young,

and you haven't done
"traditional" studies.

Meaning?

Graduate studies
in politics or languages...

- I wasn't so lucky.
- But you speak six languages.

Well, I understand Arabic a bit.
I wouldn't say I'm fluent.

May I ask where you learned
these languages?

I learned them all alone in Roubaix.

With textbooks.

Any scientific aptitudes?

I love science, but I studied law.

By correspondence.
It's an unusual path.

It's uncommon to begin working
so late in life.

I worked for my father for a while.

I saw that in your file.
A dyeing factory.

Traditional.

That's where you got your law degree,
by correspondence.

To pay off my father's bankruptcy.

My mother died when I was a kid.

And my father brought me up alone.

No military service?

It says: "Exempted for medical reasons."
Were you ill?

- Is your health better?
- I received very good treatment.

Pardon my curiosity,
but what brings you here?

I read a government job advert
in the paper.

But why Quai d'Orsay?

Well...I thought...

I was very curious about the world.

Perfect!

I hope we won't disappoint you.
Welcome among us.

What would you have done
if you hadn't been admitted?

Nothing.

I was tired.

"Nothing. I was tired."

- It's me.
- Henri...

- Am / disturbing you?
- You can't disturb me.

What time is it?

It's three o'clock,
but I can't sleep at the moment.

I'm losing my mind!

- Don't panic.
- I need your help.

- I'm coming.
- I'm fed up!

I'll be there in twenty minutes.
Wait for me, Henri.

- It's me.
- Come up.

I dreamt that Carlotta was dead.

My friend...

Come.

I was looking at these slides.

And dark thoughts took hold of me.

Don't look at them at night.
It makes you melancholic.

I miss my daughter.

Every night, I dream about the ditch
where my daughter had her throat cut.

It's a disgusting place
full of dirty paper.

- And it's cold.
- Quiet.

When Carlotta disappeared,
I hated you.

I know.

I wondered
what you could have done

to make such a joyful girl
disappear like that.

- What could I have done?
- I don't know...

Cheat on her.

Henri, you're one to talk.

Who disappears
over an unfaithful husband?

She's the one who slept around.

Yes! She was strong like me.

- She loved life.
- Yes.

She was running from you.

She was running from all of us.

Of course.

And Carlotta wasn't all that joyful.

Wrong!

She was the purest child ever!
She knew how to laugh!

You're too consumed with despair.

You're...

uncertain.

No woman ever left me.

But I was much too young,

an awkward husband,
obsessed by my films and theatre.

Selfish little son of a bitch.

I couldn't look after her.

I knew how to.

You were a cumbersome father,

so cumbersome that she lived
in your shadow, then ended up in mine.

Your shadow is nothing
next to mine.

I realise that, dear master.

A formidable father
and a husband too weak.

Look at these pictures.

Look.

You declared her dead,
and now I can't sleep.

I declared her absent, not dead.

You'd waited 18 years for her,
and you found it unbearable.

I'm going to the seaside.
Can I leave you?

Still with your companion?

- Sylvia.
- Ah, yes.

She's very good for you.

You shouldn't have come to see me.

Goodnight.

Sir? May I borrow your phone?

- For Paris. I'll pay for the call.
- Sure.

It's me.

I just left Henri's.

Am I waking you?

He called during the night.

Can I come by your place?

It's early.

Come in.

What did your tyrant want?

- He's an old man. He was crying.
- Why?

He was thinking of his daughter.

Do you think of her?

It's been 20 years, dear.
Don't be jealous of a ghost.

- Will you try to sleep?
- I don't know. I'll lie down.

Get undressed.

Get in bed with me!

You need to sleep.

TWO YEARS EARLIER...

Two years ago, I met Ismaël
through some mutual friends.

I'm an astrophysicist.

Ismaël was a filmmaker.

He was a loner.
Loved to be aggressive.

Rumour had it that
he'd lost a wife, very young.

I enjoyed bumping into him,
even if he scared me.

I stared at him,
from the end of the table.

He looked thuggish.

He loved making fun
of the books I read.

And of my prudishness.

I was slowly getting drunk.

Then I made to leave.

Leaving because
I made you feel uncomfortable?

No, not at all.

- Can I drop you off by taxi?
- I don't know.

One night...
he offered me a ride.

All right.

How about a drink?

No ulterior motives.

Yes.

- Do you know a bar?
- Yes.

Why don't you have kids?

Married men...

What?

I loved married men.

Your speciality.

Yes, that's it.

Good.

I'm single now,
so we don't stand much of a chance.

None whatsoever.

- And you, no kids?
- I adopted one, once.

- I did.
- Not bad.

It didn't end well.

- That's sad.
- No, it's okay.

Why didn't you have children
with your married man?

You mean at my age?

I never ask ladies their ages.

- "Ladies"?
- Yes.

I'm my brother's legal guardian.

Is he crazy?

Is he in jail?

- An alcoholic?
- Nope.

He's handicapped.

That forbids you from having a child.

Yes, a little.

- It's been my whole life.
- Your brother?

