All language subtitles for Un parfum nommé Saïd (2003) [eng] [Leonnos]

UN PARFUM... NOMM� SA�D

Djemaa el Fnaa place in the golden dust,
the poor crouched men, freely in the dusk,

discretely watching the tourists pass.

Be careful walking on this mysterious path,

look at these silhouettes, how they are thin,

and notice the beggar with the white skin.

Distant and absent, for a curious deed,
obviously under the influence of weed,

try to be nice to him, gentle and human
and recognize in him a strange Frenchman.

I came here a long while ago,
thirty years perhaps...

It is a fantastic story...

It all started here in Marrakech,
at the Casino.

I am here for one week.

I am shooting a documentary
about belly dancing.

That's me; my name is Gerard.

At this very moment,
a bus brings you into the city;

you just left your home village,
and you are about to change my life.

All these generous bellies...

in front of Gerard's camera
are going to give birth.

But Gerard does not know yet.

He strolls alone with his camera
when, all of the sudden, the event begins.

In the crowd, I have a vision.

It is stronger than I: I must talk to you.

Your name is Sa�d.
Translation: "happiness" in Arabic.

You are only 21 years old. A bit young.

Normally, I prefer men 30 or older.

You suggest to take a stroll.

The air is soft, scented by orange trees,
cumin and horse dung.

We walk without talking,

you know so few words in French.

I am very moved.

I slightly touch your fingers,
your arms and your soft skin.

I put my hand on your muscled shoulder.

Of course, I want to squeeze you in my arms,
but there is a crowd around,

and I am afraid that
you might take it the wrong way.

I was 21 also, strangely, in the same place,
in this garden under the Koutoubia.

At the same time,
a first man is walking on the moon.

I am on vacation; I have a monkey;
I no longer want to return to France.

Is it an adolescent crisis?
Am I a flower child? Do I fear the future?

Beyond the palm trees,
a major film production called "Queimada"...

is being produced with Marlon Brando.

I am invited to the set.

The experience is great.

I leave my monkey with a Marrakchi family...

and I return to Paris to study in a film school.

Dear Sa�d,
my stroll by your side is over.

I have a meeting with my dancers,
and you have to take a bus to go to the North.

I still do not know if I will have
the chance to please you.

After having exchanged addresses,
we both go our separate ways.

The doors to parallel worlds are never found
when we are looking for them,

but only reveal themselves
without us knowing.

We cross their borders easily.

But these doors slam on us
within seconds,

and our destiny moves in a direction
we could have never imagined.

This might seem completely bizarre,

but what drove me crazy was a scent,

the scent of a woman,

incredible and mesmerizing.

The only thing that counted for me

was to find this woman
and her fascinating scent.

After several efforts
I was finally accepted into her palace,

but of course she refused
to reveal her secret to me.

The scent came from afar,

as if from the desert or beyond.

Before leaving, taken by pity,
she gave me her veil.

But the next morning,
the scent had practically disappeared.

I realized to what extent
my happiness was fragile.

What to do?
Where to go?

I return to Paris, and a month later
I receive your first letter and pictures.

Hi Gerard; from all my heart,
I write you these lines...

and I hope that they will find you
in good and perfect health.

I am born in the countryside of Atlas,
about 50 kilometers from Marrakech.

Now, I live in Nador, far from my family...

because not easy to find work in Morocco,
and Nador is a city of commerce.

I hope that you want to visit it,
in spite of its narrowness.

I am even more convinced than ever
that we are really good friends

and I hope that you do not wait
to write me about you come.

Your friend Sa�d.

We write each other for 4 months,

and at the end of august
for my 52nd birthday,

I am in a plane, direction Oujda.

I read in some guides
that your region is quite dangerous.

It is full of drug dealers,
smugglers, weed farmers...

and I will be taking a risk, alone.

Nador...
I have just arrived by group taxi.

You are working someplace
at the market, but where?

You haven't given me any clue.

There was only one thing I could do:
leave in search of the perfume merchant.

I walked for days,
nights, weeks, even.

I met interesting people,
but not a single clue.

I had to fight against thirst.

I couldn't believe it;
there he was.

I had finally found his trace.

I think you are so hot.
Your clients too, I imagine.

They must like your olives
much more than your neighbour's.

I have so many questions to ask about you.

What do you want from me?
A pen-pal? A boyfriend?

A lover? A sugar-daddy?

We find a hotel room with difficulty;

I feel much better there than in a 5 star.

The receptionist tells me
that you've paid for the night,

the equivalent of two days of your work.

I want to pay you back, but you refuse.
You are even more stubborn than I am.

I hold you in my arms as would a close friend.

Who is watching? Who is watching?

You are afraid to be seen.
Is this a good sign or a bad sign?

Studio photo.
You want to immortalize our reunion.

I recognize the waterfall decoration
which you are particularly fond of.

You are surprised that I am not married
and that I have no children.

For the picture,
I choose the sofa for newlyweds.

I want you so badly.

When we go to the hotel after diner;

I will try to be very direct about
my desire for you, without imposing.

But if you happen to be shocked,
or even not interested,

I will deal with it and stay your friend.

What did you take for lunch?

Sardines, calamars and a salad.

Head to head finally in my room;

you sit by my side,
I put my arm around you.

