All language subtitles for For Ever Mozart.en

You're late! Kiss me.

We're waiting!

The French franc
keeps dropping, Baron.

Is it yes or no?

We'll soon find out.

This is me.

"A Prisoner of Love".

That's why you changed
"Man's Hope" to "expectations"?

Shit, the cinema!

36 CHARACTERS
IN SEARCH OF HISTORY

Expectations...

That's the word I'd like to write.

Modern life is too fast-paced

to allow any room
for a feeling so ardent,

so tender.

We shrug our shoulders
at this chaste betrothal with the future.

Modern man has no time to hope,

nor to love.

It's the little people who hope.
Not the modern world.

Like the saints
who atone and love for us.

Everywhere in our poor Europe,

the tradition of modest expectations
is in the hands of the poor.

Like old seamstresses,
whose lace work

no machine could ever match.

You'll say that these poor fools...

Living on expectations, are no more
laudable for hoping than for living.

Probably...

Next!

Mr Vitalis, I'm Baron Felix.

"War is easy. It's..."

So is it yes?

What's your film called?

"The Fatal Bolero".

100,000 francs.

Go on.

1,000,000 francs.

Good thing I'm not serious
or I'd think it over for another year.

"War is easy. It's sticking
a piece of metal in a piece of flesh."

No, not at all!

Tonight at 10.
I booked a table at Edgar.

We're expecting you.

No, Father! It's not for you anymore.
You have to turn the page!

We'll start over after vacation.

I need to speak to you.

She sent me a letter.

You're lucky.

Yes, but I'm scared.

Too much of her
brings me bad luck.

Will you be at your mother's
for vacation?

Yes, Uncle.

I'm going to Madrid to get a book.

I'll come to see you
before going to Paris.

- How old is it now?
- 35. You should know.

Either you're faithful
or you aren't.

Each in his own way.
I was in Spain.

I found Azana's book
about how Don Quixote was invented.

I haven't forgotten.

With the communists
I'll go to my death.

But I won't go one step further.

Something's wrong.

Is it her or is it him?

- You'll have to push.
- I'm tired!

I know, I know.

You saw Sollers' article in "Le Monde",

"Sarajevo and Marivaux".

Let's go by foot. It's not far.

She's given him the idea
of going to Sarajevo

to put on
"The Game of Love and Chance".

As if France needed that!

That screwy philosophizing
daughter of yours!

He says he'll find a sponsor,

if I lend him the car.

Can you imagine?

The car in which Albert Camus got killed

drives on to Sarajevo.

I may have Corneille or Racine.

We said no tragedies!

How about Musset?

- "One Mustn't Play at Love"
- In Sarajevo.

I heard Musset
was mean to George Sand.

Serves her right.

And what's more, Camille...

that's me!

Happiness is such a rare pearl

in this earthly ocean.

I know her. Three years ago,
she wanted to deliver Jerusalem.

In the meantime, she's unemployed.

In Madrid, candles are forbidden
in every church.

- What do they use?
- Electricity.

Good God.

- I agree.
- I don't.

"We begin by defending a Republic
and end up robbing stagecoaches": Hugo.

I don't like guerillas,

that ass Guevara, 2 or 3 Vietnams...

Yeah, Dad. 2 or 3 Americas.

Kings lunch, princes dine,
paupers sup.

That's right.

So, who starts?

I, Albert Camus' granddaughter,

decide to put on
"One Mustn't Play at Love" in Sarajevo.

It's suicide.

"Suicide is the only
serious philosophical problem."

"The Rebel", page one.

To do so, I've asked

the help and support
of my cousin, here present.

Children were once parental property.

Yes, but when children are grand,

they belong to their grandparents.

Say something.

No, he'll take his $100,000
for the "Fatal Bolero".

Ridiculous!

Shameful!

How horrible.

I have their word.

We'll never see that money.

This is what Juan Goytisolo
told me in Madrid:

Is the history of Europe

in the 1990's a simple rehearsal

with slight symphonic variations

of the cowardice
and chaos of the 1930's?

