All language subtitles for Who Is Killing The Great Chefs Of Europe - 1978 Ted Kotcheff black comedy mystery

or the art and way
of seasoning chefs

- You are?
- Loretta?

Mr. Vandeveer,
I can explain.

- Too late, you're fired.
- Mr. Vandeveer!

Open the door, Loretta,
then take it!

Thanks, gras-double!

Beecham! Beecham!

Beecham, why do we have to
to call you 3 times?

Here I am.

I told you
to get Loretta out of here.

A loyal employee.

I found some peanut butter
in his belongings.

No paper cups here.

- Peanut!
- Were you going through his things?

Skeffington, what is this gear?

A project
for the January cover.

This monstrosity would make a hungry
a hungry boa constrictor.

I want red meat,
young philistine,

otherwise I refer you
to your passport photos!

Simply charming,
my little one.

I'd add a lick
to the top.

Beecham,

remove one star from Chez Auguste.

Since yesterday's dinner, I've been producing
more gas than the Middle East.

- Mr. Vandeveer.
- What, Bussingbill?

I had an epiphany
for the Easter Special.

How about recreating

the menu of the Last Supper?

Poor fool.

It certainly is, Bussingbill,

the most indigestible suggestion,
vulgar and macabre

I've ever had the misfortune to hear.

What else do you have in store for me?

Gourmet recipes
of Andean survivors?

What on earth did Jesus eat
that night?

If it's more exotic
than unleavened bread with cream cheese,

a double-page spread.

I don't tolerate
any cans!

Let me have a taste, Soong.

Take a letter for the Queen.
Usual formula:

"May it please Your Majesty

"to be assured
that I have done the impossible

"to create a most exquisite
exquisite meal,

"in the hope that after 40 years,

"my father will finally be forgiven

"for presenting Wallis Simpson

"to your late uncle.

"If you wish to send me
a token of my gratitude,

"I would like to suggest
Barbados.

"I remain your humble
and faithful."

- Pure delight. What was it?
- My lunch.

I'm sure, but still?

Articulate.

Duck leg
with peanut butter.

It's almost 11 a.m,
and you see the doctor at 11:15.

I feel immortal!

Nevertheless,
Mumbala brought the car.

Had he brought the Queen Elizabeth 2,
cancel your order.

What about my café-brioche?

I can't stand a morning
without brioche.

In the car, sir.

- Easy, Lumumba.
- That's not his name.

Give or take a syllable.

Stop grumbling.

Why didn't
didn't he fill my bottle?

And look, no more dried fruit.

They are forbidden to you.

Nonsense! A few kilos of hazelnuts
never killed anyone.

The vegetarian restaurant
on Oxford Street

is the ideal location
for the flagship.

I'll just be a minute.

OK, sir.

Only question: will the vegetarian
to sell?

Hi there!

An American, I bet.

What can I do for you?

Dish of the day,
falafel curd.

Not at all.
I just wanted to say hi.

- Chouette cambuse.
- Thanks a lot.

We're going to be neighbors,
I bought next door.

Really?

That's right!
Ranger Pete's Burger.

100% meat.

Please, not so loud.

Good meat, son,
Longhorn from home!

And I'm Pete the ranger!

Hi, there.

Hello, company!

Hello, little lady!

Yes, all our cattle are slaughtered
on site.

What are they?

Slaughtered on site.
A guarantee of freshness:

"Your burger of the day
was still on legs this morning."

Jesus, Mary, Joseph.

Don't worry, son,
we're going to soundproof.

You won't hear the mallet.

Not a single crack.

Hello, little lady.

So we'll be neighbors?

That's right. Won't that be nice?

Well, I'm off.

When I'm settled in, come...

cut the fat!

Relax,
I'll give you an apron and boots.

So long, cowboy.

And bon voyage!

Answer: yes.

Put it on a pedestal table.

Lumumba, call back.
Oh, hisse!

Take me out without quartering me!

Maximilian,
thank you so much for being so punctual.

"Mr. Vandeveer".

I refuse all familiarities

to anyone
who's poked my rectum.

- Come on.
- Even if you enjoyed the experience.

As you wish...

Mr. Vandeveer.

I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news.
It may be...

would it be better if we...

one on one.

We're on our own.

Silly me.

Well...

I examined your results.

Why don't you take off your overcoat?

Why should I? Will your diagnosis
will hasten the start of summer?

Mr. Vandeveer,
you're not in good health.

Otherwise I'd consult my florist.

Dr. Deere,
how much time do I have left?

It's up to you.

As long as it's not from you.

Mr. Vandeveer,

you suffer from gout,

fatty liver disease,

duodenal ulcer,

spasmodic colopathy,

a breath in the heart,

and severe calcification
of the arteries.

And that's because you're as big
like a herd of elephants.

If you don't lose without delay

half your body weight,
you'll die in 6 months.

Doctor, there's no need to spare me.

Given the enormity of the challenge..,
you'll be able to reduce...

Reduce what?

I forged my destiny
with the strength of my fork.

I am a work of art,

created by the world's greatest
chefs.

Every bead,
a brushstroke,

each capiton, a sonnet,

a concerto on each chin.

In short, Dr. Maboul,
I am neither more nor less

than a masterpiece.

If you don't radically change
your diet,

you're doomed.

Dr. Strangelove,

with so much forbidden fruit,

will I still have a taste for life?

Come on, Beecham.

Farewell, I won't see you again.

I'm afraid so, Mr Vandeveer.

- Now to the Royal Grill.
- What for?

Breakfast, a fascinating concept.

At 11:30 a.m.?

To know the time,
I would have looked at Big Ben.

You heard the doctor!

Although Swiss, Louis Kohner
is the best chef in England.

I won't bomb at his house
when one of us is dead.

Royal Grill, Lumumba.

And quickly,
before I starve to death.

Thank you.

I'll take care of that.

- Martha!
- Herman!

- Are you my driver?
- Please, this way.

Lufthansa would like to ask all passengers
of flight LH49 to Hanover

to go to the boarding lounge.

Did you take the right road?

London is the opposite.

What are you playing at? I want out!

Driver!

Hello?

Can you hear me?

No, I have to whisper.
I was kid...

The icing on the cake.

- So, Max?
- Louis, art, great art.

