All language subtitles for Bareback ou la guerre des sens (Paul Vecchiali) (2005)

This film intends to be
a playful reflection

on unprotected sex,
a crucial practice nowadays,

for the homosexual community
(as this is the case here)

as well as
for the straight population.

Bareback
(The War of the Senses)

♪ At the clear spring ♪

♪ As I was strolling by ♪

♪ I found the water so nice ♪

♪ That I went in to bathe ♪

♪ It's so long I've been loving you ♪

♪ That I'll never forget you ♪

What is Tintin buying?

- Rin!
- He buying Rin Tintin!

♪ Under an oak tree ♪
♪ I dried myself ♪

♪ On the highest branch ♪
♪ A nightingale was singing ♪

♪ Sing, nightingale, sing ♪
♪ Your heart is so happy ♪

♪ Your heart feels like laughing ♪

♪ Mine feels like weeping ♪

♪ I wanted the rose ♪
♪ To stay on the rosebush ♪

♪ And that the rosebush ♪

♪ Was still to be planted ♪

Excuse me,
aren't you Patrick Séraud?

Why?

It's like a magic trick
to find you here!

- You're Patrick Séraud, right?
- I fear so, yes.

- I love what you do!
- Don't be so cliché, please.

I was thinking...

I was thinking I could tell you...
My story.

- And you would turn it into a movie.
- Why me?

- I've seen all your films!
- And?
- They are superb!

You're totally wrong,
my friend.

You're too mannered,
confusing rhythm and agitation.

I only care about efficiency.

That's what I like,
working for the public.

Don't talk nonsense. Efficiency is a
right-wing thought. I'm a left-wing guy.

- So many people love you.
- Those who love me will stay behind.

- Is that a joke?
- No, it's not a joke.

You like my movies?
Pay attention to them.

The pace is so artificial.
You came at the wrong time.

I'm mourning my former job.

But... Nobody but you...
Could...

I don't fall for fawning.

But you impute motives to people!

Let's sit down somewhere.

Before we begin, I'd like to understand
why you are so hard with your work.

A meeting,

A few movies...

As long as I couldn't see
my reflection in the mirror,

I was fine. But, one morning,
the reflection claimed its existence.

I saw my true self.

I understood I was...

imbued with myself.

Don't touch him, he loves it.

Broken.

- Broken, you think?
- I'm sure.

Yes, probably.
???

A break.

Your turn.

The beginning is terribly banal...
My lover left me.

♪ At the clear spring ♪

♪ As I was strolling by ♪

♪ I found the water so nice ♪

♪ That I went in to bathe ♪

♪ It's so long I've been loving you ♪

♪ That I'll never forget you ♪

- What is Tintin buying?
- Rin!

He's buying Rin Tintin!

♪ Under an oak tree ♪

♪ I dried myself ♪

♪ On the highest branch ♪

♪ A nightingale was singing ♪

♪ Sing, nightingale, sing, ♪
♪ Your heart is so happy ♪

♪ Your heart feels like laughing ♪

♪ Mine feels like weeping ♪

♪ I wanted the rose ♪

♪ To stay on the rosebush ♪

♪ And that the rosebush ♪

♪ Was still to be planted ♪

♪ It's for my friend Pierre ♪

♪ Who doesn't want to love me anymore ♪

♪ For a rosebud ♪

- ♪ I refused him. ♪
- You get it?

I'm leaving.

♪ It's so long I've been loving you ♪

♪ That I'll never forget you ♪

Is that really how you want to shoot it?
Only the song?

Yes, it would make
the separation less banal.

The audience will get bored,

listening to these dudes
singing an old-fashioned song!

Who can know when and why
the audience is bored?

I would never have thought
of such a thing.

Then I took my Navaja knife.

I sharpened it.

Then I went to the sea
to commit suicide.

Suicide?

Wait, I...
suppose you changed your mind.

Living without him
was pointless.

The sea, for gravestone...

Nothing can excuse
such a foolishness.

Foolishness yourself!

You came to save me
and you can barely swim!