You let yourself go in my arms
and I feel the excitement in your boxers.

Wonderful.

The strength of your arms.

Your captivating sensuality.

You are very moved.

This is your first time with a man.
And I feel it's the same for me too.

He invited me to discover a new scent

even more extraordinary.

We are thrusted into a tornado,

and he tells me the story of his life,

as if to a brother with an infinite confidence.

He admitted that he was not a man like others,

but a "djinn", an Arabian angel.

Without asking your boss,

you had someone replace you at work,
in order to take a walk with me.

We take a tour at Melilla,
a Spanish territory since the 16th century.

Moroccans can go there during the day...

on the condition that they cross
the border before nightfall.

You are a bit tense.
I am teaching you how to use the camera.

This is a fixed shot.
Do you understand what that means?

I am travelling on you.

1, 2, 3, 4, you press.

At the beach.

Moroccan men swim in shorts;
you have forgotten yours.

I lend you my swimming trucks
and admire you non-stop.

Third day in Nador.

Your boss is upset because
you left yesterday without telling him.

He refuses you the eight days
of vacation to travel with me.

So, I am going to stay here.

I am filming Nador.
It is a little boring.

You do not want me to come and see you
at the market to avoid jealousy.

I read your letters
as I sit in front of my hotel.

Dearest my friend.

I work every day from 8 in the morning
until 7 in the evening,

even on Sunday.

I get paid 1000 dirhams,
about 100 euros a month.

About my job, I feel good with my clients...

because my spirit is good,

and when I get off work...

I go to the gym to work-out.

I just want a simple life,
filled with joy and happiness...

that I want to share with you
and with my family.

At evening I wait for you at the hotel.

Sometimes, it is a bit too long for me.

Here is the movie star
that I have been waiting for all the day!

It's going ok and you,
good physical condition?

At night time, I hold in my arms the most
handsome guy in the world.

Let me see your arms.

But I am not a marin's wife;
I want to travel;

I go alone by bus;
I will be back to see you in a few days.

There it is, love has struck.

The author of these images
is on a flying carpet;

he is building a dream life with his loved one.

No matter the difficulties, the distance,
the language barrier;

the difference of age and motivations;

"Gerard the Invincible" ignores
the advices of prudence;

he feels home here,

he likes this region austere
and the generosity of the Berbers;

he is pleased with his travelling companions,
the bus driver who looks over him,

the woman who stuffed him
with bananas and colourful yogourts,

the motion sick children.

First stop at Al Hoceima.

The port at six in the evening.

I do not even recognize myself.

For the first time in my life,
I am fascinated by a port;

and Sa�d I know you are part of that.

5 o'clock in the morning.
I've got a bus to take.

Here is I and Samir;
he is a student in Rabat.

Say hello to France!

Samir and Gerard, still euphoric,
talk about everything under the sun,

during the time of a bus trip.

Moroccans travel a lot, but rarely for tourism.

They travel mostly for family,
religious or professional reasons.

For Gerard, it is a dip into the past.

The 60's. I am 15 years old.

It is my first trip to the Maghreb.

My mother and I are on
vacation at some friends.

King Hassan II is celebrating
the birth of his son, Mohamed,

in the holy city of Moulay Idriss.

Here we are, some Europeans
in a human sea.

The royal guard lines us up
to see His Majesty pass.

And the child whose birth
we then celebrated...

is now the king of the country.

Sa�d, 20 seconds of meditation
about the condition of Moroccan donkeys.

Meknes.

Because of the heavy French presence
in the past,

we feel a bit chez nous here.

When I was hippy,
people called me Jimmy Hendrix.

Yeah, I was a hippy in 1964

I used to wear a beard,
very large blue jeans, a huge belt,

a dress-shirt with a collar;

I had a lot of hair, and a bandana.

Everyone called me Jimmy Hendrix.

My father has been dead for two years,
at the age of 62.

My father has been dead for six months.

Before he died, he ate with us,
he was happy, he gave us advice.

He never smoked, never drank.

He never went to the hospital,
he did not like medicine,

when he was sick he boiled plants
and he would drink them,

with the 45 spices.
Do you know them? The aphrodisiaques.

The head of the shop...

The 45 spices. The aphrodisiaques.

Sa�d, I know why you've got
so much power over me.

I must be under the effects
of the 45 spices.

The medina has not much changed
since my childhood;

I place the foot of my camera
at every street corner;

people are very patient with me.

There is nothing here to see.

Yes, people who walk by.

There is just one problem:

I ate stuffed spiced sardines
and my stomach can not put up with it!

Between every photo shoot,
go to every toilet in the old city!

Did you already visit the Turkish toilets?

They do not have any toilet paper;
only a sprinkling of water to clean yourself.

This changes everything;

the direct contact between your fingers
and your excrements...

gives you a different understanding of life,

and especially the way
of the people who lives here.

Fez.

It's true that it is magnificent,

but I am still sick with my stomach

and the heat here is too much.

All the hotels are full, and I could
only find this uncomfortable room,

and I am starting
to miss you more and more.

At night, I am refreshed little by little.

At 200 kilometers from Fez
lies Chefchaouen,

Gerard intends to go there tomorrow.

He hopes to spend one night there
before returning to his lover.

But he ignores the power
of the sacred city on poets,

artists, dreamers and weed-smokers.