A Schubert quintet
for the palate.

Oysters poached in champagne,
a divine experience.

The rack of lamb,
an unsuspected discovery.

Cheese.

This is the most creative woodcock
I've ever eaten.

Cheese?

Good God, no,
I have to watch myself.

In that case, come and have a look.

Bernardo.

All that's left is for you to feast your eyes.

And now, what do you say?

Splendid. Where do they come from?

From Trafalgar Square.

Max, where do they come from,
do you think?

From Mrs. Fortescue's, at last!

Its pigeons
are without equal in the world.

I'm counting on you.

When His Majesty has tasted
your pigeon en croûte,

to me the peerage

that passed me by,
last year.

Turn
when you stir in the butter!

Holy crap,
I already told you!

Thanks again, Max,
for choosing me for this banquet.

You and I will triumph,
not forgetting Natasha.

I've never seen her before.
What's it like? Fantastic?

Natasha?

An outstanding pastry chef.

That goes without saying.
But is it appetizing?

Sorry, my lad.

Boulotte, in her fifties,
and a head of flan.

Access is forbidden.

Auguste, what good wind?

Talk to me differently.

A moldy cheese wheel.

That's more like it. Did you know I was here?

You have lunch every day
in this pigsty.

Louis, you know
Auguste Grandvilliers.

How did this... French trash bag
get in?

Sorry, I've tried everything.

Except for the bullet in the knee.

How could you
cause my downfall?

To what do I owe this pantomime?

This.

Your filthy cabbage leaf.

"The most fabulous meal
in the world".

prepared by 4 top chefs.

But without Auguste Grandvilliers.

Why
without Auguste Grandvilliers?

Because I've chosen
the most fabulous cuisine,

not the most overrated.

What do you know about it?
Damn... review!

You've never cooked anything.

You don't need to know how to lay
to recognize a rotten egg.

And then there's Switzerland,
who makes schnitzel?

Auguste, I didn't choose Louis

for his schnitzel,
but his pigeon.

His pigeon?

His pigeon is an infamy.

I wouldn't serve his pigeon
to my cat.

I spit on his pigeon!

You dared to spit on my pigeon?

I spit on you!

Your stuff tastes like dung!

My rabbit,

return to France!

You're sick!

On faith, I'll kill you!

Crazy.

Get rid of it.

I'll kill you!

What do you think?

Mushrooms?
Not bad for the season.

- Hello, Nat.
- Oh, it's you!

I would have preferred
the white slave trade.

Doesn't a husband have the right
to see his wife?

Ex-husband, ex-wife,

and ex-cuse me
an important appointment.

Yes, I heard the news. Good for you.

This mythical hall welcomes you.
I envy you.

- I'll get you an ashtray, okay?
- I've got something to show you.

Robby, it's called kidnapping.

To the height, of course,
of your glorious exploits,

such as adultery.
Let's not forget adultery.

Having sex with his secretary,
is not adultery.

- Is that shorthand?
- I've already forgotten his first name.

Vikki with 2 Ks and zero bras.

Move your ass,
so I can show you something.

Do you still eat junk food?

What are you up to, chicken burger?

Omelette.

Artificial, dehydrated, mail-order?

With fresh eggs!

I'm opening a chain of franchises
in Europe :

London, Paris, Rome, Venice,

Copenhagen and, I hope, Brussels.

Well done.
The same invasion as Hitler.

What do you think?

I hate everything about this project.

So, if I'm not mistaken,
he's going to make you a lot of money again.

That's right, you've never been a fan
of the previous ones.

Your ethnic concept
was bold.

How far have
"Rachel's Pretzels"?

Sold to Columbia Industries
for $3 million.

- What about your soul food chain?
- "Les Entrailles du bon Dieu"?

- Makes you want to.
- Sold too. Four million.

There, it will be
"The House of Cholesterol?

Approach.

This time, I outdid myself.

Ready to go?

"Cot Cot Cot.

- "Cot Cot Cot"?
- Yes.

And you'll make a Big Codette?

To make the chicks cluck.

With you, the world would be a vast
pastel plastic pizzeria.

And? the world loves pizza.

Except yours, made of fine wines,
herbs and little stars.

But the real world, with 4 kids
and $1.89 to feed them.

You want to fight poverty?

Egghead!
1.89 doesn't mean junk.

A good omelette
is easy to make.

I'm looking for a great chef
for the specifications.

We finally get to the
to the whys and wherefores!

I beg your pardon?

- You didn't imagine me...
- Are you crazy?

I have 20 names in mind before yours.

I'll never take this job.
Not in a million years.

I'm sorry I brought it up.

Scout's honor,
I won't do it again.

My last offer: no presence
in the kitchen or anywhere else.

Just your picture on the wall, in a t-shirt,
all smiles.

Why not Vikki, shirtless?

Say yes or no,
but stop being sarcastic.

- Why didn't you stop her?
- From what?

To use my kitchen.

As ravishing as ever.

You flatterer!
You promised me a sequel.

Don't try to trick me.

Come on, the queen won't wait!

You married him without my approval.

And the day you left him,
I sent you a gift.

He must have inspired you intensely,
this water-ice eater.

Was he born of a womb?
like the rest of us,

or a bag of instant flan,
ready to use?

Decorate a little more here,
and watch out for the perimeter.

Hey, the royal chef!

You call them mushrooms?

It's shit!
Shit in a can!

Did you call me, Louis?

In 30 years, I've never seen
such a disgusting fungus.

A little self-control.

The mushrooms of the Empire
are renowned.

But which Empire?
You've lost everything.

Yes, as the saying goes:
"Too many cooks..."

I don't care, it's still crap!

Certainly, but well accommodated...

I should have made the deal
myself.

Are you the real Natasha O'Brien?

Max described a big ugly.

You know, it's funny,
he told me about a fag.

You excite me like a beast.

Your scent alone intoxicates me:

raspberry, vanilla, almond!

- Fred.
- It's okay, it's okay.

Your arms are glistening with sweat.

Sweaty arms drive me crazy.

Beecham.
The hunting list is filling up?

Mr. Ross, it's been a long time.

It's okay to say it.
How's it going?

Mr. Ross is here.

You're welcome to come in.

- Is that what he said?
- Well, not exactly.