Well, not my whole life.

There's the married man too.

What's his name,
your handicapped brother?

Pierre.

That frightens you.

He's my blessing.

In fact, you're not really single.

Really?

I've seen you
with a very young woman.

It's over with her.

You were together for a while.

There were a lot of breaks.

We wanted to leave each other,
but never at the same time.

And yet, it was practical.

I had someone at home
to answer the phone.

How convenient!

- Want a bite?
- No, thanks.

So you're between women?

That's right.

And you sleep with your actresses?

Of course.

- They're very pretty.
- Very.

It's here.

- I'd like to come up.
- No, it's too late.

- Just for five minutes.
- I said no.

I'll go upstairs, then leave right away.

So why go up?

I just want to see where you live.

I said no!

Do I have to beg to see it,
on my knees?

It'll just embarrass you!

Stop it! Stop!

You're so damn stiff!

I'm not stiff. I'm shy.

This isn't right.

Okay, it's pretty.
Goodbye.

You're not going to kiss me?

Your friends told you I'm a widower?

I'm sorry.

My love!

I never dared to ask...

What's your movie about?

It's a portrait of my brother.

- Ivan?
- Yes, Ivan.

Why have I never met your brother?

He's on the other side of the world.
I'm a homebody.

He was the sensible brother.

I was the madman.

- So you admit it?
- You bet!

He was the spy?

I believe so.

So you'll get your movie made.

What do you know?

I trust you blindly.

You don't know me.

I think I do.

Better than anyone.

You didn't write today?

Don't scold me.

You sleep all day
and can't sleep at night.

I'm terrified.

I don't want you to be afraid, my love.

It's the nightmares, every single night.

I reread The Interpretation of Dreams.

There's no explanation for nightmares.

None whatsoever. It's pure persecution!

Go easy on the pills.
You won't wake up.

I have to knock myself out
or the nightmares persecute me.

Stop with that. You'll kill yourself.

It's my nightmares that'll kill me.

My friend... come here.

Come here!

Come!

When we spoke about Ivan,

we tried to sketch a profile of him.

When we spoke of Ivan,
we tried to sketch a profile.

But it was hopeless from the start.

Him and his legendary naps!

Once, I went to a conference with Ivan.

Something European.

On the way back,
we missed our connection in Bern.

Our delegation waited at the airport
for the next flight.

Three sleepless nights in Stockholm
and five more hours in Switzerland.

We all slept like babies.

You're not sleeping?

No, I can't.

Count all the diplomats
you've met in your life.

I suffer from a degenerative disease.

The Elsinore Syndrome.

Elsinore like the castle in Hamlet?

I have violent nightmares.

What kind?

- I'm embarrassed.
- Sorry, I'm so indiscreet!

It's fine. I sleep at the office.

How do you stop yourself
from sleeping?

I have pills.

Are you Sylvia?

Ismaël's companion?

Where is he?

In his room, writing.

He still doesn't like swimming?

How do you know that?

Because I'm his wife.

Carlotta.

I thought you were dead.

I've seen you before. In a painting.

How so?

Ismaël has a painting of you
at his place.

Oh, that.

It's an old portrait. I was 16.

I'll tell him.

- Get any work done?
- Not enough.

What's wrong?

I think I saw Carlotta.
On the beach.

I'm afraid it'll drive you crazy.

Or that I'll go crazy.

Don't mention Carlotta.
I don't want to hear about her.

She's alive.

What are you saying?

She was there, on the beach.

You're insane, my love.

She came back with me.
She's waiting downstairs.

How do you know it's her?

Because she told me.

It's me.

Yes.

I've changed my hair.

Like it?

Yes.

You've aged.

How long has it been?

Twenty-one years,
8 months and 6 days.

Am I disturbing you?

I was writing.

You still make films?

I haven't seen any.

I tried through Ivan,
but he disappeared.

He's no longer in France?

I liked him.

Sorry but I don't know anyone anymore.

I have nowhere to stay.

You left France?

Yes.

And now?

I'm in Paris.

In a shelter.

You have a place to sleep tonight?

No.

So you can stay here.

All right.

It's too big for us. We never use it.

I put a towel in the bathroom for you.

Because I smell bad?

Yes, a little.

Want to borrow some clothes?

I'll be fine.

Why don't you ask for news
of your father?

Oh, him...

- Do you know him?
- No.

If he were dead, I'd have heard.

It was all a lie.

What was a lie?

You and me.

Quiet.
Fight! Fight now!

I don't have the strength!
I wish she were dead!

I wanted her never to come back.

Me too.

No!

It's her!

Go on.

Sleep with her and I'll kill you.

Carlotta...

Wake up.

It was an awful nightmare.

And me? How about me?

I'm in a living nightmare
and I can't wake up!

Please don't shout.

I'm an old woman now.

I'm coming back to you.

One day I'll die.

You won't die, you're already dead!
You filthy whore!

What were you doing for 20 years?

Twenty-one fucking years!

- Answer, you piece of shit!
- I can't remember.