I want to fuck you.

Your despair
will not have lasted long.

You want to fuck me,
or fuck with me?

I'm Lucien.

Charles.

I want to be your thing, Lucien.

My thing, minha coisa...

You need to rewrite it.

It's too elliptical. You think it's
elegant, but it doesn't reach its point.

I see...
Well I hear Charles saying...

"Right now, I don't feel like
discussing who does what."

And Lucien would answer:
"I really want us to do it."

What would these lines add?

We know what Charles wants.
I knew what I wanted.

It would be indecent
to hide it to the audience.

Indecent?
That takes the cake!

Indecent is a very fashionable
word nowadays.

By the way,

why would he just lean and
take Lucien's sex in his mouth?

- In public?
- You cut your veins in public!

I have to warn you.
Condoms, with me...

Nichts!

Get lost then!

Don't exhaust yourself.

Love struck me at first sight.

Love at first sight?

You're flashing your cock
and calling it love?

If I had no feelings
I couldn't be so effusive.

Okay, leave me alone now.

Are you in love?

You lost your knife?

Don't worry,

the knife was for me.

You're missing a chance.

I don't like chance,
I'm more into luck.

But you're right about one thing,

One has to know
what one desires. Ciao. Thanks.

To know what one desires...
It's risky!

I could have gone further.

I have a lot of flaws,
but pettiness is not one of them.

- So what are they?
- My flaws? Nervous, talkative...

Restless.

- Are you a Jew?
- Yes, who told you?

Just a random guess.

Heretic and sodomite.

- Are they incompatible?
- On the contrary.

During the Middle Ages, their oppressors
thought both were linked.

It was more convenient
to burn them together.

Their fates were linked
until Auschwitz.

- Except...
- Except?

Except the Jews
didn't agree anymore.

Do you remember
that Jew delegation

which forbade homos
to bring sprays of flowers?

I'm not proud of my coreligionists.

However, Mascaneras...

Do you know him?

- The Turkish?
- Exactly.

I always carry Mascaneras
and his texts with me.

He recalls...
"When the Turkish find in the streets"

"some of the prostitute boys
with whom they committed..."

"the abominable sin of sodomy,"

"They take them to the Jews,
without any surprise or punishment,"

"Jews who go out leaving
houses and beds unattended."

I think their wives
would cook for them.

Yes.

It reminds me,
don't ask me why,

Shylock and Antonio
in The Merchant of Venice.

You are surprisingly cultured.

I'm curious about everything.

Was it curiosity that
drove you to...

try to meet your Lord?

I never knew.

It was fate.

I found them in the pine wood.

There was that pickup artist,
who had pretended to be struck by love.

Love at first sight, my ass!

Love for tight-ass he meant!

Are you interested?

See you tomorrow.

I was thinking about
what you told me yesterday.

I could not give myself
to somebody like that.

Why give?

You don't know what I mean?

You told him to go fuck himself
and you came back hands and feet tied.

I had never felt like this.

What about the risks?

Enough.

We had already talked about it.

I can't put up
with the heat anymore.

It was my lover,
now it's not even a friend.

Do you know how
this shit started?

What shit?

AIDS.

Hypothesis.

We have nothing but hypothesis.

I think the most credible is the one about
the prisoners of Fort Laon-Dordell. (?)

- I don't know that one.
- It's genetic engineering.

American prisoners were released
in exchange for volunteering.

A molecule was injected to them and
observed for two months in incubation.

Nothing happened,
so they were all released.

They didn't think
the incubation period could be longer.

They went to Haiti,
in need of love...

- Do you do it on purpose?
- What?

- "In need of love", that's funny!
- I don't like puns.

They were in need of love and
let themselves go. The gays were blamed.

I'll admit I've been clumsy.

That's credible.

We know black persons have been used
as guinea pigs for a syphilitic vaccine.

More recently, we realized
orphans born with HIV,

born from
poor or junkie mothers,

were subjected to
similar experiments.

The Catholic institute that
was supposed to heal them

became a guinea pig reservoir
for the University of Columbia.