I know it, because this is my territory.

Chefchaouen, I arrive on market day.

I do not smoke marijuana,
but I feel without gravity.

Is the air of the city
infused with it?

My time machine lost its tracks somewhere
on a planet where, I feel, I have already lived.

Why not?

His genes must have saved
the memory somewhere.

In the year 718, the South of
France was occupied by Arabs.

Gerard was born
in the South West of France.

After they were chased out, many of the
Arabs stayed and converted to Christianity.

I do not stop filming,

as if this decoration and these characters
were going to disappear;

as if I were living my last minutes on earth.

I decide to stay two days more.

Sa�d, you have never been here before.

I am recording these images so that
we can see them together in Nador.

I want to share with you
how much I love this place,

and to rid you of
the desire to live in France.

I see us here, happy... a real family...
living here forever.

In the caf�s of the Place Outta Haman.
I sympathize with some of the tourists;

I guide them, despite the hot weather;
to my quest for highness.

Blood...

In these mountains,
I see blood everywhere.

1921, the Protectorate;

2000 Rifan people
with their chief, Abdelkrim,

win a war against 60.000 Spanish people,
so they control over the region.

Marshal Petain is at the head of
the French and Spanish armies.

With 800.000 men, planes,

toxic gas, and thousands of canons,

he annihilates the braves combatants.

Sa�d my dear,

it's time to get back together.

On the way, I stop again at Al Hoceima.

Hotel Oriente, about 4 euros per night.

Barely arrived,

Youssef, the young director
forces me to party.

We get fresh beer
and take a taxi to the beach.

He tells me that he has just spent
five years in prison,

because he was caught with his father
in a plane full of hash.

We passed the jailhouse where,

at the age of 15, he had to sleep crouched
because the cell had too many people.

Poor Youssef.
He is missing a few teeth,

he has bad leg, but he isn't angry
with his father for the journey.

He asks me to shoot him so that
he can find a French woman to marry.

He wants her to know that he has a house
on the Mediterranean sea,

a hotel, some land,

and that he does not belong
to the mafia, any more.

There it is! The announce has been made.

Because of poverty,
numerous are the Rifan people...

who left the country
to look for work in Europe.

They return here for vacation,

using the money earned abroad...

to build a large home for the entire family.

Nador... Finally, here you are.

You introduce me to your boss.

Now, you are proud to be seen with me
despite the pretend jealousy.

I meet several of your colleagues.

They are happy for you because
you have found a way to France.

I am more watched than ever.

We are having a drink
at the palace hotel;

you have your first beer;
you feel a little guilty.

So? How do you like it?

Later on...

we head back to the photo studio.

We feel at home here.
Everybody knows us.

You have never been so happy,

and I think it is because of your first beer.

Internet,

second initiation of the evening
to correspond with me when I return to Paris.

Will you be able to understand the
instructions, as they are written in French?

You are so handsome.

Luckily, your boss
gave you two days of vacation!

We have just arrived in Oujda
where I have my return flight.

The bar of the swimming pool,
known for its relaxing vegetation

and the beautiful blue basin
with no water.

I promise to do everything
to help you come to France...

starting with vacation
to be sure that the climate suits you.

How is my Berber?

The next day I wake up at 6 o'clock.

I gently caress you with my lips
not to wake up you.

During my return flight, I am worried,

as one is for a child who embarks out
on his own for the first time.

I am afraid that
you will be faced with difficulties,

and that, from Paris, I will not be able
to help or advise you.

I also feel a little guilty;

I am afraid that because of me,
you have discovered alcohol,

sex, and superficial pleasures of life.

What a surprise it is to find
my first email from you.

Dearest Gerard.

It is really good that
you taught to me internet.

I just got my passport
that I asked for six months ago.

Sa�d like to live in Europe and
exactly in France if my God wants it,

and with your help, kind sir Gerard.

Thank you for everything you are doing
for me, my dearest friend,

and naturally I am indebted to you.

Byby my Gerard, I love you.
Your loyal friend Sa�d.

All the hours I have spent with you
play and replay in my memory;

at work, I only think about you;

at night, I watch the films we've made.

I send you an email, and then
I fall asleep held against you.

Our letters are much too conventional,
in my opinion.

"Friendship, brotherhood, loyalness."

At the risk of shocking you,

I bluntly describe what I want to do with
your body and cock when we will meet again.

26 October; my dear;

It is with a real pleasure
and a profound emotion...

that I read your application for my love.

Indeed, a big attraction responds
to the sentiments...

that you expressed in such
a simple and captivating way.

It is therefore with assurance, Sir,
that I accept thee proposition...

and I consider thee as my fianc�
from this moment,

on authorizing thee
to come visit me as such.

I waitist thee with pleasure.
Sa�d and Gerard, in love.

What a remarkable literary style!

For someone who speaks
very little French.

You talk about engaging me,
and why don't we have a wedding?

We will celebrate it in Chefchaouen,
at night, during the summer.

I imagine it.

Who will be in the palanquin
of the bride? You or me?

Knowing that young Moroccan girls
are not to be touched before marriage,

I ask what your sexuality is
when I am not there?

Your response is fairly enigmatic.

Gerard darling,

I understood thy question.

My dearest friend, listen to me.