No, wrong!
It's me who doesn't know.

Me!
A thousand times I thought you dead!

I was your widower
without a corpse to mourn!

You know what you did
with 21 years of my life. Tell me.

Where did you go? Where were you?

Why? When?

When? With Who?

I left alone.

What do you mean, alone?

Yes.

I can't remember why.

I was going crazy.

I was twenty.

One day, I was out walking.

I went into a station and I took a train.

Not knowing how long I was leaving for.

A week?

A year?

I don't know.

I couldn't breathe anymore.

I got off in Lyon.

It's a big city.

I didn't know it.

I said to myself...
it was easy to disappear there.

That no one would come looking for me.

At first, I wandered the streets.

Then the halfway houses.

- You did drugs?
- Yes.

- Were you in prison?
- No.

Then I worked.

I lived with people in the countryside.

It lasted...

- ...six years, I think.
- Six years!

Why didn't you send a note
to say you weren't dead, damn it?

I didn't need an address.
I'm no cop.

I wanted you alive, that's all.

But it was like I was dead.

Dead? Bullshit!
Twenty-one years! You were dead!

I did every police station,
every hospital, every morgue!

Fucking detectives
that your father and I paid for!

On every trip, I searched
for your face at every station,

with the three pictures I had of you.

- What did I do to you?
- I didn't know how to live.

It was unbearable.

I wanted to vanish,
to tear up my life.

It's my life you tore up!

And your father's!

You used to say we owed nothing
to anyone but ourselves.

That's crap.

You know what happened?
After 10 years, you got declared dead.

And it was me
who signed the piece of paper.

A paper which I brought to your father.

We had no grave to cry at.

Just that paper
with your name: "Absent".

And that brought no relief.
Just twenty-one years of grief!

And were you happy?

I abandoned you, my love.

And what about your father?

I abandoned all of you.

You weighed too heavy.

- Or I was too heavy.
- And now you're light?

Yes.

Over the years, one day,
I was in India and I became light.

India? I don't care.

Yes, you were heavy.

You weighed a ton in Paris.

You were my ball and chain.

Were there men?

- Of course.
- How many?

- A lot.
- What did you tell them?

Nothing.

The contract was no questions,
just the present.

The present is shit.

I let myself drift.

Everywhere.

And then I met a man in New Delhi.

He married me.

And then he died.

But... when?

Three weeks ago.

So I thought I should come home.

I didn't know where else to go.

I had nothing to run from.

One day, a rabbi friend of Bloom's
offered to do a funeral service.

To dig a grave.

Bloom refused.

What kind of grave is it
without a body?

So in the end,
Bloom and I never buried her.

See? We were right.

I remember, it's this way.

There's never anyone here.

Is it a good book?

Yes.

I never read. Never did.

To my father's despair.

When my mother died,
I was very young.

And I was at boarding school
and came home on weekends.

At night, my father recited poetry to me
at bedtime.

And I remember a German poem
which he kept translating...

"One day

"When I lose you

"How will you be able to fall asleep

"Without me rustling over you

"Like a linden crown?"

Bloom...

He had his affectations.

- What's your religion?
- I don't have any.

Is that how you answered Ismaël?

What?

Don't tell me
he never asked your religion.

He did.

I'm Protestant.

How vicious of him!
That's why he went out with you.

A Protestant. He couldn't resist it.

Maybe.

And you?

I'm a renegade Jew.

To my father's despair.

- Who are you?
- I'm sorry. I'm Ivan Dedalus.

- We're colleagues.
- Step back.

You think... but no.
I'm a clerk in European Affairs.

It's been six months.
We met once in an airport.

I remember.

What do you want?

I was thinking about you
and I wondered...

if maybe... you'd agree
to go out with me

one night, or on a Sunday.

With you?

Yeah.

You're not a little... crazy?

Yes, I act like a deranged person,

but at work I'm not crazy.
You scare me.

It's you who scares me!
You followed me here.

I'm really sorry. But you'd make me
so happy if you'd agree to...

if you had a free evening.

Well... maybe.

Meaning it's a possibility? When?

Why not now?

I found them.

Here they are.

You see? Real leather.

So they're sending you abroad?

For now, I'm just filing reports
and making photocopies.

- They're too big.
- Sit down.

We'll fix that.

Now try it on.

Perfect!

You look handsome like that.

You always had trouble finding women.

- Yes.
- Why?

I don't know. Shyness.

My poor old bachelor.

Dad, I think I met a woman.

- Ivan!
- Come and see the lunar eclipse.

- Here... it's for you.
- What is it?

You've been named attache
at the embassy in Dushanbe.

You're leaving in two weeks.
For three years.

- Three years?
- You just have to marry me.

Arielle...

- You don't know who I am.
- So what? I'll learn!

Arielle had remained an adolescent.

She wanted a hero,
an Achilles or a Patroclus,

or someone killed at Thermopylae.
She chose Ivan.

Oh, shit!

On hearing of the marriage,
a friend of Arielle's said...

"It's suicide."