Austria, Ethiopia,
Spain, Czechoslovakia:

a dreadful, unending Bolero by Ravel.

Anyway, the war is over.

So what?
It was a civil war!

What you're saying is irrelevant!

Anyway, he's right.

What about the forests?
The fish? The wolves?

What's she talking about?

You heard me.

They'll rebuild it any which way.

No use voting green.

I'd like to go away.

With them.

It's not good enough here?

No, I'm not happy.

She can be Rosette.

There's nothing more to say.

Yes, there's more.

Now that I'm unemployed,

during these slow, empty hours,

a sadness rises into my mind
from the depths of my soul.

Bitterness that everything is
a sensation belonging only to me

and also something outside me.

Something I'm incapable
of changing!

Alas, life's a nightmare bad enough.
Leave our dreams out of it.

Articulate!

Yes, Uncle.

How often do my own dreams
rise before me?

They represent what's most intelligent
in the young generation,

in this Europe,

not purified,
but corrupted by suffering...

To tell me how
they resemble reality.

Not exalted,

but humiliated
by its new-won freedom.

...because I refuse them

and they appear suddenly
from the exterior.

You too,

nothing but youth for sale.

Who's the father
of characters in a play?

It was your idea
to do theater there...

It's the author, Dad.

And who is the mother?

The actor.

Come with us... please.

I have to stop by Paris.

Listen to my idea.

Remember Hemingway's house?

My Lord,
I come to ask a favor of you.

The villagers to whom I spoke
say you love your cousin

and that you wooed me
as a kind of joke.

You'll need some money.

I've saved up.

Like that?

Alas... let's go!

What were you talking about?

Do you mind telling me?

We were talking about our country.

He lives in Prague now.
His family was killed.

We were talking about death
and about how you feel.

When it hits you?

Yes.

It's not like in books.
They use nice sentences,

but it's not like that.

I told him what happens.
He agreed.

You don't feel anything,
but you say something.

What?

Once I was run over by a police car.

There was an explosion. I fell.

I was lying on the sidewalk
in a daze.

But I didn't think of dying.

There is no death.

There's only...

me...

who is going to die.

We're expecting you !

No, we're staying here.

Don't be stupid. It's cold.

No, we're staying here.

- At least come eat.
- We'll manage.

I'll be back later.

A room with a view.
Let's get to work.

What did he want?

What an ass.

Let's get to work.

Kings lunch, princes dine,

paupers sup.

Not like that.

Words are words
and kisses are kisses.

I realize I have little wit
as soon as I open my mouth.

Let's get to work.

Tonight, philosophy.

Say something.

I think, therefore I am.

In "I think therefore I am,"

the "I" of "I think" is not the same
as the "I" of "I am". Why?

The relation between body and spirit
has yet to be shown.

Between thought and existence.

It's not funny.

I bit my tongue.

The sensation of I have of existence
is not yet a "me".

It's an unreflected sensation.

It's born within me,
but... without "me".

What are you up to?

Nothing, Uncle.

Is everything okay?

We're not tourists, Dad.

I'm asking because people are
unhappier than we think.

And after all,

there's no such thing
as grown-ups.

What are you thinking?

I was wondering why I'm here...

and what it means to be here.

Do you regret having come?

No.

Why do we ask such questions?

Why do we ask
whether we exist or not?

I'm alive and I'm here.

Why is it dark at night?

Maybe the universe was once
young like you.

And the sky was all ablaze.

As the world grew older,
it grew farther away.

When I look at the sky
through the stars,

I only see what has disappeared.

Tomorrow, Sheherazade.

I brought you a book.

A law of what?

There's a law of compensation.

Like with banks?

Balance, if you prefer.

Come on... for France.

Still no news?

A postcard.

It's three weeks old.

Justice always prevails.

lf you have a wife

and children,
you can't write Hamlet.

I thought Shakespeare was married.

You've never read him! I have.

He missed out
on some good stuff.

Defeat of intelligence.

What now?

I'm giving up. I'm tired.