It is true that you can never judge
a book by its cover.

Therefore, one must never buy a lot of books
based only on the cover;

for one will then be set up
for disappointment.

Hugs and kisses. I love you.
Your darling Sa�d.

All of the sudden, I have not heard
from you in eight days... fifteen days.

I know the password to your email account
since we made it together.

I open it and I see that my last messages
have not yet been read.

What is the matter?

I am imagining the worst:

Someone has discovered our
letters and excoriated you?

Are you in jail, troubled by the religious
extremists, obligated to hide?

2 November. My dear friend.

No, I have not forgotten you,

but my schedule has kept me, dear sir;
from responding to thy latest letter.

Your warm words have encouraged me
to follow the path to a bright future,

because you have always been to me
a good friend...

who pushes me to the most
sublimed goals in life.

First, I quit the job at my store.

Now, I make free business
between Melilla and Nador.

It is difficult and prohibited.

Once, I was pushed and fell down.

See you soon dear friend, I shake thy face
in friendship. Your friend Sa�d.

I have finally gotten a proof of
housing form approved by the city hall.

You should receive a visa in two months.

In the meanwhile, we are scheduling
to meet next February in Morocco.

You suggest to go to the south,
to the village where you grew up.

The South, 1986.

It is my third stay alone in Morocco
where I am preparing for a television movie.

It is about a perfume merchant.

For ten days, I move around lonely,
fascinated, euphoric;

I discover the beautiful valleys,
the desert, the oasis;

I meet very nice people.

At night, I have some sexual adventures.

My certainty about homosexuality
is put into question.

Here, no one is homosexual.

People get married, have children;

however, young women
must be virgins until marriage;

so the guys are much more fraternal;

so are the girls.

It is so hot,
it smells good under the palm trees.

The senses must be released,
and only the sky can attest to it.

31 December.

I would have liked you to be near me
to take in the New Year,

but fate wanted that we be separated
at this strategic moment of life,

also, wishing that the year coming
be happy for you and I,

wishing you happiness and
a New Year in success.

I stopped smuggling, and now,
I work in a nice restaurant.

It is OK I will be at the Rabat airport,

and I hope we will have good time together.

Waiting for you, I send you
my sweetest kisses.

The one who loves you.

Finally, the month of February.

I can't believe you're here!

Barely arrived, you introduce me
to your butcher cousins,

in the suburbs of Rabat.

They show us the quality
of their meat products...

and they are a bit upset
that I prefer to sleep at the hotel...

instead of sharing with them
the room reserved for men.

The next day,
we take a rental car to Marrakech.

I brought you a cell phone,

cassette tapes to learn French,

and the proof of housing form.

When we arrive,
we have trouble finding a hotel...

because you are Moroccan and I am French.

We feel a bit under surveillance.
You are uneasy.

We walk the medina,
but don't stay too close to one another.

Europeans often come here
to purchase houses, at a cheap price.

On the outside of the ramparts, there are
more and more slams and luxurious hotels...

who are invading the palm grove.

To protect the foreign money,

the police is on the look out for gigolos,
fake tour guides and thieves.

Small white trucks bring
anyone who looks suspect.

Gerard flashes back 15 years earlier.

1986...

2 months after the preparation,
I am filming in Marrakech.

This time, I am the director.

The story is not easy:
a group of amateur filmmakers visit Morocco.

Each one of them must film
his personal vision of the country.

But one of the team members,
the beautiful Fanette, is assassinated.

All the participants are suspect.

The inspector watches the various films

and tries to find the murderer.

One of the members of the group

directs a love story between
a Frenchman and a spirit

ho came to earth
to be a perfume merchant.

Direction, south.

We get off the road,

follow a path,

and finally arrive
at the oasis of your father.

How will your family welcome me?

Will they accept our relationship?

You reassure me. We are just friends,
and everything will be OK.

Presentation to your cousin Moustafa
and Abdallah your younger brother.

Your father arrives by foot
from the village 10 km away.

Are the sheep yours?

Your father's?

Tea time.

The water comes from the well;
it is carried on the backs of donkeys.

You are proud that I accompany you.

My presence is disturbing the serenity
of the countryside.

No electricity,
the television is battery powered.

Eat!

Welcome lunch:

bread, olive oil, biscuits and almonds.

To be honest,
here is my simple biography...

that I consider a revision of what
I have done since my childhood.

I am a country boy and my mentality
comes from the nature in which I was born,

and that means that
everything is traditional:

clothes, habits.

It's where people are timid
and do good.

And I am of course Muslim
since my grandfather.

My mother died
when I was ten years old;

she was not sick, but one day
she went to sleep and it was finished.

My grade school was about
10 kilometers from the farm,

and every day I would
walk there to study.

It was hard because my father wanted me
to work in the garden to plant vegetables.

I think I have told to you
everything about my childhood.

Anyhow, I hope that those lines
have some worth in this life who is hard.

Smiles, the respect of the other,

the sense of community,

the devotion of the youngest to the oldest,

the wiseness of the father
who has been several times to Mecca.

There is also a lot of intelligence
on the woman's side.

While avoiding the camera,
their perception towards the foreigner...

stays natural, full of humor,
and never bothered.

In the room reserved for men,
we have some chicken.