They had to undergo
unapproved treatments.

- Some died from indescribable pains.
- You talk like a book.

- You have to be joking.
- The Observer, April 2004.

The investigation was led
by the BBC.

- Have you forgotten the green monkey?
- You mean the polio vaccine?

Made from chimps' kidneys and
administrated to one million Congolese.

The two hypothesis coincide.

They do not contradict
one another.

There were probably many more,
starting a long time ago.

Do you know Erasmus?

In Praise of Folly?

One day I'll out-think you!

That won't be much of
an achievement.

Won't you try
the dead horse trick?

- What is that again?
- There was an omniscient woman.

Her husband put a dead horse
in their bathtub.

When the woman discovered it
the next day, he said:

"Yes, I know, there is
a dead horse in the bathtub."

Anyway...

Erasmus supposedly died
of AIDS in 1536.

But AIDS couldn't be
identified at the time.

There as so many strains...
Everything is possible.

And...

The two guys over there?

Not interested.

But they are strong and sexy,
as you like them.

Sharks.

Let them eat you.

I'm too lazy.

Also...

Look at them.

Look at you.

And look at me.

Sex, just like that...
I can't. I can't anymore.

My two love stories
were enough misery.

You won't trick me so easily.

Wait.

I'll take you home.

I was wrong.

My last story is too recent.

Too hurtful.

I don't want you
to pay for another one.

I don't want to
involve you in this.

You are a sweetheart.

Why do I say so much bullshit?

You have a nice cock.

Everything it takes
to give me pleasure.

No

I imagined a lot of things.

You, behind me,
on the bike.

You know what I mean.

No.

We will walk
this path backward.

You will find
your pasture there.

His name was Ferdinand.

We lived together
for 15 years.

Without question.

Without a cloud.

Small battles.

Not much more.

We barely needed holidays.

If we didn't see each other for a day,
we would fuck a whole night.

If we saw each other one day,
we would fuck day and night.

Everything was the same.

This folly last for ten years.

I mean...

I said "folly"...

But everything was reasonable.

You know how rare it is...

to look somebody
in the eyes...

and don't feel the need
to see anybody else.

Tell me.

Of course,
during these ten years,

we did not protect ourselves.

And one day...

He put a condom on.

Not only did it overheat my ass

but it also broke my heart.

I didn't say a thing.

But I knew it was
the beginning of the end.

Our mutual trust
had disappeared.

Vanished into thin air.

We were still sharing the same bed,
I knew he wasn't my brother anymore.

Then it was only
marital duties.

We started to fuck.

To parade.

Like heteros.

Bourgeois.

Reproductive gestures.

I was more affected by
the use the condom between us

than by the thought of him
fucking somewhere else.

And most of all...

the thought of being replaced
for this unique pleasure.

To take a hot dick.

A...

pulsating one.

To be impregnated.

To feel the juice
in the depth of my guts.

It was over.

There was a wall between us.

A latex barrier.

I did not deserve his cum
inside me anymore.

Its bitter grass taste
in my mouth.

I wanted him to cum on me.

On my pecs.

Drenching me with his sperm.

Like...

Like an ointment
for eternal youth.

My fountain of youth!

Fountain of youth!

The fountain!

In porn, we never see
the moment

when the guy fucking the other

removes his shitty condom

before he cums.

There is no sequence-shot.

Life is not like what is shown.

When you've been able to
put a condom on without getting soft,

you have to fill it.

I had to stop this farce.

Never mind the suffering.

I thought I could do it, but...

But...

When I was just about to do it,
he initiated the action.

That was one slap too much
for my pride.

A strike.

It broke me.

What can you understand?

You, the Brazilian.

Your attitude appears so mean.

I understand.

Wait.

Let's take a shower.

For the pleasure.

In the end, it's porn
you want me to shoot.

What do you call porn?

A movie where sexual acts
are not simulated. That's the definition.

As far as I'm concerned,

to put a tongue in a ear
is already a kind of penetration.

To show a wet pussy is okay

but a hard-on is forbidden.