Word of that got back to Ivan.

It's not easy,
being someone's suicide.

You're not that different.

What?

Aren't we alike?

You and I are the same.

Yes.

What did you come here for?

I think you know.

When I recovered Ismaël,
he was an old man.

I wrenched him from you.
Now he has a real life.

Why are you shrugging?

Ismaël is playing a role.

- He's my child.
- You're wrong.

You don't know him anymore.

You came to destroy me?

I always thought about him.
He's in my thoughts.

Why are you here today?
Why not two years ago?

I wasn't free before. I was married.

- Where's your husband?
- My husband died.

- You're crazy!
- And I'm here.

Everything you say is poison.

I've come to take my man back.

You're ugly.
Everything you say is ugly.

You can live without him.

You won't be unhappy.

I can't.

- Without Ismaël...
- You should've loved your husband.

That was impossible.

You no longer exist.

Even for your father, you don't exist.

You were declared dead, Carlotta.

You exist for no one now.

Alexander and I had been together
for six years.

I'd come to New Delhi with fake papers.

I called myself Esther.
I was very poor.

I can't remember how I got by.

When I met Alex, he was married.

He was older than me.

Very handsome. I liked that.

He left his wife.
His kids were already grown up.

He bought a sort of palace
in the countryside.

I moved in with him.

He listened to Indian music
all the time.

Musicians would come by the house.
It was so joyful.

One day, he died.

He vomited blood. He vomited on me.

At the Anglican church, for his funeral,
his family was there.

I was alone.

His son came and told me to leave.

I didn't leave. I stayed.

And he called me a whore.

Like in a nightmare.

And when I got back home,
there were lawyers there.

All the furniture had been seized.

They even took my clothes.
I had nothing.

Who was she?

I told you a thousand times.

- Did you love her?
- I told you a thousand times.

How did you love her?

The way you love a vulnerable girl.

She wavered.

Everything hurt her.
I was her shield.

I never stopped
not being enough for her.

And I wasn't vulnerable
when you met me?

Yes.

In a different way.

H ow?

You were alone, very alone.

A nun.

You think I'm a nun in bed?

Oh, no.

- How was Carlotta in bed?
- I can't remember.

Bad answer. You never forget that.

She was distraught.

How so?

She'd often cry
when she was making love.

What about me, now?

You're crying.

Did she cheat on you?

Yes. All the time.

With whoever came along.
She needed men to hold onto.

I was one of them.

I don't know...

I don't know how to cheat on you.
I don't know how.

I owe nothing to Carlotta.
I owe you everything.

I don't want to have debts
between me and a man.

Yes, I did save your life.

I'm jealous of Carlotta.

I can't help this jealousy.

It's burning me up.

I won't go back to Carlotta.

I wanted to drive you crazy,
not make you reasonable.

That's why I'm jealous.

I met you too late.

Going to sleep?

What are you doing?

I wanted to look at you once more.

Why?

- Talk to me.
- Quiet!

- Quiet.
- Talk to me.

I'm leaving.

I don't know if I want to see you again.

I don't know how to love myself enough
to ask you to come.

- Let me leave. I beg of you.
- Stay. It's me begging you.

Wine in the morning?

I got no sleep.

I'm writing some words of praise
about your father.

Is Sylvia in the sea?

She left.

- Where to?
- Far from here.

Why didn't you leave too?

She didn't want me to.

Is it because of me?

She's an astrophysicist,
head in the stars, believes in infinity.

You picked an intelligent woman.

- Sylvia is beautiful and intelligent.
- Yes.

- I wasn't intelligent.
- Yes, you were.

But so sad.

I've changed, my friend.

I can't anymore, Carlotta.

I won't live with you, ever again.

By tomorrow I'll have vanished.

Like that.

My heart...

You...

What are you doing?

Snooping around.

Why?

You have a child.

Who?

You and Sylvia have a child.

Who's the picture of?

A kid I knew.

Give me a child.

What?

- I want to have your child.
- Go away.

One day you'll disappear again.

Please. I want it.

You should've had one
with your Indian.

That was different.

I really loved you.

You won't have to raise it.

I'm too old.

- You're not old.
- I am.

And I don't want to be survived.

Why didn't you go see your father?

I won't see him again.
It's too late.

What?

I have to accept what I've done
and can no longer undo.

How do I know you're Carlotta?

And not some madwoman
pretending to be her?

What was your mother's name?

When did she die?
Tell me where she's buried!

Tell me the name of the violin teacher
that I made you see

when you wanted to give up?

Why are you pretending?

If I answer, you'll suffer even more.

- No...
- How much suffering do you want?

You won't see Henri
because you're afraid, terrified!

Go and see your father
and let him die in peace!

I won't lie to him!

You're here, and I'm afraid to call him!
It's tearing my tongue out!

You're a lie!
Everything about you is a lie!

He's my father, not yours.

Marry him.
Or leave me alone.

It was him I loved through you!

- You're going to Sylvia?
- None of your business!

- Don't be violent.
- Let me alone!

