All language subtitles for There.Will.Be.No.More.Night.2020.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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THERE WILL BE NO MORE NIGHT

While they are flying, everything
the pilots watch is being filmed.

Everything that is
recorded is then archived.

In the theater of external operations,

deleting the recordings is
a violation, or even a crime.

There are two pilots
in each helicopter.

Below is the pilot
flying the machine,

above is the
commander, “the gunner”.

The commander wears a helmet
that manages the camera of the helicopter.

If he turns his head to see
what is happening to his left,

or if he turns to his right,
if he looks down,

the camera follows.

His head movements
also guide the machine gun.

Together, they make
one body.

I've encountered Pierre V.
several times,

he's a pilot in
the French army.

When he's at the controls
of his helicopter,

he wears field glasses
that intensify light.

If he lifts his head
to look at the stars,

their number is multiplied
by one hundred.

Pierre V. says that it's
a unique experience:

to see a hundred times
more stars than usual.

In the viewfinder of his
thermographic camera too,

everything that
produces heat glows,

living beings as
well as car lights.

Pierre V. says that he is often
disorientated by those light reflections.

During their training,
the pilots undergo this exercise:

they follow a car, never
taking their eyes off of it.

They concentrate
hard on it.

Then after a moment,

someone asks them if they remember
the route that the car has taken.

And they realize
that they don't know.

They don't remember.

They have completely forgotten
the route, the terrain, the curves.

For pilots, this loss
of visual contact

is the most disturbing
thing of all.

Losing visual contact,

that is how soldiers
refer to the moment

when the enemy
gets out their sight.

Either they lose
sight of the target,

or they lose sight of the trajectory
the target has taken.

In either case,
it causes uneasiness.

A man disappears
for an instant,

and we are no longer
sure of anything.

Someone might
have taken his place.

Or he had the time
to hide his weapon.

The helicopters are
hundreds of meters,

sometimes kilometers,
from their targets.

And the pilots can't hear anything
happening on the ground.

They are cut off.

They feel neither the wind,
nor the heat, nor the cold,

they don't know if their enemies
are talking, if they shout.

The only noise that
they can sometimes hear

is the sound of strafing
from their own cannon.

Despite the power
of the cameras,

Pierre V. complains
of not seeing well.

Or rather: too much and not enough
all at the same time.

The cameras suddenly zoom in
on what they are filming.

They zoom so much that he can distinguish
the clothing a man is wearing,

the design and the
color of the fabric.

But this proximity alarms him.

And when he zooms in,
it only lasts an instant.

His view is intrusive,

like opening a door
that should not have been.

Pierre V. also says that
the zooms are nauseating,

they can't be stood
for very long.

Pilots learn to never
believe what they see.

They call it the
“culture of doubt”.

The more they see,

the less they believe
what they see.

At night they have difficulty
differentiating a river from a road.

The only thing that helps them,
when there is no wind,

is the reflection of
the stars on the water.

It is also difficult to
distinguish between men,

to tell the difference between
a soldier and a civilian.

But it's not just a question
of good or bad sight.

Soldiers only have
the right to fire

if they are sure of their
enemies' hostile intentions.

At least that is what their
rules of engagement say.

When soldiers talk about war,
these questions always come back:

doubt, clearance to shoot.

The imbalance of the
forces is irrevocable

and the pilots are
now out of reach.

The only thing they
risk says Pierre V.,

is to find themselves
before a court of law.

They are haunted by the fear
of committing a blunder.

But realistically they no longer
know what a blunder is.

The definitions are blurry.

And no pilot is taken to law court,

or it's very rare.

According to Pierre V.,

the gunner must
learn to refrain himself

because everything
is too easy.

And when he is at the
controls of his machine,

he must regularly pinch himself
to be sure he isn't dreaming.

When they hear the
sound of a helicopter,

Iraqi or Afghan fighters quickly
hide their weapons behind a wall

or even throw them
in the middle of nowhere.

And that complicates
the pilots' task even more.

They have problems,
when bodies scintillate,

distinguishing between a farmer
carrying a rake on his shoulder

and a soldier with
a Kalashnikov.

In Afghanistan,

villagers have been killed in the
middle of the night by air strikes

while watering the fields.

Because of this
possible confusion,

farmers also hide their tools when
they hear a helicopter approaching,

for fear that they be
mistaken for rifles.

Pierre V. has watched
this scene several times.

