Original subtitles

The Lions are Loose

Attention! Attention!

Express train number 8, "Le Drapeau",

coming from Bordeaux,

Libourne, Angoulême and Poitiers,

is arriving at the station on track number 5.

Cécile!

I was afraid my letter had arrived too late.

I'm in such a state. You can't imagine.

You look wonderful.

Albertine, you want to get divorced? Are you crazy?

I've nearly gone crazy.

- Did you have a nice trip? - Wonderful.

I was sitting backwards,

and the man next to me was smoking a pipe,

but even if he'd been smoking eucalyptus,

the ride from Bordeaux to Paris is beautiful.

Ah, Paris...

Not too shabby.

Listen to this.

"Sorry I couldn't meet you at the station. See you tonight.

"Best wishes. Richard."

Flowers, a suitor...

Your life in Paris is off to a good start.

Richard is not a suitor.

He courted me a long time ago.

It was at La Baule, on vacation.

We kissed, 3 years in a row.

Since then, we've sent each other holiday cards and greetings,

when I got married or when he graduated from Polytechnic School.

His little messages are more comforting

than those of my future ex.

Jacques was always crazy about little messages.

Every morning, I'd find one.

At first, it was, "Think of me," or "Kisses."

Then they quickly turned to insults like this.

Here. Read it. I'm not making it up.

"Don't forget to turn off the electric heater, like yesterday."

"Hot baths are bad for your heart

"and for our gas bill,

"which quadrupled last month."

You think that's funny?

I don't.

That a man can love his wife and watch his gas bill

is impossible to bear.

The bath was the last straw.

I'm taking boiling hot baths from now on,

even if I have to spend my whole paycheck.

- That's new. - I've had it for 2 years.

Not your suit, your paycheck. Are you planning on working?

- That's not exactly the word. - You scared me.

My dear, can you try to understand?

At 17, you were a virtuoso pianist.

At 20, you got married. At my age, you had 2 children.

I studied Latin in Bordeaux.

I got married in Bordeaux to a man from Bordeaux.

- I didn't die there because... - You got antsy.

I wasn't antsy. It was a question of survival.

I plan on showing what I can do,

showing that I exist.

If you don't mind my asking, what do you know to do?

Nothing. That's my strength. I'm up for anything.

I want to find a job that's pleasant, fun, if possible, fairly lucrative,

artistic and not too absorbing.

I want to enjoy my freedom.

Hello?

Yes?

Richard!

Yes. I'm here.

Pleased? Better than that, dear. Happy.

They're beautiful.

You're a dear.

Tonight? Why not?

As long as you don't bring me home too late.

Perfect.

See you downstairs at 8pm.

By the way, are you in a fight with your cousin Marie-Laure?

- No. - Oh.

No, we're not in a fight.

I'd love to meet her.

Did you see her photo in Vogue? Such class.

She's one of the 10 best-dressed women in the world.

She's part of the Paris elite. 300 people, tops.

To break into that world, you have to be a billionaire,

get out of prison, drink a magic potion

or be a genius.

I'm from the brilliant part of the family.

My cousin is having her spring banquet tomorrow.

It's the launch of the high season.

It has an amazing zoo-like aspect. You could get crushed.

Take me to get crushed! Be a dear.

Cécile, life is wonderful. I'm having dinner tonight at Maxim's.

Tomorrow,

I'm going to one of the world's 10 most elegant women's home.

And tomorrow morning, I'm spending all my money

on designer clothes.

In a month, you'll be asking me for a room,

a job and 100,000 francs.

Oh, you're such a downer. Come see this.

"Come see" what?

I'm running a hot bath. The revolution is under way!

I've been waiting for you for ages. I'd stopped hoping.

And here you are.

- Is this your car? - Yes. It's my little hot rod.

Watch the horsepower.

I changed the whole thing. I replaced everything:

valves, intake, clutch... Everything.

- Only the crankcase is original. - The body must be too.

- You are a woman, aren't you? - Well, yes...

I'll make you some room.

- Your dress is beautiful. - Thank you.

But not ideal for a sports car.

I forgot my overalls. Sorry.

Are you comfortable?

Good. Now... Sorry.

If there's room for two, there's room for three.

Let's see here.

Albertine, calm down. Be a woman and smile.

I'm taking you for prime rib at Maxime's.

I was just about to ask you to take me there.

You hear that hum?

Weber double-body carburetor. I added a Gordini pipe.

In turns, Alfas can't catch me.

Come on!

Extraordinary transmission. Shifts gears like a dream!

Porsche Synchro. It was hell putting it together.

Obviously, it's a gas guzzler. It's awful.

- What the hell is he doing? - You can't have everything.

No. Well...

My dream would be a direct injection Mercedes engine.

But to get that under the hood...

Too bad, because the road holding could take it.

Smooth, isn't it?

No! No! You look without crossing now?

Richard! Richard!

If I wasn't worried about the retort,

I'd show you the skid control.

Shit! It's closed.

Closed Thursday

I forgot it was Thursday.

Too bad. Maxime is extraordinary. His wife makes a beurre blanc...

Maxime, not Maxim's? Could we try the other one?

On Rue Royale? We'd look like we just came from Oklahoma.

We'll go to Aldo's. It's Italian.

Buongiorno, Aldo.

Buona sera.

Table for two.

- Your dress is a hit. - I look stupid.

No!

What can I get you?

A little salami, some ham, spaghetti and some Chianti.

No? Good.

- Nice, isn't it? - Very.

It's educational, that's all.

You see the Saclay nuclear battery like they tell kids,

"Einstein discovered the formula E = mc2."

What does that mean? I'm asking you.

Oh, no.

I want to make you happy, but you have to listen.

Come on... You'll understand everything.