You crush everything.
You're suffocating, morbid!

Your presence is morbid!

I look at you, touch you,
and see you dead!

You make me want to vomit.
Go away!

Yes, I wanted to hurt you.

Please, forgive me.

Ismaël, forgive me!

I can't live alone.

Please, Ismaël.

I want you to take me back. I need you!

I don't need you, so go away!

Don't leave me.

Don't leave me.

Do I turn you on a little?

A little.

Running away?

If you loved me,
go and see your father.

Speak to him, I beg of you.
I won't have the strength.

Sylvia, pick up.
I'm sick of your answering machine.

I'm on the highway, on the way to Paris.
I'd like to know how to find the words.

I've put a stop
to everything with Carlotta.

She's my former life.
I must reinvent myself once more.

I can't do it alone.
You're my homeland.

You're probably in your mountains,

staring at the stars
and forgetting about me.

I'm lost.

You have to help me.

TWO YEARS EARLIER...

Excuse me, it's late.

I'm a little bit tipsy.

So have a seat.

Thanks, that's very kind.

Can I offer you a glass of water?

You don't have any coffee?

Sorry, I don't drink coffee.

Whiskey, then?

I wanted to say that by refusing me,
you're missing out.

You have to decide quickly.
I won't live a thousand years!

I did some tests.
I can show you the results.

What did the doctors say?

It's not me who matters,
but I can be good for you.

God knows your life is austere!

Don't hurt me.

I know, we've barely met.

You see a married man.
It's wonderful with him.

I'm not telling you to leave him.

But don't miss out on me.

Stop the leaves!

Raise your arms like this!

You all raise your arms!
Strollers in position!

You up there, get down!
Don't be a smart-arse!

Where's Victor?

Positions, please!
We have forty minutes!

- What are you reading?
- Flannery O'Connor.

- Any good?
- You're teasing me.

- You're bored, right?
- Not at all.

Is this the first shoot
you've ever seen?

- Yes.
- And?

Seems like fun.

But do you always
lose your temper like that?

It depends.

You really scared me.

What do all these people do?

They work.

Want to wait for me?
I'm almost done.

I'll wait at your place.
Give me your keys.

No pussyfooting around!

- Hiding mistresses there?
- Tons.

Fine. Give me your keys.

Here.

In the bathroom,
I bought stuff for women.

Toothbrushes, lotions...

Too intimidating. I'll wait here.

Okay.

Let me take that.

I haven't fully settled in.

It's dark.

- Something to drink?
- Yeah.

- A little scotch?
- Yes, sure.

- I have no ice.
- No problem.

- Your wife?
- Yes. Carlotta.

- We got married at 20.
- You were very young.

- One day she left.
- When?

After three years.

- Where?
- I never knew.

She just left.

And I was alone.
I lived like a widower.

One day, I was very drunk,
very angry.

I got rid of all her pictures.
I burnt them.

The next day,
no more images of her.

But later, I found this portrait.
In the attic.

My cousin painted it when she was 17.

He sold it to me.
It's the only souvenir I have left.

You want me to get rid of it?

No, that won't be necessary.

- Why are you sleeping with me?
- Because you're old.

Because”.

You look like a bum.

Because you're mysterious
and I want to penetrate your mystery.

That's not enough.

Because I'm a lost girl.
And you'll never abandon me...

I'll pull off your mask
and I'll make a prince of you.

- Are the actors here?
- Yes, they are.

Watching the dailies?

- You okay? Ismaël's not here?
- We're all waiting for him.

- No director.
- First time.

- He's not home?
- He slept somewhere else.

- Who's he sleeping with?
- What?

Who is he screwing?
An actress, a script girl?

Do your job, damn it!

He's overslept in some Chick's bed.

- Is Faunia here?
- In make-up.

Ah, Faunia! There you are.

What did I say? Get out!

- Are we alone?
- Just me.

Faunia, I have some good news
and some bad news.

Let's start with the good news:
no rewrites today.

Now the bad...

Ismaël isn't here.

- Sorry to be so blunt, but where is he?
- I have no idea.

Nonsense, sweetie.

I saw him last night.

- Was he drinking?
- I'm not a cop.

Sorry.
Have you had sex?

- Zwy, please!
- When did you leave?

At dawn. Why?

Because he's disappeared.
I checked his apartment. It's empty.

- He's escaped?
- He must be with Sylvia. So tell me.

- Where can I find Sylvia?
- Sylvia left him.

I've run away to the city of my birth.

Here I am, finally home.

And I am in exile.

No river here.

But the canal blocks the city.

A filthy, stinking canal.

Swamps stagnate under the streets.

Nothing should ever be built
on such unhealthy ground.

One thousand years later,
the water is still rotting, oozing...

Emanations, humidity, cold.

The people here are ugly, defeated.

For years,
I haven't seen my face in a mirror.

I feel at peace.

My name is Carlotta Bloom,
and I'm back.

Excuse me?

I'm back.

You can put my name
back in your register.

Sorry, I don't understand.
Put your name in what register?