Once dinner is finished,

the father returns to his wife,

others watch television...

and, in the darkness,
Gerard and Sa�d,

huddled together under the same cover,

are discreetly caressing each other.

The cold outside,

the sheep in their cabins,

the snow of Atlas that dominates.

Protected by the mud walls,

they fall asleep on sheep skins.

Allo, how are you?

Where are you now?

In Wazouga.

Where is that?

In the family.

Are you thinking about me?

Very good, but not a few.

No, I think about you a lot;

What do you tell me?

I love you, life.

You love me for life?

Yes.

Is that true?

Yes, it is true.

And you?

Yeah, I love you for life.

Too bad.

What's too bad?

That you are so far away;

I am in Morocco and you are
in France. You are so far...

the ocean and all.

I'm coming to see you.

Here, right at your side,
I discovered the scent called "happiness".

We could live a story of love
simple and natural,

despite the force of tradition.

We could start a family.

Strolling in Atlas...

for the first time in your life,
you discover the joys of tourism.

And I rediscover
the pleasures of love:

complicity, moments of tenderness,

an exchange of knowledge,

erotic games,

crazy laughter;

From now on,

I know that such moments
are the true joys in the craziness of life.

What did he say?

In the mountain of Toubkal,
a tourist died in the snow.

Really? When?

In the snow? An avalanche?

Oui, an avalanche.

Far away from the road,
we arrive by foot in a Berber village.

I am afraid to take out my camera
and bother the residents.

On the contrary, as foreigners,
we are quite welcome here.

One, two, three, four...

The country house!

Sa�d, would you like us to get a house here?

Yes, I will get a loan for a nice house
with mountains, trees, forest.

A beautiful home,
attracts our attention.

The head of the family invites us inside,
introduces us to his family

and tells us to make
ourselves comfortable.

He serves tea and, without
prior planning, shares a delicious meal.

Yes I come.

At this moment, I only have one wish:

be one with you, and become Berber.

And Sa�d only has one desire:

to become French.

Unfortunately,

the proof of housing form
delivered by the city hall of Paris...

will be useless,

even for vacations.

He would need
a serious employer in Morocco,

and enough money in the bank
to guarantee his immigration.

He has never had
a pay check in his life!

So, there are only
two possible solutions:

a marriage with an European girl...

or a current and valid work contract.

Thank you. I shall return.

How is it going?

I am fine, and very happy with Sa�d.

What? Repeat.

I am very happy with Sa�d.

Why?

Because Sa�d
is the love of my life.

Now, what about you.

What happened? What is this story?

Is it love?

Tell me: is it or is it not love?

Is there love between the Frenchman
and the Moroccan?

Yeah, it's love.

Is it a small love or a big love?

Small or big?

Big.

There, now we are very happy.
We had a good time together.

And now, we are going
to separate tomorrow.

When do we got
to see each other again?

In France, right?

If you can.

Yes in France, because
I want to visit France. Yes.

I'll do everything for it.

Oh... Look at the birds!

How much? 5 dirhams?

Let's free them!

Softly.

They've been hurt!

This one is about to die.

It is free, but it is going to die,

and it won't even make a good meal.

There it is.

It will not die.

Last night in Casablanca...

and everyone does his own thing.

Paris;

I am sad;

the dream was too beautiful;

I fear returning to reality.

First email.

I am writing to thank you
for thy mobile and the vacation.

I had a very beautiful moment
with you, really.

Unfortunately someone has taken
my job at the restaurant.

It is a difficult time for me now.

You need to send me a little money
to pay my rent and my work-outs. Please.

Of course, I am going to help you;

and I suggest that you should have a
training course instead of taking just any job.

I could help you financially
during your studies.

You think this is a great idea;

you choose to learn carpentry.

In France, I have trouble
finding you a job contract.

You do not have any education,
you do not speak French.

And if, by chance, I find a job,

I am overpowered by bureaucracy, money,
and all the patience we will need.

Studying carpentry is
more serious than coming to France.

You barely send me mails anymore.

Your love confessions have stopped.

I am the one who is keeping
in contact with you regularly.

You are always charming
and optimistic,

but your behaviour is worrying me.

I secretly visit your email account...

and I find out that
you got connected to sex sites.

You declare your love to Corine, Irene, Nelly;

you exchange photos, telephone numbers,

kisses, and plans to hook up in Morocco.

But when you propose marriage,
your beauties no longer exist.

By a strange irony, I realize
that everything I taught you:

internet, cell phone, progress in French,
turns against me.

Depressed,
I do not give you anymore signs of life.

After three weeks, I hear finally your voice.

Hey Gerard, it's Sa�d.

How are you?

Yes, it's ok. And your mother, how is she?

She is ok.

And how are your friends?

They are all ok.

I have not heard from you since...

I have not heard from you, either.

I am so busy at work.

Don't forget me!
Don't forget me. I love you.

I say to myself that because of the distance,
it is not easy to understand one another,

maybe there is a misunderstanding;

that the money I have been sending you
is destroying our relationship.

So that we can start over again,
let's set a date to meet.

How about eight days in Chefchaouen?

That city I liked so much.

We will find wood artisans
who might interest you a bit.

My mother and a girlfriend
will accompany me.

2.7 May. Dearest my friend,

your letter from last night
stopped my worries.

I quit carpentry.