Aldo, another tablecloth.

Please, Richard. Another night.

You're tired from your trip. I forgot.

Please forgive me.

Aldo, the check, please.

Well, my dear Albertine,

see you tomorrow.

Same time?

- No. - What do you mean, "no"?

You bored me more in 3 hours than my husband did in 3 years.

So you'll excuse me if I never see you again.

Albertine...

Albertine!

Thank you.

Oh, Charles, what a delight!

- Good evening. - Good evening.

What do you think of the party? Wild, isn't it?

Yes.

I told you about my friend Albertine. Mrs. Robert-Guichard.

Pleased to meet you. Cécile knows how to choose friends.

She has so many talents.

Oh, our dear scholar.

The Swedes just invented a machine that gets rid of anxiety.

André will tell me. He knows everything.

André!

- She's beautiful. - Exquisite.

When I told you the Paris elite was a bit like a zoo...

Marie-Laure is a sea anemone

whose delicate tentacles hold venomous harpoons.

My cousin is something of an anthropophage.

She's already devoured 2 husbands.

What's left of the third is over there,

in front of the Henry III chest.

The one on the left?

No. The one on the left is her lover.

Lucien Bonard, stockbroker.

Alfred Robert-Guichard is on the right.

They seem to get along.

Of course. Where do you think you are?

Marie-Laure takes lovers to decorate her sitting room.

She switches them out like you switch curtains.

There's Marie-Laure stepdaughter, Florence Robert-Guichard.

She's the mistress... Oh, sorry.

The companion of a left-wing intellectual,

a banker's son who wants to cover the family home in plastic.

Who is Challemberg?

He's over there.

In high society, he's got a terrible reputation.

In the medical world, he's extremely prestigious.

He works 14 hours a day.

He dedicates what little free time he has to games

for which his nurses are infinitely grateful.

Now that's a real man.

Unfortunately,

real men are only found hiding behind real women.

Mrs. Hélène Challemberg, filthy rich.

She helped launch tons of careers.

She argues with Marie-Laure

for the glory of who discovered Didier Marèze.

Didier Marèze? Author of The Eagle and the Student?

Have you read it?

10 times. Don't tell me he's here!

- He'd hang himself if he weren't. - Introduce me! Do you know him?

We all had our childhood romances. Mine was in Le Touquet.

Am I bothering you?

Oh, angel, you never bother me.

I was telling Marie-Laure

that I find these society snacks awful.

The Duchess of Marny can taste it.

It's like we're in Nogent.

That's what I wanted, like an outdoor restaurant.

I even thought of bringing in an accordion player,

a friend of Arnaud's.

He sings obscene lyrics to Mozart's Requiem

and eats amphetamines by the handful, like cashews.

Funny, isn't it?

Oh, Louise!

You have to admit, it's getting harder to see.

- What? - That she's not crazy.

Does that make you laugh? You have a pretty smile.

You should show off your assets. Mine is conversation.

Didier Marèze, man of letters.

Albertine Ferran, avid reader.

I thought The Eagle and the Student was very beautiful.

Not "beautiful," admirable! All the critics said so.

That was also in Please Insert, which I also wrote.

- Have you read it? - Of course.

It's not necessary

to know about everything we're talking about.

Sincerity denotes a lack of imagination.

Of course, the gentleman is irresistible.

Don't contradict him.

I never court a woman

unless she runs a publishing house.

So Madame wants to see Paris? So be it. But which one?

Cécile's Paris or Marie-Laure's?

Cécile, angel, you know. Tell her, quick.

What?

How lucky she is to have met me.

This is one thing where Paris can't be beat:

painting.

The impressionists drew lines for a century.

It's in Moscow or New York where they show their work,

but it's in Paris that they paint.

Look. Now this is bold.

Good-bye, country allegories. Hello, painting with a siphon.

- What is that? - It's a little bit of everything.

A handlebar and a bike pedal,

a rusty sewing machine wheel...

all welded by Salvatore.

If Marie-Laure saw that, she'll jump on it.

It's hideous. Don't tell me that's beautiful.

"Beautiful?"

"Beautiful" is a totally degraded term.

Vocabulary is important, my dear. Essential.

What do you think of it, Marèze?

I can't think. I'm amazed.

Salvatore blows me away.

You're drawn in by the rhythm, the organic complexity.

- The metal vibrates, sings... - Yes. It really hits you.

Very powerful.

I'm less a fan of his paintings.

They lack soul. They're... vacant.

I'm not against a certain harshness.

Salvatore obeys more constructivist than pictoral rules.

I like it. It's Spanish.

Why Spanish?

Why not?

I like the drawing in this one.

Say "the graphics," or "the writing." Never say the word "drawing."

Oh, Hélène, how nice to see you. Hello.

Hello.

Mrs. Ferran. Mrs. Challemberg.

Frédéric Moine, aka "The Magnificent."

I saw the artwork for Red Blood.

What do you think of this one? Does it sing?

I find the graphics a bit timid,

but I admit, it hangs on the wall.

Yes.

Ah, André. Always on time.

I only come and go.

Have you met my husband? Mrs...

Ferran.

- Cécile's best friend. - My respects, Madam.

Hélène, Herbin made only one good dress this season: yours.

My dear, you must be blind.

I borrowed mine from Cécile.

Well, don't give it back to her.

Excuse me, but I promised Salmon we'd go to Cochin.

I'll send the car back for you.

Madam.

You do it on purpose. You didn't even greet him.

- "Greet" who? - Marèze.

I don't share your taste for degenerates,

chronic psychopaths and society Don Juans.

After sleeping with half the Public Hospital,

that laboratory Don Juan is trolling the streets.

We must warn the police.

Sets Frédéric Moine

First gala to benefit the S.A.C.C.