I don't know...
There must be a register for the living.

You have a register for the dead.

I'm a missing person.

Missing persons is that counter there.

Did you lose someone?

Don't talk to me.

- You look like my wife.
- Look somewhere else!

- What's your name?
- Carlotta Bloom.

- Double 'O'.
- Like the director?

I'm his daughter.

How long have you been
declared missing?

I don't know.

Is there anything in your files?

You were judged "absent" in court
eight years ago.

- By whom?
- The magistrate.

At the request of Ismaël Vuillard.
Your husband.

What do I have to do?

Get the Public Ministry
to nullify the judgment.

You'll get back your estate.

Can I get my husband back?

No, the former missing person's marriage
remains nullified.

I'm at 160 beats a minute.

I measured the oxygenation
of my blood.

It's like I have sleep apnoea.

So my rest is the opposite of rest.

Is it alcohol-related?

It could be a form of epilepsy,
but it's very rare.

I read there's a gene
that causes nightmares.

HLA DQB1-05.

Can we see if my DNA has that gene?

You're exhausted.

I can prescribe you some lorazepam
or diazepam.

You'll sleep heavily.
It suppresses sleep stages 2 and 3.

- It will really help...
- No, I don't want to sleep at all.

- Or else, sever my hypothalamus.
- Excuse me?

I don't want to dream.
You must sever my hypothalamus.

- I'm not severing anything.
- I can pay.

It's not about money.

What I can do is try to inject you
with dopamine before you fall asleep.

I'll do it myself.
What does dopamine do?

It feeds the nightmare gland.

- It'll soothe you.
- Really?

But you must sleep in the hospital.
It must be supervised.

I won't go to the hospital.

- Is Ivan here?
- No.

I went to school with him.

- Is he still a diplomat?
- Yes.

KHUJAND PRISON, TAJIKISTAN

So how did it go?

- Very well.
- Who did you meet?

- Prisoners.
- Political?

As well.

When are you going to get a licence?

You look like a bum.

Give me your gum.

Mr Dedalus? The new security chief
is waiting in your office.

Good afternoon.

You kept the same combination
as before?

It's better to change it, so I did.
Memorise the new code and destroy this.

Here.

Sorry, this is a little embarrassing.
I see you've opened the safe.

I couldn't resist.

I've done drugs since I was a teen.

I wouldn't want my habit
to be a problem for work.

That depends.

- What kind of drugs?
- Hash or weed.

Maybe LSD at the weekend.

You don't carry it on you.

You carry it on you?

That's not smart.

Sorry to be prosaic,
but if I don't find any here, what do I do?

Have it sent by diplomatic pouch
to the embassy.

- Got a friend to send it?
- Yes. In Roubaix.

A grey one.

And a brown one.

So listen, I met...

What?

Where are you going?

I think we're being bugged.

- So let's remove them.
- No!

They'll get upset and make it worse.

- Who?
- The Tajik police.

Being bugged is part of your job,
my love.

Arielle! What's wrong?

- What is it?
- Look.

They wanted us to know they came.
It's terrifying.

These aren't Tajik mikes.
Nice gear.

These cost a fortune in the States.
I've never seen this model here.

- Maybe the Tajiks went modern.
- Probably.

Who would plant mikes here?

This week,
you went to the Khujand prison.

Yes.

- Did you see this man?
- I'm not sure.

It's an old photo. It's Imam Farias.

Who's Farias?

One of the most wanted men
in the world.

Arrested during the first Afghan war.

He was 25.

Every agency has traded him.

He's known every prison
and detention camp.

We lost track of him.

You're the first Westerner
to see him in 20 years.

- What did you discuss?
- That man had lost his mind.

He couldn't remember his own name.

Ivan, how many lives have you had?

- Same as everyone.
- Meaning?

Two or three?

You're in room 3.

- Did you give me telescope hours?
- Yes, starting tonight. See you later.

I'll tear off your mask.

I'll make of you... a prince!

- You didn't ring?
- Would you have opened?

I figured you'd come out sooner or later.

- You want my coffee?
- Thanks.

- Is that your parents' house?
- My great-aunt's.

- How did you find me?
- With your credit card receipts.

I promised your banker
I'd pay the overdraft.

- How are you?
- Well, I have a film on hold.

The insurance stops next week.
The producer wants you dead.

And I lied to the actors
to save your reputation.

Same as usual.

- You didn't give my address?
- Never!

I want you to call Sylvia.

I'll make you some fried eggs.

Did you see? I bought some hens.

- Should I build a coop?
- No, no. Finish your film.

- I need you.
- I'd like you to need me.

Is it the subject of the film?
You're afraid of the subject.

How long have I been making films?

My assistants or the producer
can finish it. I'm not going back.

Whatever you say.

I'll beat you up, put you in my boot
and take you back!

You're not as strong as me
and you hate fights.

Maybe. But you've been drinking.

I'm armed.

I doubt you could shoot me.

- You like me.
- Yes.

You're old, my friend!

We're both old!

All you can do is direct!
You're too old to change!