I am selling olives again, and I earn more money.

Don't believe that I am so busy
with jobs that I forget you.

I always think about thee,

and thy darest not leave me one step.

My darling, we will see each other
in Chefchaouen "In Ch'Allah".

Sa�d and Gerard for life, ok?

"In Ch'Allah", some letters, one philosophy.

No matter the projects, the ambitions,

it is only God who has the last word.

It is nonsensical to force nature,

to be obsessed with one's own success,

because fatality is there to teach us a lesson.

So, open ourselves to others,

and benefit from every moment we get.

Tenth of June, on my way to Chefchaouen.

Before I left, we talked on the telephone.

You were furious
that your boss exploited you,

and you are more determined
than ever to leave,

even in a prohibited way.

During our meeting,
I will tell you not to do it.

I want to convince you
that your country is great.

Learn how to live there
despite the constraints,

and why not live with me "in ch'Allah".

One's worries are another's hopes.

I am getting ready,
I am making myself pretty.

It is almost my turn to go.

You just had a problem at work.

You will meet me in two days.

I am worried, I propose to leave
the two ladies I am staying with,

and to travel the eight hours it takes
to get to you.

But you want to make the trip.

I read again your letters
as I wait for you patiently.

My Gerard.

I read thy letter from October 22nd
with a great joy.

I hasten to admit that it ended the sadness
caused by our difficult separation.

I love thy words so warm and affectionate.

They have touched my heart and...

I would have wanted to help you to light the
happiness that you are looking for by my side.

In the meanwhile, I work-out a lot in order
to be strong, patient and courageous.

Believe my dear Gerard in the most
affectionate feelings of my life.

For the young here, flirting with girls
must be kept secret;

to occupy themselves there is weed,
internet, soccer and working out.

While transforming themselves
into karate stars,

these youngsters live a healthy life...

that gives them the impression
of getting over their difficulties.

It is not a mistake that our voyageur
crosses these young athletes in his path;

I am here for something;

I have my plan.
He has not to leave the city.

Two days have passed,
and you have still not arrived.

I cannot reach you by telephone.

I meet up with my guide Amin...

and we go hiking into
the mountains to calm me down.

Weed,

I am only filming it, but
it has such a calming effect on me.

Weed farming was allowed
by King Mohamed V...

so that the Rifan people
might have a source of income.

That was fifty years ago;

and he couldn't imagine how much
the Europeans would like hash.

Bizarrely, the farming is still legal,
but its selling is prohibited.

The business helps 1.000.000
Rifan people to survive,

but it also sends
many youngsters to prison.

To occupy myself, I visit
several homes for sale.

The small central patio is adorable.

One of the houses really seduces me.
It isn't very expensive.

The ideal niche for our love.

But I do not have any money.

I could get a loan from the bank, but Sa�d,

what good is there to invest in Chefchaouen
if you are not there to meet me?

Here we are in my territory,
the Andalous quarter,

built at the end of the fifteenth century,

when the Arabs were chased out of Spain.

This used to be a
prestigious neighbourhood, but, today,

the habitants are more attracted
to the modern constructions outside of the city.

Expedition in Asila,

a very nice place, but I am not there.

I am getting more and more discouraged
by the obstacles that keep separating us:

distance, the tiny bit of vocabulary we use,

the bullshit for getting you a visa.

Four languages are spoken in Morocco:

Arabic and three distinct Berber dialects.

You only speak southern Berber;

how can you get out of
the bureaucratic difficulties?

And, do you really want a future with me?

Larache,
the city where Jean Genet lived.

Homage to him on his grave.

Gerard identifies with the poet
and his lovers.

Reflexions about the briefness
of his passage in this world.

Return to an important event in his life.

The 60's, my first trip to the Maghreb.

I am just 15 years old,

on vacation at the home
of our friends in Casablanca.

One evening, the family
goes to soccer game

"France versus Morocco" I think.

I do not much care for soccer,
so I stay at home with the domestics.

One of them comes to talk with me,
in my bedroom on the first floor.

Ahmed, he is 21 years old.

He confesses to me
that he has sex with a man for money.

He gives me all the details.

I'm bothered;
he proposes a free initiation.

I am afraid, I am shaking,

but at any rate I jump out
of the window to join him in the garden.

The next day, I go to Marrakech
for the first time with my family.

It is the Paradise on earth;

and however, at the hotel Mamounia,

I feel like I have committed a horrible sin.

For years, I will try to forget "France
versus Morocco" in the arms of women.

Only at twenty will I accept my difference.

On my return to Chefchaouen,
I finally have you on the phone.

You are not coming
because of problems with your boss;

this boss for whom
I have a bad recollection.

You ask me to come
but my stay is just about over,

the car is not in a very good state,

and I am very disappointed
by your flakiness.

Unavoidable flakiness,
Sa�d is alone in Nador.

His family is
at the other end of the country.

Sa�d could lose his job at any time,

and he always fears the next day.

Gerard only has two days left of vacation.

At least he should spend them in good spirit.

Under my influence, Jalel and Faouzy
suggest a friendly walk on the beach.

Gerard cannot resist such manly propositions.

Jalel and Faouzy.
Two serious, religious and happy guys.

One of them is a plumber
and the other a mason;

But work is rare and
so underpaid in Chefchaouen.