I've never heard such racket.

I fought in 2 wars, and I was scared.

They'll end up sending us back to the opera.

Frédéric's sets were awful.

It looked like La Villette.

No, no, no, no.

I don't mind being put on, but to that extent?

I can tolerate ugly sets and costumes

and carnival dancers, but filthy music? No.

Debussy is boring, but clean.

Give me Afternoon of a Faun.

Everyone clapped. It will be a hit.

Don't be fooled. Tonight it was all friends.

Oh, look. It's the divine marquis.

It's Talma! My dear shadow...

- How are you? - Good.

Is this a disreputable club?

It's the 1st time you haven't introduced me to anyone.

It's informal here.

It's a mix of authors, actors, filmmakers...

They all live off each other.

At any rate, the women are pretty.

In Paris, after midnight,

the women who aren't pretty go to bed.

I've learned a lot in a month.

Me too.

- They dance well in Bordeaux. - I haven't danced in 2 years.

Then you're talented. Or I'm in love with you.

You could say hello.

Look! The Red Falcons are out.

My stepmother was trying to get a hold of you today.

She wanted to see... something at the Charpentiers'.

Yes, the Ruysdaels. But why me?

Is Mr. Bonard's stock falling?

My stepmother has always been good at games.

Your spot has never been in jeopardy.

Thank you.

To think a future Marie-Laure is hiding

in that budding snob.

- Why do you mock...? - A world I'm a part of?

My dear Albertine,

do you know many opium addicts who are proud of it?

I'm still wasting my time in the Robert-Guichard world

because I'd waste even more trying to give it up.

That much snobbery is hypnotic.

Idiocy is fascinating.

You develop a taste for it.

So I watch Marie-Laure

like Baudelaire ate hashish.

What are you thinking about?

About what you just said about yourself.

I come up so often in conversation...

- Then me, if you prefer. - Yes. I prefer.

That's what I'm starting to prefer over everything.

You promised me.

That I wouldn't court you, but not that I wouldn't love you.

Fine. I'll keep my word, but it's your loss.

The role of a lover is new to me.

I'm scared of trying too hard.

I'm afraid I'll bury you in commonplaces and flowers.

Don't make that face. You know you're charming.

I am, but there are bad people out there.

Take me home. I'm dead tired.

Though I have given you the bottom of my heart,

I remain your faithful servant,

etc., etc.

What are you thinking about?

I won't see you for a month, or maybe more.

All because of a publisher I promised a novel.

I have to get started.

And I need solitude and concentration.

I understand, Didier.

She understands me.

You understand me.

You're monsters in Bordeaux.

I'm not asking you to throw yourself in the river,

but at least try to look like you're suffering.

But...

- Have I ever kissed you? - No.

Oh, my God, what were you thinking, you poor man?

Should I have done anything else?

Can I ever make up for those lost pleasures?

"O time Suspend your flight"

- Didier... - No, not a word.

Not a move. Nothing.

Orpheus walks away slowly from the woman he loves,

leaving Eurydice, heraldic and virginal

in the most beautiful city in the world!

Goodbye, my love.

To Lamartine

After raving about my virginity

and my beautiful skin, he left me out in the cold.

I should never have trusted a man who talked so much.

- Yes. But you listened. - Who is "you?"

You and him.

When it comes to talking, your Didier...

He's not "my" Didier. And you're being unfair.

I don't see any reason

why talent shouldn't excuse presumption.

We forgive pretty ladies for looking at their reflection

and we blame an intelligent man for hearing himself talk. Why?

When he said he wouldn't court you,

you seemed thrilled.

Yes, but when the champagne is on the table...

I never said

it was easy to have fun while being virtuous.

That was your idea.

I think the Paris air is much too exhilarating for you.

You should leave with us tonight.

A vacation would do you good.

I didn't come to Paris...

"To run off to Sologne." All right.

Let's talk seriously.

Other than your heart, what's wrong?

Cécile, you're experience and wisdom in a woman's body.

You're in trouble...

You said that in a month,

I'd come ask you for 100,000 francs, a room and a job.

Are you there?

Yes. Except I held out one more week

and 200,000 francs would be even better.

For the money, no problem. For the job, we'll see.

For the room... I think I know of one.

18, Odéon 1027.

An attic, but like a candy box.

6th floor, but beautiful staircase.

Definitely not cheap, but negotiable.

Hello? Mrs. Robert-Guichard, please.

This is the "Mimi Pinson" room. What do you think?

- Isn't it bohemian? - Lovely.

I wouldn't let Georges, my stepson, have it.

I'm sure he wanted to sublet it.

I'll be at odds with half of Paris, but I don't care.

Do you know I turned down half a dozen Americans,

a fabulous but boorish Czech painter,

and filthy rich Brazilians?

They offered me 200,000 francs a month.

Those coffee roasters are awful.

I couldn't...

I don't want to talk about a cent.

Madam, you're very kind, but I must know...

Fine. Since you insist... 65,000, but don't tell anyone.

Have lunch with us.

In 45 minutes.

Children, your father and I are leaving for Venice

the day after tomorrow.

- Right, Alfred? - Yes.

We know that, Marie-Laure.

Please, stop calling me "Marie-Laure."

Call me "Mom" or "Mother." I'm not your little friend.

Darling, you can come with us if you like.

Thank you, but Gilles is going to Saint Tropez,

and I'll go there a few days.

What about you, Georges?

I'm going to Deauville and then the Basque coast.

I promised Lady Rowel I'd organize her galas.

You didn't promise I'd go?

- I'll be in Capri. - You're going to Capri too?

I'm going alone, unfortunately.

Your father, as you know, hates the sea.

If you hate the sea, why are you going to Venice? Go to Beauce.