Is he the taco king?

Hi, Max.

How's your temple
temple of flask-food?

Fast food, Max.

I'm so sorry.

How many unsuspecting cherubs
poisoned this week?

But you've put on weight again.
You look like a blimp!

- Have you seen a doctor?
- And he gives me 5 minutes to live.

This conversation will be brief.

That's all I ask.

- What new abomination?
- The omelette.

In punctured ping-pong balls?

Who will respect hygiene rules.

An omelette with hygiene.
Does she wash her hands with soap?

Let's see, I give the consumer
what they want!

Nonsense.
You give him nitrate,

phosphate and glutamate.

You're poisoning the proletariat.

You big hypocrite,
you don't care about the proletariat.

You wouldn't throw him a crouton
for gazpacho.

Your species is going extinct.

I know all too well.
Get to the point.

I've come to the point: I need
a chef at the helm. Got any ideas?

I'm sorry. I run a magazine,
not a brothel.

Nice to see you too.

Maybe try Louis Kohner.

He's at Buckingham,
courting your wife.

Oops, sorry. Your ex-wife.

Here we go:
you want it all to yourself.

Obviously.

You enjoyed her body,
but I, his meringues,

soufflés, pastries,
and desserts.

She's an artist,
I offered her a living canvas.

You, the mere prospect
of reproducing.

The capon's lamentations.

I'll take your advice
and call Kohner.

The consommé has been sent.
It's your turn, Louis!

Oh, shit.
Get out of my way!

Open the oven!
And faster than that!

- The spade!
- Here.

OK. Take them out.

Take them all out. And jump!

Natasha, lend me a hand.

Bring the liquid jelly.

Natasha, my angel,
pour the jelly inside.

Where's the watercress?

I need the watercress!

Watercress!

Be careful!

Don't break the tail.
Or the crust. Faster, faster!

- The fragrance is divine.
- Of course it is. It's divine!

Hurry, it mustn't get cold.

Pass the watercress.

Faster, faster!

They have to be
as beautiful as they are good.

Like pigeons
in green pastures.

Real impressionist paintings.

Kandinsky, Fernand Léger, Matisse,
you get the idea.

This is it.

Here we are.

It's magnificent.

Congratulations, Chief.

Don't just stand there!
Send!

Quick, before it gets cold!

Serve hot!

Just a minute! I'm sure I've
I've forgotten an ingredient.

Pigeon, crust,
pork, pheasant, partridge.

Truffles.
Did I put the truffles in? Yes.

Bacon, goose, cognac...
What have I forgotten?

Misery,
no time to redo them.

Remove!

Natasha, reassure me!

You'll have a fit later.
It's my turn.

Remove!

Ladies...

Ladies and Gentlemen,

a certain lady sends her thanks
her thanks.

Louis, Natasha,

His Majesty would like to see you
in the dining room.

She would like to thank you
in person.

How good it is!

Oh, dear!

Louis!

You do it so well.

Slowly, slowly.

- And again.
- Do you like it?

And again. And again!

Yes, you do.
You're my inspiration.

You're incredible, divine.

I love looking at you.

Bitch, you bit me!

I couldn't help myself,
it's so good.

We made sparks fly at the Palais.

You and I make a hell of a pair.

What are you doing?

I sauce you.

I love it. I love it. I love it so much.

Do I look good in red?

Yes. To perfection.

Here. The peck.

Nobody knows me here,
it's for you.

Hello?

This is for you.

Nat, it's me.

Robby. How did you find me?

It's simple, when two cooks
meet...

Hold on, butterfly.

Just so you know,
we're sitting here fully clothed,

and exchange recipes
and nibbles.

- Do you believe me?
- Totally.

- You're wrong, we're fooling around.
- I can see that.

Why are you calling?

Saying goodbye before Brussels.

Goodbye.

When I get back, let's go to the restaurant...

Your invitation is ill-timed.
Goodbye, dear.

Just one more thing,
if you don't mind.

Asks Kohner to consult
for "Cot Cot Cot".

My ex wants you to be a consultant
for his chain of omelette restaurants.

I'd rather die.

I'd rather die," he said.

Go back to sleep,
it's only half past 7.

7:30 doesn't exist.

The day begins at 9 a.m.

I'll fire up my ovens.

Breakfast will be ready
when you wake up.

A dream breakfast.

Yummy.

Yum-yum.

Hello, Pattenrond.

Did you catch a mouse?

You'll get your breakfast
in a minute.

A little patience.

What a nice smell!

I don't know what it is,
but I want some!

Can I help, Louis?

Squeezing oranges, making coffee?

I smell something cooked!

A little too much, in fact!

Miss O'Brien.

Please be seated.

Senior Inspector Blodgett,

and this joker is Brigadier Doyle.

Miss O'Brien,

opening the oven door
and seeing Mr. Kohner,

which, according to the autopsy,
was cooked like a roast,

what did you think?

Nothing. I was too upset
to think.

Did you think you knew
who'd done it?

Could it be someone
from Mr. Kohner's brigade?

- I doubt it.
- Why should you?

He was a stickler for
of meat.

Miss O'Brien,

do you know
Auguste Grandvilliers?

A so-called French chef.

In name, yes.

He had an altercation
with Mr. Kohner, quite violent.

According to witnesses,
he even attacked him.

With a knife.

This is a promising avenue.

Yes. But it's impossible
to get hold of this rascal.

Is it safe to assume
that you spent the night here?

We can.

Was there a third person
in your company?

There were only two of us.

Phone calls?

Not that I...

Yes, Miss O'Brien?

Something's coming back to you,
it seems.

No big deal.

Let me be the judge.

There was a call, but it was for me.

From whom?

Who called you, Miss O'Brien?

No interest.

- Tell me who!
- Robert Ross.

Robert Ross, my ex-husband.

I want you to know...
I don't do this for pleasure.

My eye!

You find it pleasurable,
death, crime,

your kingpin act.
You wouldn't be a cop if you didn't.

Maybe so,

in any case,
we're interested in Mr. Ross.

I even find it fascinating.

Forget it. He's in Brussels.

Hence his appeal.

Hello.
Apparently,

Natasha O'Brien is here.
Robert Ross.

Mr. Ross,
the providential man.

Nat! I've been looking for you.
I heard the news.