Is Sarajevo far?

Just think...

That's all I do.

"I am but a living stage on which
various actors do various plays."

Fernando Pessoa.

Yes. Remember his outline for Faust?

Act 1 :
War of intelligence against itself.

Act 2:
War of intelligence.

It's the Minister of War.

Of Defense, Sarah.

How's your book?

It's coming along,
Mr Minister of Defense...

but not of the State!

Of the Republic!

Act 4:
War of intelligence against action.

Act 5:
Defeat of intelligence.

I see.

Very few people can see.

I hear, then !

Let's go.

Just another 300 kilometers.

One more cigarette.

Shit, he left!

Vichy wasn't the Republic.

But was the Revolution?
And its soldiers?

It helps to use the right words.

Harry, books are crimes.

"And as long as there are hacks

"who scribble away,

"there will be scoundrels

"out to kill."

Victor Hugo.

Your children
are in Yugoslavia, right?

Her son and his cousin.

- What for?
- To put on Musset in Sarajevo.

With 17 empty theaters in Paris!

Are the poor kids having fun?
What do they hope to find?

A taste of freedom
we're lacking here.

"Freedom? What for?"

You understand,
this is France here.

There, it's America.

She's scared.
Remember those pilots.

We know they were tortured.

Tell her France will help
if necessary.

I see a house!

What is she saying?
I can't hear!

She said:
"The poor will save the world."

Like us... poor asses.

They'll do it despite themselves.

Just try. Fight.

I saw a house. We're safe.

They'll do it despite themselves.

They'll ask for nothing
in exchange.

They don't know the price
of services rendered.

They'll accomplish
this immense task.

Across the street,

the Vietnamese
made Kissinger yield.

The peace talks.
Nation against State.

You know what de Gaulle said
of the French?

"They live in France.
France lives in me."

You owe me a favor.

I'll do what I can.

At this table, 40 years ago,
Rosselini finished "Pulcinella".

France won't help.

You say you love me.
And you never lie?

Never.

Yet this maiden has told me
that you do.

What will you say to her,
Perdican,

when she holds
your words against you?

What did I do to make you cry?

I understand Alfred de Musset.

But all her talk
about philosophy...

What's that?

Almost nothing

or...

something I don't know.

Something between the two.

Who is it?

What do you think?

What are we responsible for?

For what we do and for what we
let happen when we can prevent it.

One's active
and the other's passive.

Yes, of unequal importance.

Letting children starve to death,

as we've done
in Africa and elsewhere,

is nothing to be proud about.

But killing one child is
something else, something worse.

In the first case,
you're responsible by default.

In the second,
you're responsible by excess.

An excess of violence, of hatred.

Isn't an excess of evil worse

than an absence of good?

Okay, once again :

One is never totally innocent
of what one can prevent,

but one is totally guilty
only of what one does.

Is he still in love with you?

That's his problem.

I hope he isn't.

It's up to you.

"Philosophy is almost nothing,"
he told me.

"Or...

something I don't know."

I see.

You need to have faith.

Like in Islam,
or with your Christ.

No, that's not philosophy at all.

Let's get going.

I'm with the Red Cross.
Meet my secretary.

They speak every language here.

The International Brigade?

No, international brigands.

Where did we leave off?

Let's discuss the prisoners.

There are no more prisoners.

Their cigarettes are here.

The hostages, if you prefer.

France wants to know, Miss.

You know my name?

We saw you on CNN last week.

That's nice.

I'm bored. What can I do?

Go shoot your load.

How about the bank?

The hostages, please.

We need to interrogate them.

Laws are laws,

even in wartime, Commandant.

He's a General!

What's the writing on the wall?

It's Cyrillic.

What does it mean?

Sarajevo, whore of the Occident.

Can we see them?

Overseas Geneva Bank Ltd.

It's time to work.

I'll be right back.

- I lose.
- Stand there.

Yes, sir.

Honor to Kasparov.

Lower your eyes.

Why are you laughing?

What did you say?

I said you look like Danton.

I told you so.

History professor?