Venice is admirable. You should come.

It'd be better than roaming the streets on a scooter.

I hate those things.

- Then buy me a car. - Finish high school first.

Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Normal.

My poor thing, you'll be all alone.

Paris will seem empty. Let's hope you find

some distractions.

Let's hope.

Dear Cécile, A woman is never alone in Paris

when others aren't there.

While these men's wives are off tanning,

poor little old me is not in the sand.

I recommend you never go on vacation without your husband.

Adultery is a summer sport,

the first sign of which is an allergy to dining alone.

As a pure avant-garde,

it was the extremist who launched the dinner operation.

With him, no joking around.

Daily special, red wine and fruit.

But I got the impression our tête-à-tête

was only meant to make Florence jealous.

I told him so.

"Jealous?" Jealousy is a bourgeois feeling

foreign to Marxism.

I wanted to take Florence to a hostel in Saint-Tropez.

She wanted to go to L'Aïoli to be with her rich friends:

jazz, Newport, Western decadence.

So I left. I have to stay true to myself.

The cult of personality.

Their liberties shock me, but serious people bore me.

I think it's better to be annoyed than bored.

When he took me home,

Gilles of course offered to come up for a drink on the 6th floor.

I said all I had was scotch,

that wine was an opiate for the proletariat

and whisky was poison for the bourgeois.

Dinner number two.

But this time, by candlelight and off the menu.

Ironically,

Georges took me to dinner where I'd refused to exile myself,

in Montfort, near you.

Georges is an emotional man obsessed with relationships.

He talked about his ex-wife during the appetizer,

his divorce during the trout, and my divorce during the soufflé.

At midnight, we were onto the problem with solitude

and crêpes.

When we went home, around the 4th floor,

he was onto how he wished he could start his life over.

To go up alone, I had to tell him

that we were unhappy enough separately

that we should carefully avoid being so together.

He could've insisted a bit more.

A bit of an oaf, really.

On the weekend, I was alone again.

All these men went to see their wives

or girlfriends.

Weekends with the family are a longstanding trend.

Telephone!

Telephone! Telephone!

Who is it?

A man, my dear!

Hang on. Here's the princess.

Hello? Yes? Who?

Oh, it's you.

I was hoping for Grouchy, but it was Blucher.

It wasn't Didier. It was Richard.

OK, if you want. Why not?

In 15 minutes.

Because it's understood.

See you soon. Goodbye, Richard.

Oh, it was Richard!

- Thank you. - You're welcome!

- Mrs. Ferran? - Yes?

- A telegram. - Thank you.

"If your night is free and your heart is true,

"friends and music await you at my place.

"Didier Marèze."

Another man?

The lady is in high demand.

Dear Richard,

Mother sick, had to rush to her bedside.

Sorry, Albertine

- Is that you? - Yes. Here I am.

Were you coming to greet me?

No.

Weren't you expecting me?

Yes, but not so soon.

I rushed.

Albertine, I'm so happy. I'm so...

It's remarkable.

Excuse me. I don't know how to talk to women.

That reminds me of a story. When I was in junior high...

Where are we eating, since you always have such good ideas?

- Albertine... - Yes?

Nothing.

Albertine!

I wanted to wait until dessert, but...

I have to talk to you.

Albertine, my dear,

I wish you had known my grandmother,

an adorable old lady who died too soon,

who you would have gotten along with splendidly.

Certainly.

Here, Albertine. This is for you.

Yes, take it. It's for you.

- What is it? - My grandmother's earrings.

You can do what you want with them,

while you wait for the ring, which you can choose yourself.

That's too kind.

I have a touch of the flu.

I'd like to be back in an hour.

- With your car... - Well...

What?

I had an overdrive put on my car.

It goes into a 5th gear

using an overdrive...

- So? - It won't be ready until tomorrow.

- Let's try to find a taxi. - Yes, let's try.

You have to have gone to Polytechnic

to think you can find a taxi in Paris at 8pm.

Between Rond-Point and Concorde, the idea came to me.

Richard was thinking of what to name our future children,

and the lady next to me had some serious rolls of fat.

So a crazy, awful, irrepressible idea came to me.

Because the future father had settled on Éloi and Philomène,

and Didier was waiting for me.

Oh!

You filthy bastard! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

What's going on?

He pinched me! That's what he did.

- Where? - You don't ask that!

He's a sadist. Just look at his eyes!

Albertine, I don't understand. Please believe me...

I don't blame you. You couldn't help yourself.

But you could've waited until you were alone.

We weren't alone until midnight. Not with him, the other one.

The friends had left.

Whisky gave way to champagne,

and Mozart was playing.

I'm sure you know

that the Concerto in A major

starts classically

and then slowly slides into a sweet daydream

that is the romantic genius of Mozart,

which coincided with the tactical genius of Mr. Marèze.

After a few casual improvisations

but very welcome,

Mr. Marèze fell back into Mozart's rhythm

and went from andante to allegretto in no time.

In short, he took me in his arms and took me to his room,

where he opened the door.

No. I opened the door.

He majestically carried me to his bed,

where he put me down, like in a novel.

He has a "dim the lights" quality

that drives us all wild.

Didier...

Shhh. Don't move. Don't be afraid.

I just want to look at you.

You look like a little girl.

My little mermaid.

My little nymph.

Oh, how I'd love to bathe you in running water...

The first woman...

is inside you.

You have something primitive,

rustic...

Like a little Eve.

No, Didier. No.

Let yourself go. These clothes are unbearable.

I'll help you find the grace...

of the dawn of time.

Dear Cécile, you must excuse my immodesty,

but how can I tell you my sorrows if I spare you the details?

So he undressed me with contemplation.