Weren't you in Brussels?

I didn't leave because I ran out of pillows.

I hope they don't suspect you.

No, not anymore.

A lot of talk at the Palais.
Farewell to the peerage,

hello exile.

Hi, everybody.
Nat!

Search him.

Whatever your testimony,
I'm suspicious.

Thank you. But according to Agatha Christie,
you need proof.

What kind of weirdo would cook
human flesh?

That's you, Max.

You're ridiculous,
It can't be me.

Only a dilettante would cook
a Swiss product at 230 degrees.

For God's sake, doesn't this tragedy
a little sad?

I'm devastated by grief.

Where to eat now?

- Didn't you like it?
- Yes, I do!

I would have liked Attila
if he had succeeded in making quenelles.

Beecham, reserve for Miss O'Brien

a daytime flight to Venice.

Venice? Just a minute,
I don't want to go.

Yes, kitten,
everyone dreams about it.

You're supposed to be interviewing
Fausto Zoppi.

Please send someone else.

Taratata.
Interview him, get the recipe

and bring me back a divine lobster.

Mr. Vandeveer.

In my way again?
Book the plane, on the trot!

- And a room at the Danieli.
- A suite.

And a round trip
in first class.

There's no way
that I go to Venice!

Refuse, kitten,
and your reputation will suffer:

I'll claim that your whipped cream
has given me hemorrhoids.

I wouldn't swear to it.

Too old.
The fish must be fresh.

It must be... more than fresh.

The intention of my kitchen

is to bring out the flavour
of the product.

My sauce is not concealment,
but revelation!

- Signore Zoppi...
- Fausto.

- Do you come here often?
- Every day.

Zoppi doesn't keep its lobsters
for more than a day.

Afterwards, they suffer, and this modifies
the texture of the flesh.

It's nothing.

One,

two, three, four, five...

I had no idea.

What's the big deal?
I know, that's the main thing.

What more can I say, except that
that you are magnifica?

What is this vegetable?

De la cicoria.

Hands off, bittern!

- What's the matter?
- He pinched me.

It wasn't him.

A lobster, then?

- It was me.
- You?

Obviously.

Could you please explain

why the Italian
pinching at the drop of a hat?

To assess quality.

Tap a melon.
Palpate a cabbage.

A woman is pinched.

The woman comes after the cabbage,
signore Zoppi?

Please, call me Fausto.

You know about Kohner, I imagine.

Madonna, what a tragedy!
I adored that man.

I'm fantastico in bed.
Fantastico!

- Tell me, signore Zoppi...
- Fausto.

Fausto, why not eat
in your restaurant?

I'm closed for lunch on Tuesdays,

to go around
of the competizione.

Today, my good friend
Giancarlo Montebianchi.

You don't eat anything.

Put what comes out of his ovens
into my mouth?

Zoppi only eats
Zoppi's cooking.

- Why did you order so much?
- To simulate wolf hunger.

I have a fantastic body.

You'll love caressing me.

Go on, take over, Fausto.

Where was I?

You were talking about your body.

Yes, it's coming back to me.
My body...

My body.

My body stretched out against yours.

They're made for each other.

Listening to you is fantastic,
Fausto.

I'll kiss your breasts,
like the sun that kisses...

the blushing pomodoro.

- Pomodoro ?
- Tomato.

- Thank you for your time.
- You're very welcome.

And when, with a groan,
you beg me to stop...

Wow!

Aren't you Fausto Zoppi?

- Do you know who I am?
- Who doesn't know Zoppi?

The rare pearl
in a sea of pasta makers.

The best chef in Italy.

The only one!

What an incredible opportunity
to come across you!

So I open a chain of...

Do you mind?

We were
in the middle of an intimate conversation.

Go on, take over, Fausto.

Come into my kitchen
at 5 p.m. this afternoon.

I'll make you my lobster,
and then...

Then I'll make love to you 6 times.

What a feast!

At 5pm.

First, the work,
and then, il miracolo.

If this shrimp does it 6 times,

it will be pure miracolo.

If he doesn't finish, I'll have my fangs in my mouth.

Quite a sketch, really.

The Italian is on fire.

You! What the hell are you doing here?

I was hoping you could tell your new buddy
to your new buddy.

Ask me instead of intruding.

I was interrupted
interrupted me.

"Antipasti, zuppa, pasta, pesche,
carne et... dolce."

Very poetic.

Don't tell me
you fell for his bullshit?

Perhaps.

And you'll go to that runt's house
6 times.

Crac-crac?

Perhaps.

What?

We're already even
After your night with... Kohner.

Quit?
I'm free, you weren't.

I have the right to see whomever I want.

Get out of my life!

In that case, maybe.

Where are you going?

Congratulate the cook.

Fausto?

Are you there?

Don't blame me for eating.

The opportunity was too good.

Who are you?

I'm so sorry.

Captain Boromeo Ravello,
Venice Police.

What's your name?

Natasha O'Brien.

Were you... close
to signore Zoppi?

We met this morning,

I'm a chef too.

He was going to prepare his lobster
lobster...

and died with his lobsters.

The unfortunate
couldn't breathe underwater.

Who discovered the body?
Called the police?

The waiter, Palmezzi.

What if he was the killer?

Simple theft of fish
for his family.

Maybe Zoppi surprised him,

that it turned sour...

No. He hated Zoppi far too much
to kill him.

What do you mean?

Miss O'Brien, in Italy,

having someone to hate,
is like having someone to love.

You can't kill
after years of hatred.

We care too much about the one we loathe.

Tell me
where you were this afternoon.

Why should I? Do you suspect me?

The only person
I don't suspect is myself.

Allow me.

Initials: RR.

Miss O'Brien,

I'm tempted to believe you
totally innocent of this murder.

Great!

- Except for one detail.
- I take it back.

Kohner's murder.

Another famous chef,
found in his oven,

after a wild night with a beautiful
American cook.

An unusual case.

Imagine my surprise
when the beautiful American stove

lands in the kitchen
of another famous chef,

also murdered.

I can imagine.

It's a no-brainer:

I flew from New York to London
to kill Kohner,

then, London-Venice
to kill Zoppi.

- Unless I'm mistaken, you have a husband.
- Ex-husband.

Where is it?