He felt that these men
looked suspicious,

he thought that they were
preparing something bad.

It's obvious to him.

The hesitations,
the coming and going,

the discussions.

It's the middle of the night,

Pierre V. says that they have
no business being in the field.

And they don't seem peaceful.

There's one who starts to run.

And a man who runs,
that’s what is most noticeable.

When I ask if they
hear the helicopter,

Pierre V. says yes,
undoubtedly.

When I ask why
they don't run away

since they hear
the helicopter,

Pierre V. says it would make
them even more suspicious.

According to him, they
are pretending to be calm.

When I point out that one of
the men was jumping cheerfully,

Pierre V. doesn't answer.

But he adds there is always
a risk of being wrong.

When I ask if it's normal
that the pilot continues

to go after the man
who rolled under the truck,

he replies that it's
not very decent

but once you
start shooting

it's difficult to stop.

The distinct spots
visible on the ground,

Pierre V. thinks
they are a mixture.

They are bomb fragments
and also some blood.

Maybe it's a crime,
says Pierre V.

but he immediately adds:

the pilot could always say that they never signed the
Geneva Convention for the protection of the wounded,

so it doesn't apply.

As he was watching this scene,

Pierre V. mentioned the insolent
tranquillity of the man in white.

When the pilots
shoot at a man,

then they must give
the film to their hierarchy.

The military will watch
the scene later, calmly.

They will ask if the
shooting was justified.

They will verify,
by examining the images,

that the man who was killed
actually had hostile intentions.

They will discuss,
they will interpret.

When things are not
sufficiently distinct,

they will resort to what
is not seen, the context.

They will invoke,
if necessary,

the principle of delayed
legitimate defence.

Then the pilot will
consult a psychologist,

he will consult another
one six months later.

You don't know when
the anxiety will appear,

you don't know when
the guilt will appear.

It may never appear.

Or it can come,
according to Pierre V.,

when the soldier is sitting
comfortably in his living room,

when he is with his family,
while watching TV.

The anxiety is so hidden that it
will surprise him when least expected.

It is as hidden
as these images,

these scenes buried
in the army archives,

these films shot
each day far from home.

It's an endless film.

Each instant is recorded,

even when there
is nothing to see.

Pierre V. says these images
are not meant to be watched.

According to him, these
documents are strictly operational,

and that perspective
can only elude me.

I believe that one day
they will come out again,

they will haunt us,
just as childhood images.

This scene was
filmed by the French.

A Puma is picking
up ground troops

while another helicopter,
a Tiger, covers the operation.

In the beginning, the pilots
scrutinize the landscape,

everything is normal.

But a little later,

enemy silhouettes
appear over the ridge.

According to Pierre V.,

before they appeared, these men
were hiding underneath blankets.

It’s a usual method
used by the Afghans.

They soak the blankets
in water, and at night,

in the mountains,
they cool down very quickly.

The bodies beneath
become invisible.

When I point out the fact that French
helicopters are named after wild animals

the Puma, the Gazelle, the Tiger,

it makes Pierre V. smile.

He adds that sometimes
they have the prey's name,

sometimes the predator's.

Americans name their helicopters
after Indian tribes they've massacred:

Apache, Kiowa, Cheyenne.

Pierre V. says that
people don’t run away,

except when there is shooting
or an explosion, and even then,

sometimes it doesn’t
impress them anymore.

After many years of war and
the noise of helicopters above them,

they wouldn’t be able to live
if they thought about it.

They hear a noise, sometimes
the noise is constant,

but they don’t know if they
are the ones being targeted.

They feel an eye
watching them,

an eye with an eyelid that
doesn’t close anymore.

But we can’t constantly
be afraid,

it’s impossible to run
away all the time.

Again.

To see, if possible,
even further.

It doesn't matter that
there is absolutely nothing to see.

Whether there is only the ground,

or the sky.

To keep scrutinizing.

Until there are no more landmarks.

Nothing which allows you
to judge your own actions.

No more constraints.

Pierre V. thinks this video has changed
people's point of view on those wars,

because it has caused a scandal.

One of the men hit by the soldiers
that day was a journalist,

a journalist who came
to take pictures.

In his bag,
there was no rifle,

but a camera tripod.

From the beginning to the end,

the pilots were wrong about
what they were watching.

If there was one thing to learn
from the scene, says Pierre V.,

it is that the more pilots can see,
the more they can make mistakes.

This is how we make war.