Yes to boobs,
no to balls!

That's not what I had learned
from your films.

You said you were
imbued with yourself.

Actually you're afraid of
your own urges.

Your desires are masked
behind your images.

A cock to suck
becomes a finger to lick.

You cut balls during the editing
to emasculate yourself.

You did that during
your whole career.

You're harsh.

- But there's some truth.
- Come to my place.

There used to always be
songs in movies, before.

Especially in the 30's.

♪ I am not what people think I am ♪

I wish I could sing one now.

This is too much.

I can start again so soon.

Not without the same gestures.

The same caresses.

The song stops,
I cut off contact.

Life is defending itself.

I want to stay in my song.

He has to leave forever.

As if nothing had happened.

As if it was a dream.

New stratagem?

To try to convince me,
excite me?

You decide.

You enjoy to invent things.

You're wasting your time,
bringing me here was useless.

- I don't believe you.
- You don't?

It's like the sun.

Capital of thoughts.

Old age is a punishment,
they say.

A Judeo-Christian education,

reinforced by the blandness...

irrevocable...

of the old monks,

or the old nuns,

on whom time flows
like the water of your tale.

Why bring me here?

Why follow me?

Out of curiosity.

You're good to arouse it,
by the way.

So, why?

To show you the scenery.

Hoping they could lure you.

This terrace,

where my love story
miserably stopped.

After my ex left,
I wanted to keep the house.

I like to stay here for hours,
contemplating the horses,

expressing themselves with their body,
their ironical look, their bucking,

their mad runs...

It's a summary of our lives.

You can imagine well.
But it's still imagination.

There is nothing slier than a nag.
Sly and stubborn.

You know them poorly.

During winter,
in this tree,

hundreds of robins
take shelter.

They wait for the horses
to drop their dung,

and peck it.

In the bush,
the cats are watching them?

That's life.

Yeah...

You brought me up here
to talk about the animals?

Your first lover?

So this is where it happened.

Was it as intense as you told me?

I hardly believe you.

I've been so stupid!

Or maybe I haven't.

You wouldn't have come
to save me.

I would never had met...

The man of my life.

Hail to suicide:

it allows you to be reborn.

You are too sentimental.

Why?

Do you only care about sex?

Hadn't you noticed yet? I'm not as fast
as you when it comes to enthusiasm.

I'm suspicious of everything,
including myself.

My feelings are
as strong as yours.

But how long will they last?
I instinctively wonder.

...the question

I don't like this question,
but it's here, consuming me.

Nestle against me.

Come against me.

Are you trying to scare me?

Help me getting this bullshit
out of me head.

But, I need to tell you...

I've been tested HIV-positive
a few months ago.

I didn't think.

I stabbed him.

You are overloading it
with darkness.

We can do better.

More aerial.

More sensitive.

It will make the characters
more likeable.

But, I need to tell you...

I've been tested HIV-positive
a few months ago.

- I should kill you for that.
- You will never!

You love me too much.
I love you too much. You know it.

Neither you nor me can find somebody else
after what we have experienced together.

Ridiculous!

I value my truth.

I really stabbed him.

Am I supposed to believe that?

You just stay here?

A man stabbed to death,
and nothing?

The corpse disappeared?

Nobody questioned you?

Well I went to prison.

I had a good lawyer and
pleaded self-defense.

But I went to prison.

Fucking era!

For years, when I was traveling abroad,
I would steal Bibles from hotel rooms.

I had a whole collection.
My only wealth.

What would I do?
Second-hand trades.

I've bargain-hunted everywhere!
Even in Japan.

I threw away everything.

My stock and my love for life.

I didn't had a single thing left.
Not even a chair.

And this house?

It's for sale.
Do you want it?

I only kept the Bibles.

While I was in prison,
the Bibles didn't need anything.

I need a service.
Can you help?

Depends on the price.

I only have this.

It's authentic.

Gustave Doré.

Very expensive.

- What kind of service?
- Relate me the last time you fucked.

It would satisfy you,
I only have hetero memories.

I'm not sectarian.