I could teach. Literature.

You'll never find a school.
Or a student.

I'm in poor health,
I won't be around long.

Guess again!
It can go on forever! Look at me!

For decades, I've sworn
never to work with you again,

and here I am in your yard,
chasing after fucking hens!

Come closer!

Closer.

1437.

1434.

The invention of perspective
in the Occident.

In the North and the South.

- What's the point?
- Look.

Different perspectives.

They thought
they had one universal system,

but in fact there were two.

From Holland to Italy,
there was an incredible force-field!

An incredible hatred
which destroys everything!

I'm not a Jew, you can piss off.
Screw your Christian guilt.

If we understood the logic of it,
it would annihilate all hate.

Ismaël...
it's time to go back to Paris.

Hello, Mr Bloom!

- How are you doing?
- Great.

One red pepper.
Will that be all?

No! Go away!

Go away!

Hello? This is Henri Bloom.

I need to speak to Ismaël immediately.

Hello, Miss?

Ismaël isn't here, Mr Bloom.

I see my daughter outside,
out the window.

She cannot be alive.

She came back.

I saw her. At the sea. We spoke.
She stayed with us.

Why didn't she come to see me?

I don't know, sir.
Ismaël was afraid to tell you.

No, it's too late now. I'm too old.
She's no longer my daughter.

But you're still her father.

Miss... I'm going to die.

You're not going to die!

Go and see her!
What are you waiting for?

I understand that she's afraid,
but you're brave, aren't you?

I'm an old man.

I loved Carlotta and I mourned her.
And now...

The producers don't understand
the Czech dailies.

Your editor's at a loss,
there's no dialogue.

- The sound man was a prick!
- Fire whoever you want.

All we see are silhouettes
with moving lips!

For voice-over scenes.
Just add a narrator.

I'm not adding a thing.

Let the editor add narration.

- Who's the narrator?
- Claverie.

The scene where Ivan is hired.

The old unctuous guy.

Claverie. He was stationed in Warsaw
under Gierek.

Everyone thought he was a mole.

- A communist mole?
- But it wasn't true!

Intel found nothing,

so Claverie ended up mothballed,
a mere pencil pusher.

After Dushanbe,
Ivan gets sent to... Prague.

When he gets there,
who greets him with a wolfish smile?

Claverie!
Ambassador once again.

Ivan starts his humdrum
civil servant life,

but he still has a knack
for languages.

He wants to learn Romani,
so he hangs around beggars.

The beggar woman.

What does she tell him?

"Your mother's cunt."
An insult, no sound needed.

The security guy hates Ivan,
because he has no mobile phone.

You must always be reachable!

I can always call the embassy
from a pay phone.

A gift.

And there in Prague,
Ivan meets his Russian.

Imagine a Jackson Pollock exhibition
in Prague.

His first in an Eastern-bloc country.

The Americans invite every embassy
to show off.

Ivan is there,
alone in front of Lavender Mist.

And this Russian sits next to him,
a little drunk on champagne.

And they start talking about Pollock.

- Saying what?
- That's he's figurative.

Pollock?

They're compressed images,
always the same.

His family, his dog, his mother,
the brother he hated.

Lavender Mist is all the women
he could never touch.

Not Lee Krasner,
but gentle, tender women.

Nipples, shoulders, lips, vaginas.

Thirty female nudes,
all stuck together.

A reprise of Demoiselles d'Avignon.

Both men talk in front of the painting.
The Russian understands it all.

He says he loves him,
they're brothers.

He wrote a PhD in Moscow!

The brothers' names appear all over.

Consonants, vowels, knives!

Pollock's rape in front his brother.

- How awful.
- Yes, he had a sad life.

In the museum,
the men become friends.

- Are you French?
- Yes.

- You're not Czech?
- No, I'm Russian.

Then you have the roof scene.

They look at Prague, the night, the stars.

The Russian's wife,
the two children playing.

The Russian gives Ivan a present.

A coffee machine
or a teddy bear for Arielle.

For you, a Russian bear!

And I shot the rest.

I drank so much
I think I'm going to die!

You drunkard!

Yes, love me.

Love me!

Vanya...
my heart, full of gratitude.

Why?

I published an article
in a Moscow review.

Jackson Pollock!

Now, I've become very famous
in my country, thanks to you!

- Thanks to our talk!
- I'm thrilled.

We must both share the money.

- What money?
- That I made for the article.

I don't want money, Igor.

- Are you my friend, yes or no?
- Sure I'm your friend.

So you must share my joy!

He's Russian.
He gave me a lot of money.

How much?

100,000 euros.
We just talked about painting.

These were his other gifts.

Plastic flowers for me.

- A coffee machine. A teddy bear.
- So as not to offend him.

You're both irresponsible!

Ivan is giving you the name
of a secret agent that you didn't spot.

- He's exposed, as it were.
- We'll nab this scumbag.

They follow the Russian through Prague.

Pretend to bump into him.

My men at the Slavia café are watching.

Igor! Igor!

Follow me!

I don't want you to die.