Well, Miss O'Brien?

I don't know.
In Brussels, I think.

- Remind me of his name.
- Rob...

Bobby. Bobby Ross.

In Brussels.

According to the investigation report,
you had...

spent the night with Louis Kohner.

Were you planning to repeat
with Fausto Zoppi?

That's my business, isn't it?

Very good.

Let's change the subject.

Miss O'Brien...

Miss O'Brien,

Would you like to...

to spend the night with me?

Does that answer your question?

Exactly.

Rejoice, I believe you
innocent of Zoppi's murder.

How about that?

If you had killed him,
you would have jumped into bed with me.

That bad?

Yes. 94 cases in a row,
and not a single mistake.

94 women?

I test men differently.

Out of 94 suspects,

the 37 who accepted my proposal

were all guilty.

Except for one.

What happened to it?

My wife.

Signorina O'Brien,
telephone.

Thank you.

Hello?

Hey, it's me.
I just heard about Zoppi.

- Are you all right?
- Where are you?

In Paris. Meet me soon.

Hi, Nat. Get back in the cab.

- What's the matter?
- I'll explain later.

In the Royal Suite.
At the Pré Catelan.

Come on, hurry up!

Where are we going?

- To my little meeting.
- I beg your pardon?

The best chef in England,
chilled,

ditto, from Italy :

the best in France
is bound to have something to worry about.

So I gathered together the best of the best.

I have a vague feeling of a link
between Kohner and Zoppi.

They were killed
in the manner of their signature dish.

Yes, but there's more.

The 6 most illustrious
of France.

In my opinion,
it's not going to be a piece of cake.

Robby, it's...
Marcel?

- You look great.
- Delicious surprise.

Robert Ross,
Marcel Massenet.

The creator of Massenet veal,
an artist.

Massenet? It's an immense pleasure.

Marcel, we'll talk later.
I have a proposition...

Robby, let him go.

Allow me to cook for you
this evening.

Tonight? It's just...

Tonight!
Who knows how much time I have left.

- What do you mean, the killer?
- The killer.

I'm obviously
next in line.

Maybe not.

Maybe it'll be someone else.

Which other?

One of the gugusses?

I even wonder
what they're doing here.

Pleased to meet you...

François Chappemain.
You must help me.

I'm the most threatened.
Given my specialty.

Chicken livers
on a flambéed skewer.

Voilà!

For others,

die as an ox or a rabbit,
that's no mean feat.

But I'll be skewered

and burned.

The horror,
can you imagine?

Excuse me.

Jean-Claude!

My little Natasha!

My artichoke, I'm looking at you.

As radiant as ever,

or even a little more sexy.

I missed you terribly.

So are you.

Who is it?

Robert Ross, my ex-husband.

Your potential savior.

It's Jean-Claude Moulineau.

His blood duck is legendary.

He has the hands of a magician.

I can see that.

He taught me everything.
I was barely 20.

The time I put too much
cream of tartar in my pastry

and I was stuck...

So, are we going to get serious
or what?

Robby's right. We'll chat later.

What's next?

For me, there will be no afterwards.

I'm going to die.

But all things considered,
no one is more worthy than I.

My funeral will make
Louis Kohner look like a loser.

- You never told me about him.
- Robby!

No, tell me.

One more step, and...

as they say, adieu Berthe.

- It's him! It's him!
- Who is he?

The man seen in Venice 2 times.
He was following Zoppi, he's the killer!

Me? What nonsense.

I'm Auguste Grandvilliers,

the next victim.

Mirabeau-style entrecôte?

In person.

What this man
does with a simple piece of beef

is prodigious.

Is he strafing her?

What's that? It's for the assassin.

He won't get me that easily.

Let's see, you assaulted Louis
and you were in Venice.

Yes. Blame your friend,
the fat pig.

Max?

The idiot thought they were more talented
than Grandvilliers.

He even wrote

in his ridiculous gazette.

So I decided
to bring to light

their imposture.

So I set out to follow them,

like their shadow:

sooner or later,
they would have made a faux pas.

Margarine instead of butter,

canned meat juice.

And I would have witnessed it.

But they're dead.

And I'm next.
But I'm ready.

Put that thing away!

Can we finally get started?

Step right up, gentlemen.
The goal is to save your lives!

Thank you.

Let's start by asking ourselves
who it might be. Any ideas?

Someone who hates cooking.

But who hates her that much?

Let's see, a waiter!

Why didn't the killer start
with a Frenchman?

If you're going to slaughter chefs,
start with a Frenchman!

You're right!
Proof that we're dealing with a weirdo.

If it kills you, yes.

What do you know about it?
Rabbit skinner...

I don't freeze
my chicken livers.

Are you accusing me?

in front of all these people,

to freeze my poultry livers?

Yes.

Here he is! Here he is! The murderer!

You're out of line,
you chnoque!

Enough is enough!
Stop your childishness!

We need to act.

She's right,
let's take matters into our own hands.

But how? We don't know.

On the contrary.
We know when the killer strikes.

When?

The victim
is still alone in the kitchen.

I say:

"Let him come",
and I will welcome him!

Put that thing away!

I should...

I think we
we should call the police.

To say what?

That everyone dreads being killed
for some unknown reason

by an illustrious unknown?

What do you mean, a stranger?

In my opinion,

the assassin is among us,
right now.

The situation is comical, isn't it?

Someone's going to kill
the king of French cuisine.

But tell me, my friends,
what could be worse?

To be killed,

or escape the knife?

Dinner is served, Mr. Vandeveer.

What's on the menu?

Sawdust?

110 grams of caviar,
169 calories.

11.5 centilitres of champagne,

Taittinger 1970, 100 calories.

110 grams of roast venison,
143 calories.

That much?

One asparagus, 19 calories.

11.5 centilitres of red wine,
Romanée-Conti 1966,

80 calories.

A bowl of strawberries
and 3 centilitres of kirsch,

136 calories.

So for the meal,
a total of 647 calories.

This diet would starve
a squirrel to death.

Are you closing? I'm not a free-rider!

One last thing.

Another murdered chef?

And who might this be? Uncle Ben's?

Signore Zoppi's brother

is counting on you for the funeral
in Venice tomorrow.

I run a magazine
or a funeral home?