Brothers of them
have found a job in Europe.

They are jealous
and they have one obsession:

cross the 20 kilometers that
separate them from the Spanish coast.

But the army is watching
on illegal immigration.

They build the tent for the night.

But Gerard must not dream:
he will sleep there alone.

I am not always attracted to Arabs,
but I feel good with men from your country;

your simplicity,

your happy mood,

your brotherhood, your natural sensuality,

the absence of masculine competition.

Back to Paris,
I still have the same empty sensation.

I cannot stop thinking
about the house for sell. I talk about it.

The fact that wo did not meet
obsesses me completely;

I reach for my telephone.

Hey, Sa�d. It's Gerard.

How are you?

I am ok, how about yourself?

I'm ok. And your mother?

She is ok.

Why you not come in Nador?

Because it was too late
when you told me about it.

It's too bad.

Do you want me to come this summer?

Yeah, I do.

Rejoice!

In august, I am taking
fifteen days of vacation...

alone this time,
to come see you in Nador.

I am going to drive there through Spain.

I send you an email
to tell you when I am coming.

No response...

I do it again... still nothing...

Despite the many times I call,
your cell phone is absolutely dead.

Again, I am imagining the worst.

"Shipwreck of Moroccan in Sicilia."

Perhaps you want to break up
with me without admitting it?

To be sure, I create an email account
under the name of "Fanette from Paris";

I write you having seen your picture
on the internet and finding you handsome.

Your answer is:
Dear Fanette.

I received thy letter
which touched my heart.

You have certainly heard
about Morocco;

I would not tell thee that it is a country unlike
any other with its historical and artistic monuments.

Moreover, while strolling
in the countryside of my region,

we meet a lot of castles
and mansions lost in the greenery.

Come and visit me as soon as possible.

You will be strongly reimbursed.

While hoping of your news,
please accept my best wishes. Sa�d.

I am reassured that you are ok,
but also very sad.

Aside from your physical attraction,
you were the future for me,

an extension of myself,

an inspiration at every moment.

I am sending you a last letter,
without alluding to my manipulation.

Dear Sa�d,

thank you for the good moments
that we spent together,

I loved you a lot and I wish you
happiness in your life.

Good bye, Gerard.

Hey, it's Sa�d. Why did you write that?

I have not heard from you.
You do not answer your mobile.

I lost it.
I have a lot my work.

It is not good. Why did you say this?

Do you want me
to come see you in Nador or not?

Yes I do. I will take
a two day vacation to travel with you.

It's OK.

Good bye, kisses.

I love you.

I love you too.

The eighth of august.

Tired because of my travel,
I stay one day in Chefchaouen...

before moving on to Ketama,
and then Nador.

It is once again the season of marriages.

I am curious to go and see the house I liked.

It has not yet been sold.

The better for me,

things will happen as
they have already been planned.

In the city, backpackers are coming back.

I read again your last letter,
short, but full of promise.

My huge cock.

I am so happy that you are coming in Nador.

I love life with you for sex.

My "Ayatti", l really like sex with you. Sa�d.

I am overwhelmed with love,

and I am driving on the road
that frightened me three months earlier.

I forwarded my phone calls to Morocco.

As happiness does not come by itself,

a girlfriend called me this morning
to find out if I was going to purchase the house.

I told her no;

I don't have the money;
it is an inaccessible dream.

My friend likes to make dreams come true;

she advances me the money
that I need to purchase it.

On my way,
I come across a wedding ceremony,

a family enriched by weed farming.

One of them speaks French
and invites me to the evening party.

Every man has in his pocket
a nice plaque of hash.

This party should be crazy!

I refused the invitation;

I am excited to see you again, my love,

to tell you what I want to buy...

my house... your house.

Nador...

We have a meeting tonight at my hotel.

Finally! Six months without seeing you.

That is for you.

Thank you very much.

I find you a bit changed
but still nice, frank, natural.

I ask you what "My Ayatti" means,

the name which you have given me
in your latest letter.

Your response is "my life".

I am trying to understand
how you write such precious letters!

Your explanation is a bit vague:

some books, phrases already written,
and you adapt them to you.

At the restaurant,
we get along so well together.

We caress each other under the table;

I realize how much, from a distance,
I was worried for nothing.

After having made love, you tell me
that you have found a woman to marry,

a Spanish woman from Tenerife.

You expect me to be furious.

But how could I be?
I feel so good right now.

You picked a good time
to give me such bad news.

We kiss in the bathroom,

I look at myself in the mirror,
I am a bit taken by the difference of age.

You are going to get married?

Well, are you happy?

Very happy.

I am going to build a little my house. With euh...

You are working at the market today,

but tomorrow, you are taking
two days off to be with me.

I reserved for us a marvelous
bungalow on the beach.

While, waiting for it, in this garden,
I think about our adventure.

You seem to be happy with your
marriage; I don't really feel excluded.

You wanted to live in Europe.
You have reached your goals.

Once you got your visa,
you want to come see me in Paris.

The serenity of this place
gives me a lot of hope for the future,

but it's the quiet before the storm.

Last meal, last shot of you
but I don't know it yet.

Why are you upset?
What's cooking in your head?

Are you tired, Sa�d?

A little bit.

You didn't get much sleep, huh?

Are you sleeping in the hotel tonight?