No, philosophy.

Same thing.
Have you read Michelet?

Yes, sir.

Do you remember his description

of the Committee of Public Safety?

I don't remember that.

They were third-rate writers
and failed actors.

No one had slept for 3 weeks.

Everyone was crying.

Danton wasn't part of the Committee.

Articulate!

Danton wasn't in it.
He was Minister of Justice.

Turn around.

Bend over.

Lift up your shirts.

You too, Miss.

Oh, what we take up the ass!

Your grandfather?

He's your brother?

They're your sisters?

How about them?

What will it be?

Philosophy will be our girlfriend.

Forever.

Day and night.

Even if she loses her name.

Even in her absence.

A clandestine friend.

We respect what prevents us
from getting close to her...

As we sense
that we're not awake...

And that which is wakeful in us,
even in our sleep,

is due to her difficult friendship.

Farewell, Perdican.

I said to wear a skirt!

Yes, Dad.

Cinema replaces our gaze

with a world
in harmony with our desires.

Water! Only water!

No, it's no good.

Since I'm in the movies,
all I do is wait!

I'm half an f-stop off.

He's the new runner, sir.

I'm asking what this is!

The location, sir.

What are you eyeing, asshole?

Nothing, ma'am.

A pack of Marlboros.

Yes, ma'am.

Stay here!

I'm studying cinema in high school.

Give him a script.

Go have a seat.

The poster.

It'll cost a fortune.

There's money in the sea.

The Hakim brothers taught me that.

What we need is a casino nearby
and a school for Solange.

No problem.

Give me the figures.

- What is this?
- The location.

It's not natural.
Get something else.

Seriously... what's the problem?

Everything. There's not enough water.
It's all wrong.

I was told to keep expenses down.

Let's go.
I'll call the production office.

Don't forget the paychecks.

Who will the actress be?

We'll tell you later.

Here are the pictures.

They're all cows.
What do you think?

Why do cows always look
so grumpy?

lf your breasts were yanked on
four times a day

and you only got fucked once a year,
you'd look grumpy too.

Have you read it?

Yes. In my opinion...

We don't want it!

I don't care about the story!
The title should be "Fatal Bolero"

and the girl should die
in a twister!

Yes, sir.

This must be why I've always felt
a profound sadness in the cinema.

Both a possibility of expression

and the trace of something
essential, renounced.

Butt-fuck me, bastard.

Shove your cock
up the bitch's ass.

Slide your dick up her butt.

Stick your prick...

Place your bets.

-So what's the news?
-Some good, some bad.

I'll be right back.

I found cheap actors.

He's here. He wants money.

Who are these people asking for money?
What have they done?

None of them
has ever sent me a nice letter.

I'll sign two more, then it's over!

We still need... some cash, sir!

Show me that.

Place your bets.

Go sit down.

Did I spell it right?

No!

Place your bets.

Number 36, Baron...

You think so?

Like the Popular Front?

Exactly. Paid vacations.

Long live vacations!

Do your homework!

Number 36.

36, red, even, passe.

Godammit, piss up my crack,
piss up my bung hole!

Give me a raise, Baron.

Butt-fuck me to death !

We found cheap actors.

Go away!

I need cash, sir!

See if they're still breathing.

You're crazy.

How horrible!

Not at all. Didn't Cocteau say:
"The cinema..."

That's right.

There's a woman in here.

A man in here.

We'll meet at the hotel.

Knowledge of the possibility

of representation consoles us

for being enslaved to life.

Knowledge of life

consoles us
for the fact that representation

is but shadow.

No film stock.

- Since when?
- 3 weeks.

I'm half an f-stop off.

I'll take care of it.

We're not tourists.

Why "Fatal"?

There's no use. I can't.

Let's start over, Miss.

It's too hard.

It's because you're acting.

Acting weakens the text.

Acting removes its presence.
It sucks the blood out of it.

You've received money.
It's time to work.

When will you shoot the battle?

There is no battle.

The script!

How about page 121?

Ah yes... you're right.

There... It's done.