He gently caressed my forehead,

as if to console me for having to bear the yoke of man.

Then, acrobatically, Don Juan took off his clothes.

Like a girl, I closed my eyes.

You're beautiful, Albertine.

Delicate, smooth,

made for love.

It's exquisite.

"Exquisite," but fidgety.

While awaiting the taste of victory,

I felt the commotion of the night before battle.

Since the commanding officer couldn't find a solution,

I enjoyed The Swing and the surprises of the Scenic Railway.

For 15 minutes,

I was nymph, mermaid, naiad

goddess and princess.

But nothing happened.

The poet crushed me in his arms,

but alas, nature betrayed him and forced him

to end his animal attempt with kind and tender words.

He compared me to the dryads who enjoy torturing the gods.

12 centuries of erotic literature weighed upon us.

But still nothing happened.

Then the maestro uttered this surprising phrase:

It's just one of those days.

I'd better let you rest.

Exhausted from honoring the gods of the water and forests,

the great man fell asleep,

while I turned out the light with the caution and tact

one uses for the dying.

The next morning, my hope risen with the sun,

I awoke in an excellent mood.

- Oh, Albertine... - It's me.

He hesitated, but the gentleman was stronger than the sleeper.

Albertine, do you know what you look like?

Manet's Jeune Fille.

How admirable,

to look like a masterpiece.

Then he went at it again.

But the seducer must not have regained all the necessary strength

from his sleep.

Oh, he fumbled around.

But when it came time to finish...

Excuse me.

The room isn't warm enough.

I'll catch my death.

Cough drop?

No, thanks. I'm fine.

- It's funny. - Really?

Oh, yes. It's really funny.

Did you know, my dear, that thanks to you,

I learned a lot in the last few hours?

Montaigne's famous chapter

on the uncertainty of sexual victories

was an aspect of a man's life I never understood.

And then...

Dear Stendhal...

His passionate temperament made him particularly vulnerable to...

the mishaps that befall the most confident of men.

Oh, my dear Albertine,

you just made me a real man of letters.

I'm thrilled.

Laugh,

young lady. Laugh.

I know what I'm talking about.

Take, for example, the famous passage by Diderot.

"Since Adam's sin,

"we can't command all the parts of our bodies

"like our arms.

"Some want to when the son of Adam doesn't,

"and some don't want to when the son of Adam does."

I find that very sensible. You humanized me.

- You're not going to start again? - "Start" what?

That's true. What?

Albertine...

You're a victim of a preconception of self-esteem.

I'm sure

most women attach much less importance

to this minor detail than you do.

Just look at Héloïse's love for Abélard.

My dear Cécile, that's the story of my crazy night:

within a few hours,

being given a dead grandmother's earrings

and a course on impotence in French literature.

That's what a 20th century woman in Paris has to deal with.

I've tried to tell you...

What does she say?

"I'm looking for work. I've laughed a lot.

"I send you my love. Say hello to Philippe."

Oh, dear Cécile!

It's finally you.

How nice of you to call.

I've tried calling you 100 times.

Yes.

How was your vacation?

Oh, me? Nothing special.

A bit of Italy,

the dedication of my book...

Yes, the baby's coming out in a week.

Tell me, my dear Cécile,

I'm only asking you this out of kindness.

Have you heard from Albertine?

Not at all. And you?

Honestly, she's a rustic little creature.

Oh!

No, no, nothing. I said, "Oh!" I'm surprised.

Ask him about Diderot and Stendhal.

Maybe she's just normal?

I wanted to tell you, because she must have imagined things.

Oh, no. Your reputation puts you above suspicion.

I hope so.

Come by any time.

Goodbye.

And to think for 10 years,

Mr. Marèze has passed himself off as a professional lover.

But he knows how to talk about it.

Why are you laughing?

I'm thinking of you as "a rustic little creature."

If I understand him, he's calling me a nymphomaniac.

No.

Didier will keep quiet as long as you do.

It's society poker. He knows the rules.

That reminds me, how are the Robert-Guichards?

They're all home, tanned and happy.

Marie-Laure brought me

an awful terra cotta statue. - Oh no.

Beware of that statue. It isn't free.

Every cannibal knows how to barter.

What?

I was thinking of what you just said.

She comes in my room every afternoon

to paint.

I can just see her.

"If I could only find a few moments of solitude.

"Just my brushes

"and my palette.

"How painting refreshes the soul!"

These little meetings are a breath of fresh air.

When I think of the vanities of society life,

of poor Hélène Challemberg...

I should've married a shepherd.

Sweet Arcadia...

I hate having to stain an 87,000 franc-rug

to make it look like I paint.

Oh, shoot. I'll be late for the paper.

People tell me funny things,

and if the editor likes them, I get paid.

If he doesn't, or if they've been published, it keeps me busy.

And in the meantime, you don't do anything stupid.

The Girl from the Provinces Didier Marèze

Lend me this.

- It'll be out in a few days. - Be nice.

We're on the outs, but I still want to read it.

I'm sure I'll think it's funny.

I'd like to be so sure.

- Why? Isn't it funny? - Oh, yes. It is.

The Girl from the Provinces

At Julliard, a new novel by Marèze

is always a big event.

Didier Marèze has been compared to Montherlant.

His last novel was called The Eagle and the Student.

This one is The Girl from the Provinces.

Who is this girl?

I wanted to tell the story

of a girl who seems innocent and wants to conquer Paris,

but falls in love with a brilliant man.

You?

She ends up committing suicide faced with the impossibility

of making her dreams come true.

It's a novel about strife.

Is it autobiographical?

All novels are always a bit autobiographical.

My hero is someone else.

According to Rimbaud, "I" is always someone else.

My heroine from the provinces

resembles a young woman I knew.

That's all you paint?