What are you thinking about?

I am not thinking.

Did you work a lot today?

Like always.

When we leave the table, you will tell me that...

the two days you took for vacation have
been reduced to one, because of your boss.

And you have to spend this day with your
future wife to prepare for the marriage.

Fuck!

I have but one desire:
to leave as soon as possible,

to never again return to Chefchaouen.

I will not purchase this house
and I will stop filming.

We meet in bed;

you are sad but
you want to make love;

I don't.

I finally do it to soothe my pain.

That night I have a nightmare.
I am a carnival drag-queen.

Ah my sweet,
are not as beautiful as you think.

You are fake and I am real.

You piece of shit,
I'll get you back!

To calm my anger,

I pick the wildest itinerary,
the most dangerous path.

How can I stop this marriage?

There it is, I have an idea.

I am going to go back to Nador
and find your whore.

What have you to say, professor?

When I finally arrived in this sandy country,

I really did not know there was such mystery.

I will tell you how this place made me able,
to be confronted with the incredible.

In this film Gerard is the character,
and I, the crazy man, I am the master,

Of this poem and fascinating story.
Look to the clouds to find my glory.

The scent is a symbol of warm friendship,

which carries us in a golden ship.

I am not jealous, but I killed his whore,

to protect him from her claws, forevermore.

I renounce my revenge;

I intend to destroy my films
and to bury myself in the desert.

The heat there in the summer
in unbearable;

I might get to die in it.

After one last night in the north
I will head towards the Sahara.

Catastrophe!

My plan is about to be ruined.

I must react quickly.

Gerard must return
to Chefchaouen at all costs!

In the city whore he rests for the night,
only one person can change his mind.

I will do everything so that
they might run into each other.

What is your name?

Sliman.

Hello Sliman.

In a cafe in Taounat,
I met a very surprising young man.

The alcohol dealer of the city,

he does his business at night time
in a demolished area.

He does not leave me,

tells a friend to take over his business,
and he wants to walk with me to Chefchaouen.

If he could help me to stop
thinking about you day and night.

Fascinated by his broad shoulders
and determination,

I postpone my flee to the desert.

Hi cousin, how are you?

As a child, I had many dreams.

I like to disguise myself,
and I fear masculine surroundings.

I hate team sports.

Each summer, I spend one month
at my father's place in Bordeaux;

He wants me to participate in a soccer game.

I refuse, I do not know how to play.

I am afraid of the strong and muscled guys.

My father enrolls me anyhow.

I hide at the last minute.

The team is pissed-off,
and my father punishes me.

Sliman...

I film him because he fascinates me.

And by filming him
I understand little by little...

my attraction to big arms, rough men.

This is not a desire of revenge,

but rather a reconciliation.

Approaching the beast,

mastering my own fear,

confronting his physical force,

being his equal,

discovering his fragility, his femininity,

becoming one with him,

being myself the beast.

Sliman talks a lot about women,

but he secretly watches me as I shower.

I do not know what he wants from me,
and I do not even want to know.

After three days in Chefchaouen,
he takes a bus to return home.

Finally, the purchase has been made.

I am satisfied.

People are taking good care of me,

I am repaired,

I am looked after,

I am worshipped,

I am decorated,

I am becoming more and more beautiful.

It is a fearless warrior
who built me after the fall of Grenade.

His force was divine,

his courage without comparison;

after terrible combats
against the Christians,

he finally learned peace, here...

in the freshness of my old stones.

Sa�d, although I work hard
in my new house,

I find myself alone and I miss you a lot.

My camera should have been
the witness of my happiness,

but now, these images are intolerable.

How to take distance? Rise above?
Not lose my pride?

I know the solution.

Much time has passed
since the fall of Grenade;

many families have lived
between my walls;

there have been deaths,

passions,

births,

and I was starting to fall asleep.

Then, a child was born
to a very poor family in the medina.

He has grown up;

he has become an adult;

he is magnificent.

He is the courageous warrior
that built me five centuries ago.

He works a lot,

and he succumbs to the needs of his family.

I was put on sale a year ago,

but at a price too expensive for him.

When Gerard came for the first time
into the city,

I thought he would be
the ideal tool to bring my project to life.

I have done everything so that
he becomes the owner.

When Gerard needed a carpenter, it is
of course to the muscular Abdelkader he turns.

Yes, look at me.

He is the one who rebuilds
my doors, my furniture.

He has the key.

He finds pleasure between my walls,
visits me regularly...

You are very handsome.

And I am going to do everything...

so that, one day,
he might return here to live.

In the meanwhile, how will Gerard
be able to deal with the pain?

Sa�d, you were not like other men,
but a djinn,

a spirit from the sky
to help me have a different take on life.

I have finally understood
the real reason of your depart;

the marriage was nothing
but a tool to hide the truth.

The moment has come for you
to return to your people.

Before you go,
you wrote me one last email.

My Gerard,

You and I
will be together again one day.

And so finishes the story of the crazy beggar,

who should not use the wings of wisdom, ever.

Now, you will ask me why having the knowledge,
of this fabulous scent that brings him to the edge...

Hovering above the world of eternity,

he must lead a life pleading for charity.

The spirit left him an ultimate message

now in a precious nest he will find some feathers,

that will carry him to his beloved other.