Speak slowly.

With or without gestures?

What's the difference?

It's more expensive.

I can't afford it.

Don't stay near me,
I won't be accountable for my actions.

I want to be alone.

Your voice.

Only your voice.

Slowly.

I'll close my eyes.

- It was a month ago.
- I don't care.

It was still a month ago,
in the subway.

She was standing
in front of me.

I didn't make a move.
I let the wagon's moves make us closer.

- My cock started to...
- Is it big?

Huge! I was pressing her
so hard it was painful.

Her ass was soft and warm.

When the wagon got crowded

she took advantage
and nestled against me.

I came almost immediately.

She extended her hand to grasp my cock

She felt the moisture,
turned around and looked at me.

At the next stop, I followed her.
We didn't exchange a word.

Ellipsis!

At her place,
I took a passive stance.

- She unbuttoned my shirt.
- Not the vest?

- Ellipsis.
- Too bad.

She unbuttoned my shirt,

removed the shirt from my pants
and threw it away.

Then she went for the other buttons,
turgencents after the caresses.

She sucked them up for a while,
one after the other.

She chewed them softly
without pressing too much.

I was gritting my teeth,
my eyelids firmly closed.

She threw the belt far away.

She unzipped my trousers.

She removed them as if she was skinning
a rabbit, abandoning them on my shoes.

With her mouth,
she removed my underwear.

She let my swollen cock spring,

I still hadn't made a move.

My underwear and my trousers
where put near my shirt.

- Ellipsis!
- No way. The shirt too.

She untied my shoelaces.
Removed every garment.

She stripped my feet
and sucked my toes.

I opened my eyes.

She stepped back and looked at me.
She went toward to bed, I caught her.

Naked, against me belly.

In a surprising move,
she lowered her head to my armpit.

She pulls my hairs
with her teeth.

She put her arse on my balls.

She arched her bust.

My fingers, now,

are gamboling on her nipples,
caressing her scorching tips.

Haze. Hard-on. Goosebumps.

I was holding her.

Preventing her to hasten things.

With my right hand, I palpate her crotch
and sense how wet she is, but...

Without a shout,
without a whisper,

only with shivers...

She keeps her hands around my neck
and try to impale herself.

I kept evading.
Ellipsis.

No!

With a strength I didn't know
she was capable of,

she dragged me to the bed.

She laid on her belly.

She folded her legs,

and offered me her rump.

She was so arched,
that under her...

pink anus, I could see...

her clitoris, like a small cock,
flashing and retracting.

It was beating like a heart.

I...

grabbed her by her waist
and stopped being passive.

I drank her water at the source
with an indiscreet tongue.

My nose was rubbing
against her little hole.

She started shouting.

Groaning first, then yelling.

She prayed
all the saints in paradise,

from St Anthony to St Paul,
from the Holy Virgin to Mary Magdalene.

She was saying mass,
cantillating the litanies.

As my hands were triturating
her heavy and firm breasts,

my dick was brushing
past her anus.

Feverishly, she was trying
to get penetrated.

I was still escaping it, but...

I could barely hold
any longer.

My sperm was at the gates of my cock,
ready to spurt.

So I fucked her in the ass.

I left the tip of the breasts,

and stuck my fingers in
her pussy, viscous and orgasmic.

- No condom?
- Didn't have time.

As she remained gaping,

I was going back and forth
in her holes.

As my cock was invading her,

she was swinging
her rump and her head,

begging me to stop and
telling me to keep going.

I came on the sheets.

She licked the sperm and
nestled against me tenderly.

Do you want me to fuck you?

So?

So I refused.

He left with his Bible.

I think I'll believe in
this farcical prison?

With this prison guard coming straight
from Genet for these circumstances.

Who would believe in
such a scene?

It's as implausible as vulgar.

Do you have a cellphone?

Thanks.

Hello?

Don't hang up.

- Take the phone, it's him.
- Who "him"?

It can be any of your accomplice.

And God knows they must be plentiful,
waiting in the dark for me to give in.

Anybody can pretend anything
on the phone.