We can’t know if these
images represent the rest,

or if the rest is worse.

One day, what the pilots so often
thought they saw, becomes reality.

Everybody ends up
wearing a Kalashnikov:

the citizens, the peasants,
the shepherds, the insurgents,

the Taliban, the Islamists.

In the villages, in the cities,
in the mountains.

On their screens, it's the
only thing the pilots see.

They repeat endlessly
the same sentences.

And when men appear,

their enthusiasm to see that
they are armed stays intact.

As if each time
it was a surprise.

There is always someone
behind the camera.

Even when we think
there is nobody.

Even when it is a machine
which films, or a technician.

There is always someone watching.

Someone who records
and who watches.

This time, the pilots
were surprised,

they had nothing to do with it.

They yelled as they would have
yelled in front of an achievement

or a catastrophe.

Yet it’s not the first time that
they witness this kind of scene,

that they see a handmade
bomb suddenly explode.

Now they can’t stop turning
around this sort of eye

immersed in the sand.

When I ask why they dwell
on the location of the explosion,

Pierre V. answers that
the pilots always check,

even if there is
nothing to see.

They turn in circles,

it’s a kind of ritual.

Then he adds that
this scene is particular,

because of the astonishment.

When I ask him if he
has already seen death,

Pierre V. answers no.

One day I ended up on
this scene of daily life,

found among the
war scenes.

A soldier is filming children
playing in an Afghan village.

At first it is worrying,
but the cross in the viewfinder

becomes less precise,

as if relaxed.

At moments it becomes threatening again,
but regularly, I can't see it anymore.

This soldier seems to have forgotten
that his camera is a weapon

And he uses it to compose a shot.

There will be no more night,

nor need for a lamp or sunlight.

There will be no more distance.

Nothing far and nothing close.

There will be neither shelter nor nooks.

Nowhere to hide.

No more resort or escape.

We will distinguish silhouettes.

But we won't see people's faces.

There will be no more reciprocity.

No more head to head.

The pilots have been flying
for maybe an hour or two,

have surveyed
and overflown the area.

That is what Pierre V. says.

The men are armed.

They might be Talibans.

Or they might be shepherds.

This one hopes to escape.

He drags himself,
as if in this dry landscape,

walking on four feet
could make him invisible.

He is killed.

This one crawls.
They terminate him.

Pierre V. says pilots are proud
when there is no error,

no mistake,

when the sophisticated precision
of the shots is at its zenith.

He is surprised they
got clearance to fire

as there were
civilians nearby.

When I ask him why soldiers
do not capture the fighters,

he says that helicopters could
indeed land in these mountains,

but it is not the
way things happen.

While he is watching this scene,

I see him hesitate for the first time.

But he quickly renounces
to express his doubts,

deciding I am not able to watch
these images the way he does.

How many people
wait in the tents?

How many wait to come out
and retrieve the bodies?

Someone is approaching
slowly and carefully,

it looks like an old woman,
her back hunched.

The pilot watches her,

then turns
to something else.

The war could be told entirely
through the lens of the viewfinder.

Nothing would be missing.

There could even be, in the end,
the soldiers' departure

when the military staff
decide to call back their troops.

But it would be a fake end.

Because when the troops leave,
the ones who live there

are armed to the teeth.

Where there was war,

peace is no longer possible.

That is what saddens Pierre V.

He says it’s disappointing
for the soldiers,

being welcomed
nowhere as heroes.

From time to time,
in the country where they live,

a pilot may be watching them.

They start living
like the others again.

They see their family,

they see their friends.

They have the worn look of soldiers
engaged in an endless war.

Often, Pierre V. has told me
about the soldiers’ impatience,

the role it plays in their lives,

built on waiting.

He says he would not
want a war at home,

he would not want a war
in his own street.

But a foreign operation, yes.

War in another country.

We are at Vilano Beach,
United States,

it's in fact a dark night.

It is neither morning,
nor afternoon,

nor even the
end of the day.

The most recent
cameras can do that,

they can remove the night.

Only the stars create
a disturbance,

because they glow
in the daytime sky.

It’s still night.

And this man plays
at hiding behind a bush.

Soon enough some
will see as in daylight,

the others will stay
immersed in darkness.

Minuscule and stubborn,

they will continue to
advance arduously,

holding small lamps
or flashlights.

The powerful will see them
coming with great clarity.

It will be the world
of the real night,

and of the fake day.