Say
I'm overwhelmed with grief,

say I was kidnapped by gypsies.

Say...

Say I'll be there.
Send me via Paris

and tell Moulineau
to prepare a duck in blood,

two ducks,
for the morning.

Do you remember the purpose
of your diet?

I'm taking a break!

How much did you lose?

It's none of your business.

5 and a half kilos.

It's starting to show.

5 and a half kilos.

Only 65 to go.

Do my hair,

then put me through to Miss O'Brien
in Venice.

She's in Paris, sir.

With Mr. Ross,
small detail.

It is certainly
insignificant detail.

Have you upset Zoppi?

I offered him the job,
he said: "No, grazie".

- The police found your pen.
- Does she know it's mine?

Say, you don't suspect me, do you?

- Hello, Natasha?
- Where's Natasha?

All right, thanks, Max, and you?
Take a guess.

Hello, Max.

Kitten, don't forget

your Wednesday presentation
for the idiot box.

What are you talking about?

You're a TV star!

Two chiefs were murdered.

I may be
the next victim.

Stop wallowing
in your macabre reveries.

And take your buns back to London.

You don't have
a monopoly on grief.

With the death of Louis and Zoppi,

I lost exactly half
of the world's most fabulous meal!

I've got it, Robby.

The link between Kohner and Zoppi.

I know who
who the next victim will be.

Nat, what are you talking about?

The world's most fabulous meal.

Last month's editorial.
Four services:

pigeon by Louis, lobster by Zoppi
and duck with Moulineau blood.

Moulineau?

He's next!

The killer scrupulously follows
the menu, and...

therefore...

- Robby, I'm dessert!
- What's up?

More than Moulineau,
and then, bing, the pastry chef!

Slow down, will you?

Who respects this menu? Max?

Why Max?

He's the one who chose you
in the first place.

No, I'm leaning towards Grandvilliers.

Why him?

It was not selected.

Let's call Moulineau.

Hello?

This is Auguste Grandvilliers.

There's someone
trying to get in.

- Where are you?
- I'm in my kitchen.

We told you not to...

Mr. Grandvilliers? Hello, Mr. Grandvilliers?

- What's up?
- Hurry!

Mr. Grandvilliers?

That's weird. Where do you think it is?

Its specialty is entrecôte,
beef.

Damn, it's been toasted.

Where can he be?

What do we do with beef?
Let's see, beef...

The ox! Hang it up!

You've got to be kidding me!

It's alive.

Find me something to ride on.

Not too much damage.
The killer gave him a good thrashing.

And left him to freeze to death.

It's horrible!

You made a mistake, it's not him.

You too:
it's not Max from London.

Moulineau having been spared,
nothing to do with the menu.

You've got yourself a real winner here.

And me, Grandvilliers.

Do you prefer with or without ketchup?

- Without.
- Thank you.

Here's to you.

Let's dance.

Say, honey, why don't you come back?

Sorry, it took me too long to be happy
to be happy to give it up.

You're saying it's my fault,
what happened to us?

That day,
the cook wasn't me.

Admit that you used to leave a lot.

For your snobbish shows
through thick and thin.

I had no right
to your little dishes.

You don't even appreciate them.

Ugh,
quiche lorraine for breakfast!

It's better than your sugary mess.

Bacon and eggs it is.

That's quiche, silly.

I don't care, I don't want anything French
for breakfast.

I want American.

I want a woman at home
when I come home.

And children!

For the umpteenth time,
I wasn't ready.

You were too busy.

So did you. You were never there
when I wanted to talk to you.

Me, never there? You are!

When I was there,
you were at work.

What should I have done,
closed up store?

It would have saved the planet
from acne.

Hilarious. I can't stop laughing!

Did you hear it?
He was always too busy.

He's the one who said it.
You don't get it.

Cheer up, I'm supporting the husband.

But I'm the wife.

No one is obliged
to have children.

Now that we have them,
what do we do with them? Return them?

- If only!
- Stop!

Good night, Rob. See you in the morning.

Can you come? A strange bird
forgot his clothes.

- They're mine.
- Confirmation.

Is this your room?

Looks like it.

Where am I supposed to sleep?

In bed, I imagine.

You're a smart boy, I'll give you that.

You think I'm too worried
to notice that you're sleeping on top of me?

- I want my room.
- There isn't one.

Really? The hotel only has
one bed with you in it?

- There's a convention.
- Always the optimist.

Reception?

This is Mr. Ross's suite.
I want a room all to myself.

None left?

Thank you.

They're in cahoots, admit it.

What's the problem?
We slept together for 5 years.

- I'm in. I don't see why not.
- Are you serious?

Naturally.
Everyone will stay on their own side.

- No hugs?
- Not allowed.

You're a tough one, lady.

Max. You're late!

I was punctual,
it was the plane that was late.

- Have you read the paper?
- In the cab.

To think that even a loony chooses
this old birbe from Grandvilliers

as the standard
of French cuisine.

- We're at rock bottom.
- Yes, we are.

If anyone has earned the right
to be zapped, it's you!

Thank you, Max. Thanks a million.

Come on, we've got work to do.

The golden rule is to take
a very young duckling.

6 weeks old.

Not a day longer.

And it must come
from the village of Yvetot in Normandy.

Nowhere else.

And he must be killed by suffocation.

In order not to lose
a drop of blood.

This is essential.

Then it is roasted whole

from 18 to 20 minutes.

18 to 20 minutes.

Then you lift the nets

very, very, very fine.

Nets.

And now, my dear Max,

taste how it melts in your mouth!

No, out of my sight.

- What's wrong?
- I'm on a diet.

You?
I can't believe my ears.

My gueuletons
are killing me, it seems.

No, give.

A splendor.

Simply splendid.

I can't resist the end of the line,
like your fabulous duck.

Or else,

Louis' extraordinary pigeon.

The idea of never tasting it again
makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.

And my Natasha,

the most dangerous of you.

His desserts are definitely
the devil's work!

I know that none of you
meant me any harm.

You didn't know you were killing me slowly!

But Max, I assure you...

We don't...

That's enough.
Carry on.

All right, then...

Once all the meat has been removed,

cut the carcass.

And you won't have forgotten

to leave the core for cooking.

Because, of course, the heart

brimming with blood.