What proof do you have?
Everything is fake in your parody.

So what you ignore can't exist?

Anything that is not consistent with your
universe is rejected without a thought.

Maybe you were right.

I didn't come to you.

I've lost temper, sorry.

Even if there is only
one chance in a thousand

that you are not lying,
I have no right to doubt you.

At the clear spring?

I'll admit you did not lie.

- I have something else to offer.
- What?

Something more original, that would help
to get the movie out of the gay clichés.

- Something... more classy I think.
- What is it? What?!

A jail-visiting woman.

A "jail-visiting" woman?

I that your Guy des Cars side?

Really, you...

are pushing the boundaries.

I'm seeing something else.

Something that is deeper.

A revolt against
conformist society.

- Against left-wing clichés, too.
- Where are you taking me?

I can understand you need to
get to grips with my story,

but how far?

- If I don't feel...
- If you don't feel what?

- You think you'll have the lead role?
- It's obvious.

I'm not afraid of comedy.

- And I can sing.
- Can you?

Enough, enough.

Well, why not after all?

Go ahead then.

Spit it out.
What's your scene? Anarchist!

Here it is.

What am I supposed to do
with these Bibles?

I don't care if they have been found
or stolen, it's not my problem.

But nobody sells holy books by chance.
This is a divine sign.

Don't worry, I'm not a believer.
Not at all, God forbid!

A for absolutely,
T for totally,

H for hermetic

You now the rest.

In a word, I'm an atheist.

Atheist.
A-T-H-E-I-S-T

Funny, right?

Especially for a woman like me.
Look at my style!

People who have nothing to do
are always in a rush.

My mother has been a billionaire
several times. Also a widow, each time.

The other day, as she was looking
in the mirror, she told me...

"- I'm so tired!
- Of what, Mom?"

"I'm tired of being ugly."

Sorry?

Sorry, I thought you had said something.
Don't be sorry!

I don't mind speaking alone.

I love digressing!

Give me any subject,
I'll talk for hours!

The less I know,
the more I talk!

It's normal,
knowledge erects barriers everywhere.

And where it stops,
everybody gets down. It's dumb!

Thus, the less I know about a subject,
the more I talk, the more brilliant I am!

So I came to tell you
about work.

Work, should be like silk.

Smooth at the touch,
light to wear,

hot in winter, cold in summer,
blocking the flow of contaminated air,

with fibers open to oxygen,

as happy as freedom...

People are mistaken,
thinking work only benefits the bosses.

Physical fatigue is
healthy, soothing.

It favors the eliminations of toxins,
improves the body!

It softens the mind.

The waters of the exploiters

spread to their chairs and
soak their lungs with putrid smokes.

Slumped in the war for power,

they feel guilty because of their
responsibilities and they are filled

with negative ions and stress!

You're going to mention money!
That's the difference.

They have money
and workers don't.

But why would one
care about money?

You have a job,
you are getting paid.

You can eat and rest. You are easily
entertained because your mind is free!

Two paddles and
a tennis table ball,

a deck of cards, a walk in the forest,
a few caresses... Love!

And time flies!

We tricked death once again.

You're missing something,
you'll tell me.

A little bit of something
that is not pure entertainment.

Something to complete
your well-being.

We always miss something.

Comfort never adjusts itself.

Your goal moves away
as you think you're reaching it.

You buy more things, get credits,
think you're reaching the goal!

And once you catch it...
Hop!

It flies away.

There is no point running after it.
You have to ignore it.

Pretend you don't need it.

Despise it,
live without it.

Spend your money for pleasure only,
follow your heart.

And when it's empty...

I mean your money,
not your heart.

When it's empty,
wait for it to come back.

It's simple.

Loot at the innocents,
they cry of being innocent!

They need culprits
for their innocence.

God! Innocence is not a flaw.

It's a virtue.

If such a thing exists.

It's not something to brandish,

it's something
to savor like a fine wine.

So, I was saying...

Work is like silk.

Silk for oneself!

Some is natural,
some is artificial.