You know, I paint the world I know best.

The heroine doesn't want to know any other Paris.

She's a provincial girl who thinks she can only be happy

if she conquers 300 people in Paris.

Exactly.

You understand my heroine.

She's Rastignac in a skirt.

Which she takes off in certain chapters.

Sensuality plays an important role in your books.

Why?

Sensuality is an important thing.

Love is the basis of life. Don't you agree?

I ask the questions. I don't give the answers.

Could you write books without any scandalous scenes?

No, because in life, there are always scandalous scenes.

Hello?

Yes, it's me.

No, no, no. No, you're not bothering me.

Yes. I warned you.

Ah.

I admit, I wasn't expecting that.

Calm down.

I'll call you tomorrow. I can't talk now.

I promise. Goodbye.

The title of the book,

which is published by Julliard, by Didier Marèze...

- Albertine? - Yes.

Not happy?

Not really.

Albertine found one of your buttons.

She wasn't very happy.

Ah.

Oh, why did I go to Capri? It was stupid.

Marie-Laure called me. We started up again.

A sad patching up that lasted longer than I wanted

and which, thank God, I just ended.

Recently?

This afternoon.

Good.

Mirabelle, raspberry, or something sweeter?

Raspberry.

My dear, they're saying my book could win the Prix Femina.

I'm now dedicating my charms to the ladies on the jury.

No more distraction or futile passions.

I'm a man of letters first.

Speaking of letters...

Here's one I copied

for your enjoyment.

"Dear Marie-Laure..."

Mr. Marèze, you're a boor.

But since a man of letters can justify his boorishness

with his literary exploits, I'll listen. So...

So...

"Dear Marie-Laure..."

How dare he write that to me, after I did everything for him.

He must be a monster. It's not natural.

I wish I were dead.

Did you hear me, doctor? Dead!

Give me something, doctor. No one will know.

End it so I can stop suffering.

Put this horse out of her misery!

Oh, what can I take, doctor?

Antihistamines twice a day

and 2 suppositories before bed.

No! I don't want sedatives.

I want an injection.

A final injection, like a suffering animal.

Dr. Belin, Maisons-Alfort.

What?

I'll give you the address of a veterinarian.

Oh! Doesn't anyone understand?

You're all monsters.

Yes?

- Did you ring? - Yes.

Here. My dear, I'll be by to see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll be dead.

I'll show myself out.

- Will you be having dinner? - Eat? How could I eat?

- Vegetable broth and some fruit. - I don't want anything.

Certainly not broth.

- Gabriel... - Madam?

A steak, maybe. Anything, I don't care.

Very well, madam.

Gabriel?

Madam?

- No salt on the steak. - Very well, madam.

Oh.

Hello.

Hello. Is someone sick?

Marie-Laure. A little breakdown.

She cries at the drop of a hat.

But you look white as a ghost.

You should come see me one of these days.

Since you're here, come with me.

We'll take care of you right away.

Blood count, blood pressure, X-rays...

It's best to know what you don't have.

It's your nerves, my dear. Just your nerves.

To start with, no tobacco or alcohol.

- Have you had dinner? - No. I'm not hungry.

Me neither.

Take 2 vitamin C pills every morning...

and some Actiphos in a bit of sugar water.

What if we had dinner together?

And a bit of calcium too. Come on, let's go.

There.

Would you like to go to La Tour d'Argent?

If it'll take my mind off things...

Oh, nothing like it.

Take advantage: foie gras, the whole bit.

Starting tomorrow, you're on a diet.

I'll take care of you, you'll see.

That's good. You're getting your color back.

You know what we'll do after dinner?

We'll go dancing.

I don't know any trendy clubs. Do you?

A few.

Did the eunuch take you?

What "eunuch?" Oh, right. Him and some friends.

Hello. La Tour d'Argent?

I'd like to reserve a table, please.

Two. Two people, yes.

Dr. Challemberg.

That's right. Thank you.

Can we stop somewhere first?

I have to see a patient. It'll just take a minute.

Of course. Can I brush my hair?

Please.

Take your time while you wait.

You'll be more comfortable here than in the car.

The sitting room is over here. You have everything you need.

- I'll be back in 15 minutes. - OK.

See you soon.

Hello?

No, the doctor isn't here.

No, I'm not his assistant.

The maid? No, I'm not the maid.

I'm not Mrs. Challemberg either.

Leave me the message.

The doctor will be back in 15 minutes.

"Mr. Guimard...

"Odéon, 0514."

You're welcome.

Hello?

No, the doctor isn't here. But I'm his assistant.

Who is speaking?

Ah.

Well, I don't know...

Double the dose.

Yes.

Goodnight, madam.

Hello?

I'm the assistant...

No, don't apologize.

Your attitude is unspeakable.

Right.

That was some 15 minutes.

I never need more than 15 minutes, but not them.

They think we don't treat them seriously enough.

So we chat, explain things,

look at their case.

A unique case, of course. Like children.

And while you're talking, you get a call from Cochin.

It's like that every day.

You look sad.

No, not sad. Tired.

Sadness is a luxury, my dear.

I'm sorry, but I can't take you home.

I'll call you a taxi. Are you angry?

Are you going to bed without eating?

I may open a can of sardines.

My wife is traveling.

Which doesn't change a thing.

And I gave my cook the night off.

Like you, I was planning on eating out.

Hello? Hello!

- Hello, taxi? - I'll make you some eggs.

That's an idea.

It's time my patients take care of me.

My dear, you're the queen of scrambled eggs.

- You should get married. - I'm getting out of it.

Good for you.

More Bordeaux? No.

That's much better.

I would never have let you go.

What's wrong with that idiot? Diabetes?

OK.

I promised you a nightclub. Come on.