I'm not dying, darling.

Wake up! I don't want you to die!

You married me, so live!

What is this crap?

A Russian blows up in Prague
and no idea who did it?

The Russians maybe.

I have Moscow on my arse.
They want my head.

He was probably an FSB agent.

Igor wasn't FSB.
Just an ordinary employee.

The 100,000 euros that Igor gave us
is far from ordinary.

You're precious, Ivan.

Now tell me what you know
and what that sum buys.

I don't know what I know!

I wanted to ask, but he got killed first!

- My husband is a spy.
- What?

My husband is a spy!
That guy at the Khujand prison.

- Who?
- His name was Farias.

Igor wanted Farias.
Save my husband!

- Who did Igor work for? Who did he call?
- I have no idea!

Who did Igor work for?

Who do you work for?

- I don't know!
- What did he want?

- No idea!
- Who do you work for?

My God! Don't touch me!

I hurt you! I'm sorry!

Stay away, you old schnook!

Don't cry for me.

It'll hurt on three. One, two...

There we are. I got the bullet.

- A clean wound.
- Sedate him before we all die.

I won't congratulate you.

- I'm sorry. I was over-enthused...
- Shut up!

He'll survive.

- You in pain?
- Yes!

You're coming undone, Vuillard.

He won't suffocate?

No way. He's used to this.
He's a solid smoker!

Because I think he's kicking.

- You'll finish this film!
- He'll finish it. Come on.

You hear me? You'll finish it!

You'll finish it!

- Zwy!
- Feeling better?

Yes, much better, thanks.
And you?

The bullet went straight
through the muscle to the radius.

I may never be able to bend my elbow.

- I'm so embarrassed!
- You better be.

I called Sylvia.

The insurance covers
the two-week break.

It's time to write.
Sylvia said you like working here.

I know you're angry and in pain,
but can you untie me?

- Don't leave me!
- She'll be here soon.

Don't leave me! Zwy!

Sorry.

No way!
You shot your line producer?

Yes.

- Will you keep me prisoner?
- Yes, my love!

My love.

The Bloom girl is here.

I'll see her.
The patient has refused family visits.

She's already there.

Ma'am...

Are you his doctor?

There is no visiting.

How is he?

- Has he lost his mind?
- He was calm when he woke up.

- Is he warm enough?
- Yes.

You must leave now.
Your father needs calm.

I'll wait.

I won't speak to him.

Go home.
We'll call you with news.

I'll wait till he wakes up.

Father?

Do you recognise me?

You're a spirit, I know.

When did you die?

I'm not dead.

- He doesn't recognise me.
- He's waking up.

- Leave him a while.
- Where are my hands?

Where are my hands?

Leave me alone!

10 mg of Valium, please.

He's restrained at night.

You have five minutes,
then you must go.

Father? Feel my forehead.

I want you to bless me.

I'm an old man.

Do not mock me
if I don't know where I am.

You're in the hospital.

And you'll get better.

I think I recognise you.
You're my child?

It's me.

You're crying?

There's no reason to cry.

- No, none.
- Do you understand me?

You mean can I hear you?

Yes, I hear you well.

No, I mean...
am I making sense?

Sometimes I get confused.

You're perfectly clear, Dad.

Why do you ask?

Why are there all these doctors

and all these nurses
running in and out of my room,

as if there's an emergency?

You know they had to put
a pacemaker in your heart?

Yes, that's what I mean.

How old am I?

Eighty-three.

So what's the emergency?
Enough!

It's natural.

If a child is sick,
that's an emergency.

But running in and out of my room

just because an 83-year-old man
is dying,

that's no emergency.

It's ugly to behave like that.

They're just doing their job.

Putting a pacemaker in
is just standard procedure.

So I have no choice?

I don't know.

Tell them to stop.

That's not my job.

You're wondering how it ended?

Bloom died, and his daughter left.

Ismaël mourned his friend for a while.

He thought that Bloom was...
indestructible.

He liked living in his shadow,
like under a tree.

He still travels the world
to show his films.

Ismaël never mentions Bloom to me.

Because the sobs come back.

One day, during the spring,

my period stopped.

And I thought, with great sadness,

that age had caught up to me.

And then...

I was expecting a child.

Ismaël is overjoyed.

He keeps counting on his fingers

how old he'll be
when our child is 15.

He loves to say
that we'll be elderly parents.

Last week, I visited my brother
in the clinic where he's staying.

I told him the news, "I'm pregnant."

Pierre made a strange face.

Then he smiled.

I think he thought
it was the right thing to do.

I took his hand...

and put it on my belly.

I watched Pierre, surprised.

He looked at my belly
and understood...

that he's no longer my child anymore.

In one fell swoop,
he lost a mother and a wife.

He felt...

great anger.

But my brother's tenderness

and his desire to protect me
are so strong,

that he hid his feelings.

But I saw.

I saw his jealousy.

His disarray.

Life has come to me.

I'm pregnant with Ismaël's child.

- You're working?
- Yes, working again.

Again...

Again.