Beaming artificial!

I'm so funny!

So, I...

Just like my mother, several times
billionaire and congenitally a widow,

I could have poisoned
my husbands.

Like many did before.

No?

I thought it was more elegant
to kill them slowly.

More elegant and
more perverse.

With innocence!

And while working!

We had enough money.
That's a euphemism.

We had a horde of servants.

Some say "a theory of".
De Gaulle revived this expression.

I love words.

What would music be
without words?

We always put music
above everything.

But what would music be
without words?

An incomplete word.

Music is but
discipline of sounds.

I...

prefer my words...

free.

So, unskilled workers at every floor
to execute the work.

"Execute."

As if it was guilty!

No. I said no.

And here I am.
You'd have laughed.

The whole day with a broom,
a vacuum cleaner,

a mop, a feather duster...
With an unoccupied mind, indeed.

A duster on the head,

and an apron openly
PRO-LE-TA-RI-AN!

Guests? I'd rush to the oven!

Pies, salty, sweet,
pancakes, pastries...

I'd cook stews with my cooking book.
A twenty-volumes book.

My own Bible.

I was talented.

And so...

They died of shame!

One after the other,
of seeing me work without suffering.

Without blushing.
I was all chill!

I never remarried. I took servants
and I pay them the minimum wage.

I'm so happy!

You can't imagine.

All of a sudden,
the idea came to my mind.

By doing other person's work,
I was taking their money.

I thought:
"This can't be!"

I opted for
another kind of work.

The one people wouldn't accept
because it's not remunerated.

I visit, I help, I counsel.

Preferably in prison,
as you can see.

So let me tell you.

Not everybody can be a hobo.

Social-include yourself!

You are gifted,
I can sense that.

Don't hide your gifts
behinds your rags.

Offer them to our society.

Gambling for gambling is not sane.
It's selfish and counter-productive.

It's a dead end.

Life is not a game,
despite what some claim.

It's a perverse way to evacuate
our fellow comrades. To dupe them.

To deny their right to dialogue.

Your hands are so agile!

Your hands are so agile!

And critical eyes.

You are almost bald
and your body is full of poetry.

Be a hairdresser!

Hairdressing is beautiful!

It gives us time
to dream or talk.

It gives our hands their independence.
They act like artists.

They brush,
they caress,

they adapt,
they construct...

Our soul escapes
or surrender to others.

Stop masturbating.

Don't you think
you could be a hairdresser?

Say yes and
I'll buy you a salon.

I'll pay the bail so you are freed
and it will be sorted out!

Stop this ignoble task!
You're disgusting!

You won't?

Well die in your own shit!

You are so mediocre!

You bum!

This is not work!

I'm moving the sap up.

So it can be spread
all over the world

to create billions of workers.

This is not funny.

It's stupid
and old-fashioned.

Yes, but I need some kind of
logic in my movies.

I think that would justify
your relaxation.

- Relax?
- Relax.

It's like relaxation.
What's the difference?

This is completely incoherent.

How do you build billions of workers
by throwing away some sperm?

"Suspend your rape!"
That would be spiritual.

This kind of humor is...
convoluted.

And poseur.

- How is yours?
- Mine?

I don't need humor
in my films.

So you want the movie
to end like this, in prison?

Maybe.

Or after Lucien's death.

What bothers me
with your story is that...

There is no ending.

Or... Just the Brazilian
in the swimming-pool?

If you need an ending,
I can make one for you.

A few month later I was tested.

I am HIV-negative.

- You mean...
- I don't mean anything!

Nothing!

I am HIV-negative.

An HIV-negative killer
who killed the man he loved.

This doesn't make sense.

Your story is a mish-mash.

You may have avoided it,
he may have lied...

I'm sorry.

I don't want your compassion!

Fucking hell!

Let's be honest.

This story is not for me.

Give it to somebody else.

It's moving,
a bit twisted,

You'll find easily.

Who?
If you refuse, who?

I don't know.

I really don't know.

Goodbye.

Subtitles: tadanobu@KG
Proofreading: flipflink