We have tons of records.

You pick one.

There, under the books.

People drink whisky in clubs, don't they?

Usually.

You must dance like a kid.

I can just march to the music.

Dancing is just groping.

What you do with your feet is secondary.

That's your opinion.

OK. Let's dance.

Let's change records.

At this time, we'd be having one last drink.

Dimmed lights, bawdy looks...

No!

We'd be talking about your soul, the psyche...

it's all the same. Just words,

all with one goal. - Really?

What's that?

Madam, tomorrow I operate at 8am.

Don't you think we're wasting too much time?

What are you doing? But...

But... But, doctor...

Call me André and get undressed.

But, doctor...

But, André...

Why "but?" There's no "but."

You're young, beautiful, curvy and healthy.

If you knew how nice it is...

What?

To meet someone healthy.

There's nothing more comforting than to find out we're not sick.

He praised my health all night long.

I'm exaggerating.

My Casanova left at 6am to go to the hospital,

after gallantly throwing me in a taxi.

You were right. It's a zoo.

If I'm following you, Didier is dead. Long live André.

I admire how you went from a poet to a horseman.

André is like a runaway horse.

He said, "See you tonight."

That was the start of an endless journey.

We met at the Hôtel de la Faculté,

because it was across from the Faculty of Medicine,

the Hôtel des Trois Montagnes,

because it was across from the American Hospital,

the Hôtel St-Louis, because it was next to the St-Louis hospital,

and the Pax Hôtel,

because it was near the Lariboisière Hospital.

And I won't tell you how many coffees and juices

I must have drank while waiting for my horseman.

Since his time was precious,

they had to not only be drunk,

but paid for when he deigned to appear.

I must say, André is a modern man.

He doesn't whistle. He honks.

Last Wednesday, it was the Hôtel Bijou.

The slave decided to revolt.

I'm not going to the Hôtel Bijou!

I'm tired of getting undressed in 5 minutes

because a marshal couldn't digest his porridge

or an academy member has a fever.

Don't make a stupid scene. Everyone's looking.

If you have something to say, say it up there.

No! I can see it coming.

You think you're irresistible. That's very funny.

We can talk without...

OK, OK.

You're ungrateful!

I go out of my way to see you.

I run across Paris when I should be working.

Right now I should be at the Learned Societies.

Then go to the Learned Societies.

What are you waiting for?

I've never seen such insincerity.

It's almost perverse.

It's self-esteem.

You treat me like I'm one of those women down there.

That's all you want me for. It's humiliating.

"Humiliating"...

You know I'd love to spend a day with you,

to feel like you're interested in me.

I promise I'll try to get away

next weekend.

You know Rochefond Abbey? In the fall, it's amazing.

I wish I could believe you. You can put your tie back on.

Really?

Well, if you say it that way... I hope you've thought this over.

Perfect.

You could've chosen a more elegant way to break it off.

I don't know why you dragged me all the way here.

You no doubt hoped I'd be begging at your feet.

Well, too bad.

Madam, I'll leave you with your corticovisceral issues.

You're screwing with me.

I leave, you say nothing. I come back, you think it's normal.

You could apologize, couldn't you?

What does "corticovisceral" mean?

It means you're someone I have to take care of.

It's just like I said. That's all you think about.

Don't be a child.

I have to be at the Learned Societies at 6pm.

At 6pm, he was at the Learned Societies.

The next weekend, he was chairing a jury.

That's my life.

And with hotels being as they are sometimes,

the water is colder than you think,

and you got pneumonia.

I have no luck.

He asked me to go with him to Edinburgh for a conference.

One more bronchitis and you'll miss Didier.

No. But I'm starting to miss Jacques.

If I'm going to have a tyrant, he may as well be legitimate.

Other than the hot baths...

Which you left for cold showers.

You should pack up and come live with me.

No one will know where you are, so no more Challemberg.

Montfort-l'Amaury is 1,000 km from Edinburgh.

It's exactly what you need.

I was held up by a publisher. Monégasque, to boot.

He thinks he has the right to be as rude

as if he wrote the books he publishes himself.

These are for your kids. Still only two?

What do you want? My husband is never here.

Oh, I was hoping for a copy of the boulevard.

You're looking better, dear.

Look! Our little Albertine.

I heard you were unwell.

Someone even asked me how you were doing yesterday.

You know who? Your doctor. Strange.

He thought you were with me. What a strange idea.

Will you come sit down?

Tea? Scotch?

No. Nothing. Just you two.

To avoid any misunderstanding...

- Dear, would you like some tea? - Yes, please.

Then I will too.

Rosine?

Madam?

Tea with milk and lemon.

Very well, madam.

Albertine, you have very intelligent feet.

I would like to present them my most humble apologies.

Yes. I insist.

I recognize my faults. I was vile.

Worse: inelegant.

And since bad behavior is always rewarded,

I won the Prix Femina thanks to you.

I should probably be proud.

No.

Don't add to my despondence. I hate myself, believe me.

Sorry?

Didier Marèze, angry with Didier Marèze?

That's new.

Oh, if you're both against me...

I'm neither for nor against you. I'm ignoring you.

But...

Never speak to me again.

If Didier can't speak, we'll lose him.

Is this neoclassic tragedy the result of a poorly sewn button?

Found in my room, may I remind you.

Let's talk about something else. It makes me sick.

- When you have a good doctor... - What?

No, children. That's enough.

Albertine, you were a spiritual young woman.

You were an intelligent boy.

Better!

The most talented of his generation.

So please, stop moaning and groaning.

Thank you, Rosine.

A button can be sewn back on. What happened?

Didier went to Capri.

Marie-Laure happened to be there.

Back in Paris, they split up.

It just so happened it took place in your room.