Then place the pieces
in the duck press.

Here we are.

A dash of duck broth.

Close immediately.

The purpose of pressing is obviously to
to extract

vital juices.

Hello !

Do you ever knock?

- I could eat an elephant.
- We're making progress.

I've got one hell of a potato!

Did I dream
or did you go out in the night?

I went for a jog this morning.
Nothing like it after a good long sleep.

- I have to admit, I'm bluffed.
- By what?

You kept your word.

- Easy. Billiards.
- You didn't mind?

Disturbed, me? Are you kidding me?

This night was
the worst night of my life.

You asked for it.

How much
did you pay the receptionists?

- 20 dollars.
- 20 ?

I'm only worth 20 bucks
a night?

No! During the week.
At night, it would just...

Shall I rub your back?

Do you know yet?

It's like riding a bike.

Can't you find any who fall for your
for your special charm?

I'm actively looking, believe me.

Tell them
that you're a great back scrubber.

I don't excel
with the first back that comes along.

It takes a really nice one
for me to scrub to perfection.

A problem?

None at all.
None whatsoever.

What are you up to?

Robby, get out of my bath!

Saved by the doorbell.

Inspector Henri Salpêtre,
criminal investigation department.

And brigadier Flamiste.

- A little accident?
- I beg your pardon?

No, a stubborn stain.

I see.
May we come in?

We've already said everything we know
about Grandvilliers.

Grandvilliers?

We're not interested
in Grandvilliers.

- Why should I?
- There's no point.

We tried to kill him.

He wanted to kill himself, nuance.

- What?
- Or rather...

He made it seem
that someone had tried to kill him.

He confessed to everything.

A story of reputation.

The exact meaning of which still escapes me.

Miss O'Brien, I presume.

Pleased to meet you.

Where were you two
around 7:30 this morning?

- I was...
- We were here.

- Can you prove it?
- What happened?

It makes sense:

Moulineau was murdered
in the kitchen.

But...
How do you know all this?

It was her turn.

His turn?

How did he die?

The crushed skull
in a duck press.

How kind of you
to be here.

Thank you for coming.

Poor Jean-Claude,
what a terrible tragedy.

His chef de rang, Vincent,
will seat you.

Two of you?

I'll never forget it.

Auguste, how kind of you to be here.
to be here.

Too kind.

The whole gang's here,
even Inspector Lafouine.

As the English and Italians
suspect us,

the French too,
logic.

Do you think the killer is here?

I hope he
that he, too, takes on this chore.

A great chef passes away

before the end of the meal.

What are the ingredients
of personality

of a Jean-Claude Moulineau?

A cup of charm,

a kilo of talent,

two spoonfuls of sensitivity,

a carefree one...

How well did you know her?

Who?

The next victim,

Natasha O'Brien.

The deceased.

Does McDonald's know burgers?

What did you like best about her?

I loved everything about her.

And I loved his zest for life.

What, sweetie?

I'm going to die.

- Marry me.
- I've already given.

Then marry me a 2nd time.

That way, I can inherit.

You poor bastard.

I love you, Nat.

That's normal...

Species at risk
are still popular.

Given my specialty,
what's in store for me?

whipped, beaten or frozen?

- My God!
- What's wrong?

London!
My cooking show!

I need a cab.

Inspector, could you
drop us off at the airport?

What do you say? Amazing!

Quick, Nat, get in.
Don't hit your head.

Put the rubber on, please.

- Max!
- My angel.

- What a joy!
- That goes without saying, kitten.

After such poor company,
red ants would delight you.

Don't I get my kiss?

I've come to trust
Robby and you.

I'm not much good with anyone

who makes his cereal sing
by pouring milk over it.

Have no fear,
I'll take good care of you.

You'll be staying with me,

for added safety.

And my preparations for tomorrow?

We'll do it all here, tonight.

A merry kitchen
in my kitchen. Just the two of us.

There are three of us.

The killjoy.

Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.

I find it hard to believe that these murders
are linked to my magazine.

Is someone trying to harm you?

Who would hate you so much?

How can you hate me?

Do you have the time?

No, it's totally impossible.

Every Christmas, I give
my leftover quiche to the poor.

Be serious for once!

Let's see..,
have you ever tasted my quiche?

Mr. Vandeveer,
Mr. St. Claire is here.

- Welcome, Mr. St. Claire.
- Mr. Vandeveer.

Natasha, let me introduce you.

He's Mr. Gastronomy
of the show.

Miss O'Brien.

I'm a fervent admirer.

No one understands
egg yolk than you.

Except for the chickens.

As you say.

Mr. St. Claire, this one goes
into the first freezer.

And this one, in the second.
Don't get confused.

No risk at all, Mr. Vandeveer.
And the third?

She stays here with me.
It's my guilty pleasure.

Okay, sure.

See you at the studios tomorrow,
Miss O'Brien.

Finally, stop fiddling with it!
It's not a bowling ball!

Take your hands off her.
She's mine!

What a pignouf you are.

Come on, I should be in bed by now.

You're probably exhausted,
as I am.

I'll let you in.

I made a terrible mess.

Don't worry,
our elves will do the cleaning.

Come on, you two! Zou!

The last one to lie down
is a rotten omelette.

The sun is up.

Am I still alive?

That's what it sounds like.

How nice.

You're not in Brussels?

I'm not leaving.

What do you mean?

What about your chain of restaurants?

From now on,
I dedicate myself entirely to you.

You're very kind.

That's nice too.

Robby.

Yes, my pretty?

Is it adultery to make love
with your ex-husband?

Not up yet?

Well, hello, Max!

I told you to have him neutered
while there was still time.

And he's wearing my robe!

Get dressed quickly,
your show is waiting for you.

- She won't go.
- What's wrong?

- What's that?
- I'm depriving everyone of dessert.

Do you know how hard it was
to organize all this?

We're expected.

Including the killer.

She won't go into the kitchen
as long as he's out there.

- I like it.
- It's crazy.

I'll have the police
by the police.

I will requisition the Navy,
if necessary.

Sorry, Max.

They'll drive me crazy.

Beecham, do you have a stove
handy?

Even a gargotière.
Even Captain Iglo's wife.

Why?