Lesson 32.
John Ford. Henry Fonda.

"She Wore a Yellow Ribbon".

I have an idea.

He has an idea!

Don't you care that I love you?

See you tomorrow.

- Can I come in?
- What for?

So I can teach you the rest.

- You're harsh.
- That's how I feel.

Because you've never suffered.

I've made mistakes...
but I've loved.

I don't understand the "Fatal".
Can I ask him?

He won't answer you.

In a novel,

a house or a person

gets all its signification

its very existence,
from the writer.

Here, a house or a person

gets a small amount
of its meaning from me.

It's true signification
is much larger. It's gigantic.

It is to exist here and now,

like you and me,

like no imagined character can exist.

Its immense weight,
its mystery and its dignity

arise from this fact.

The fact that I exist,

me too,

not like in a work of fiction,

but as a human being.

Yes, Dad.

I knew it'd end like this.

Not knowing
where to put the camera.

What do we do?

Put the camera
in front of the actors.

Rolling!

"Bolero Fatal", 52.

Yes, there's more.

Now that I'm unemployed,

during these slow, empty hours

there rises
from the depths of my soul

and... into my mind,

a sadness.

2.8 minus 1/4.

Yes, Dad!

We'll make it easier.
Just say the "Yes" at the beginning.

Yes... sir.

Perfect. That will do.

We weren't rolling.
We're reloading.

We have time.

What's the problem now?

I prefer to die.

Whenever you're ready, Miss.

I'm going to lunch.

I'm staying.

How horrible.

It's what I like in cinema.

A saturation of glorious signs,

bathing in the light
of their absent explanation.

I'm cold!

Fight, Miss.

I am fighting.

Let's go.

Okay.

You're better already.

Yes.

Okay, cut!

The sound's okay!

The camera too!

My master once said:

"I conceive of nothing as infinite.

"How can I conceive
of anything as infinite?"

"Listen," I said.
"Imagine a space,

"and that beyond this space
is more space,

"and farther on,
there's more and more.

"It's never-ending."

"Why," asked my master?

I was stupefied.
"lf it ends," I shouted,

"what's beyond it?"

"lf it ends, beyond it is nothing,"

he answered.

My master was the only philosopher
who was truly sincere.

What's going on?

We're ruined, honey.

They ran off with the money.

Where to?

Now I'll have to work.

No, we have the negative.

What's that for?

We'll make prints
and open the movie fast.

It's in black and white!

No, it's in color.

Dumb bitch,
it's black and white!

lf it's poetry, I'll walk out.

We pay enough taxes as it is.

Look, we'll be able to buy
your Omega.

Not an Omega.
I'm not in the Olympics.

Whatever you want!

Judging by that...

I'll end up with a Swatch.

Is your husband here?

It's Mr Felix!

Quiet. Keep working.

Does it start soon?

lf it doesn't, I'm leaving.

It's in black and white.

I hope it's not poetry.

It looks like a winner!

Why "Fatal"?

It's the name of a war.
We lost many friends.

Your fucking movie
is full of corpses?

- Not exactly.
- The cinema is all about waiting!

Shut up!

Sorry, kid. There are no tits!

Miss, you'll see.

What's the movie about?

The photography is gorgeous,
you'll see, Miss.

Are there any boobs?

- No, no boobs.
- Any knockers?

Your grandmother used that word.

No knockers!

Get lost, dickwad!

Get that asshole out of here!

Beat it, little prick!

Let's go see "Terminator 4".

Come back, friends! Come back!

We'll change the movie!

Where's the mistake?

Mother and I told you,
you have to turn the page.

Justice prevails.

I knew it.

Try it as a farewell to the tutti
and an invitation to the solo.

It's another world.
Built up from nothing,

then come back to nothing.

Let's begin.

Yes, Governor.

I prefer Wagner.

Not Wagner!
You'd hear him at the bottom of the sea!

Whereas Mozart...
It's gentle and light.

That's what people think.

Let's begin.

Yes, Governor.

Too many notes in Mozart.

That's what people think.