Because this queen
of ingratitude, Natasha O'Brien,

imagines herself worthy of liquidation.

She stood me up.

What?

What did you say?

Stop your antics, both of you.

I don't pay you enough.

How much am I paying you?

That's quite enough.

Are you waiting for the flood?

Quick, get dressed!

They've nabbed the murderer!

Beecham has just had
Inspector Blodgett.

- Who is it?
- Auguste Grandvilliers.

He made a full confession:
he was dying of jealousy.

After the four of you,
he was going to kill me too.

Hallelujah, that was close.

- Do you know what this means?
- Do you know what this means?

I can go to Brussels.

Welcome to "Le Festin ambulant".

Today,
our special guest

is Miss Natasha O'Brien.

With a dessert
she recently made

for Her Majesty the Queen.

- Please don't leave.
- I won't miss a thing.

... Miss O'Brien.

Thank you very much. Hello.

People always ask me
why I'm a cook,

and I reply:
"All women cook,

but I get paid for it."

As I was telling His Majesty,
the other day.

I suggest you skip the steps

to see the finished product.

Would you like to follow me?

What's she playing at?

In a nutshell. Follow her, camera 1.

Camera 4 :

2nd freezer,
close-up of the 2nd bomb.

This will be yours.

... And here's the result.

The Richelieu bomb.

Wow, the holes I've made.

An exchange took place.

- Pardon?
- U-turn for UK-TV, full throttle!

I have a surprise in store for you,

this dessert ends
an explosion of flavors.

A bomb?

Are you sure?

Grandvilliers' confession or not,
I'm sure of it.

What confessions?
No one has confessed to anything.

You called Vandeveer.

I didn't call anyone,
I promise.

The cow is Max.

Intervene: it's going to explode
as soon as she ignites the alcohol.

First, clarify the eggs.

This is my favorite technique.

How awful.
It's totally disgusting.

Camera 3,
zoom in for a close-up of the face.

Your turn on 3.

For pity's sake, cocotte!

Senior Inspector Blodgett.

Put me through to the cooking show,
it's urgent.

Studio 3.

Get ready for 4.

- Please hold.
- Your turn on 4.

Loan, camera 2, shot 48 :

close-up on whipped cream.

Hello?

This is Scotland Yard.

Holy crap, I've got the antenna.

- An emergency, he says.
- Hold me back.

I was going to pay that ticket,
I swear.

Stop the show immediately.
This thing...

Arrest him? Where did you get that?

The stuff she's up to...
it's a bomb.

Of course, triple andouille.

Hilarious.

Number 4, on the bomb.

Are you sick?

The Invisible Camera guy

throws me on the couch
to undress...

- The cooking show?
- Just a moment. Madame used to be.

- It's very important.
- So am I.

If it wasn't
"The Invisible Camera, who was it?

I don't know.

"The Invisible Camera,
it's not us.

Who is it?

See the program.

With my luck, it won't be broadcast.

The cooking show?

2nd floor.

Whatever the director says,
smile.

Yes, Mom.

Stop it!

Resume the pose.

As promised,
the final explosion of flavors.

You need raspberry,
a divine liqueur.

Me, too busy?

Henry, you were never there
when I wanted to talk to you.

Me? Sorry, Pamela,

you're the one who was never there.

When I was there, Henry,
you were at work.

What should I have done,
quit?

Who are you?

Where's the cooking show?

Get that moron off the set,
for Christ's sake!

excuse me,
where's the cooking show?

Get lost!

I'm off.

Nigel! What kind of shoot is this?

I was in the role.

Don't get excited.

Learn how to
to give the line...

And I pour the warmed raspberry

in the crown.

And at the base.

The 3.

The cooking show,
where the hell is it?

2nd floor.

But here we are, on the 2nd floor!

I understand.
In America, it's the 2nd floor,

but in England, on the 1st.

Your 1st floor is referred to here as
"first floor".

Your 3rd floor is our 2nd,
if you follow me.

I can explain it again...

And now comes the long-awaited moment.

Don't, for God's sake!

Get down, it's going to blow!

Are you crazy?

I don't get it.

You poor fool!
You've lost your marbles!

My word... you saved my life.

Looks like it.

Who put a bomb in the bomb?

Max. It's Max!

Where's the bastard?

It's gone!

Leave it. Leave it, I said!

Maximilian Vandeveer,
you are under arrest.

For murder.

I doubt he heard.

Please tell me why
you did this, please.

Don't think
it was all in good fun.

So why?

Blame it on... the damned regime.

You see...

I couldn't resist you,
the four of you.

Louis,

Zoppi,

Moulineau,

and your sublime...

dessert.

In short, three men died

for your diet?

It's monstrous, Max.

I couldn't agree more, kitten.
Truly monstrous.

- Mr. Vandeveer...
- Shut up, Beecham.

Shut your mouth. Shut your trap!

I wasn't worthy of any of you.

You were creators,
and I was just a taster.

You were dear to me, Natasha.

I have hiccups.

I think he's dead.

Are you surprised?

Well, that's that.

Case closed, he confessed to everything.

He didn't confess to anything.

Maximilian Vandeveer
was as gentle as a lamb.

He had nothing to do with it.

Whoa...

He was the most remarkable man
in the world.

Refined,

courageous, incorruptible.

So brilliant and witty.

So sensitive.

I couldn't let him die.

But he eventually discovered
it was me.

He asked me to meet him here.

He made me sit down

and watch everything.

He said...

that he was throwing in the towel

since his heroes had died
because of him.

That life wasn't worth living
to live,

if he could no longer enjoy
his favorite foods.

What else could I do,
Miss O'Brien?

I had to kill you all,

you see,

before you kill him.

I had no choice.

- Ready, darling?
- All set.

Robert, do you take this woman
this woman to be your lawful wedded wife,

and promise yourself omelettes
made only with fresh produce

and real butter

till death do you part?

Yes.

And you, Natasha,

you promise

to stay true
to its simple omelettes,

reasonably priced,

and not to make quiches of them

till death do you part?

Yes.

I declare you united

by the bonds of marriage.

You may kiss the chef,
well, the bride.

This divorce was bound to blow over
like a soufflé.

Adaptation: Claudia Faes

Subtitles: ECLAIR

For ARTE GEIE :
Anne-Caroline Paquet