You were depressed. You saw a doctor.

You're better, and now you don't need a doctor.

Didier broke up with her. He's free.

Make up.

Make my life easier.

Being a referee is exhausting.

- It was in my bed... - Here she goes again.

My dear, how long will you have to be in Paris

to finally understand it?

Didier and Marie-Laure are long past the point

where you sleep with someone. They sleep against,

for, despite, or on behalf of someone...

It was against Mrs. Challemberg.

That Cleopatra dared to claim

that I was in love with her.

So I wanted to teach her a lesson, with her best friend.

By trying to make his wife mad,

he made André happy. Poor Didier.

You laugh. Heartless!

- I admit, that's funny. - Of course.

I've been killing myself to make you understand that.

Albertine, let's publicly celebrate Cécile's genius.

I'm inviting you to the rehearsal of Achard's play on Friday.

We'll show up together. It'll kill those evil women:

Marie-Laure, Hélène and a few others.

You have to use some stupid women to get over an intelligent one.

The play we have the honor of rehearsing

for the last time tonight

is by Marcel Achard.

It's directed by Georges Farville.

The sets are by Roger Carel.

The costumes are by Sacha Tanine.

Well, well.

You're home early, and all alone.

Too bad, since I would've loved to smash that idiot's face in.

May I?

Don't make me fly off the handle, or I'll slap you!

Well done. You can be proud of yourself.

- I never should've left you here. - Let me explain...

Don't bother.

As for Marie-Laure, everyone's slept with her!

Alfred, go to bed. I'll be right there.

And to think I was worried,

when you were off living your love story.

Get inside. Go! I have to talk to you.

You don't think this is how it's going to be, do you?

Now, let's calm down and look at things.

You take baths that are too hot, you eat at any hour...

You can't govern yourself or impose any discipline.

You're lost if no one is there to take care of you.

I'll take care of you. I'm marrying you.

What?

I'm marrying you. I need you. It's a fact,

but I can't keep wasting my time like this.

Marriage is the most practical solution.

Here's what we'll do.

I'll get my affairs in order.

I'll give Hélène back her money.

There are other things in life than ambition.

I've been successful, so...

We'll move to a house

with a garden where I can have some peace. I need greenery.

As for you, no more going out at all hours.

A schedule and greenery. There.

You're lucky to have me.

Dear, you're more than a friend. You're my sister.

That's why I don't want anyone,

especially your cad of a husband, to tell you the news.

You're getting divorced.

Yes.

Yes, my dear. I swear!

Gabriel, go get Albertine.

Very well, madam.

FréFré, you're a wizard.

I want my friends to die with jealousy when they see it.

I don't care about those broads.

- You outdid yourself. - I think so.

It's exactly what I wanted. The pistachio colors are lovely.

Ah, there you are, my dear.

Sorry for making you come down.

- You wanted to speak to me? - Yes. Come here.

I'll be right back.

I won't lecture you. That's not my style.

I won't tell you that you broke the laws of hospitality.

I won't blame you for fighting here.

I won't talk about your misconduct.

My misconduct?

Forget I said that.

I'll just say this, and you'll understand.

Hélène Challemberg is a dear friend.

Oh, please understand.

I'm not asking you to leave tonight, obviously.

You have to find an apartment first.

I promise I'll come see you.

I'd love for us to be like sisters.

Don't hold your breath!

Oh, you're a cheeky one. I love you.

Add a carafe of water. You never know.

Very well, madam.

I mention my alimony

and you scream, "I need greenery."

You'll get your alimony.

It'll pay for your hats.

As for my greenery,

that means I want a simple woman and kids!

You're not aging well, my friend.

For a long time,

you didn't care about partners with chlorophyll.

The ones on the street were good enough for you.

I'm talking about before your success.

Before I gave you a fortune and my father's name.

A brand of aspirin. It's nothing to crow about!

Success and your friends taught me one thing:

what those girls get paid for, society women give away for free!

It's too bad you realized that now.

But I'll share it, and Marie-Laure will appreciate it.

I owe her at least that.

Why? Are you in debt?

Without her, I would've been the last to know.

Ah, because she was the one...

That bitch...

Richard offered me his grandmother's earrings.

André is offering me exactly what I had in Bordeaux.

If we can't have fun

without people putting their hearts on the table,

that's the end of society games.

Marie-Laure left me a message to express her compassion

and remind me that I owe her for the rent.

Emotional fiasco and financial debacle.

Didier shouldn't have written his book so quickly.

My character has many more chapters.

And I'm starting to owe you lots of money.

You should add the price of a ticket for Bordeaux.

I thought of that. But do you think Jacques...?

How will I explain my Parisian adventure?

Don't.

Don't explain anything. Don't justify anything.

Jacques still loves you.

He's not a Polytechnic grad,

impotent, or a boor.

The only thing he did wrong was marry you.

That's an idea you'll have to get used to.

So no mea culpa. More like the prodigal child.

Your good health will do the rest.

- I'll go change. - Where are you going?

To tell my dear cousin what I think.

Mr. Didier Marèze, madam.

Oh, Didier! My loyal friend!

I'm so glad you're here.

I didn't come empty-handed. An edition for author's friends,

with a respectful inscription to the whole family.

Not that word, please. Not that word!

Take me away, Didier. Do something.

It's Berezina, the apocalypse...

I'm going crazy!

Hello?

I'm hosting 100 people in a few hours,

and my workers are on strike,

claiming I don't know what I want.

I want to speak to the Minister of Justice.

Fine. Thank you. I'll call back.

- What's happening, my dear? - Everything at once.

Our idiot son...

Don't call him an idiot. You'll traumatize him.

Our dear child stole...

He didn't steal it. He borrowed it.

Right, dear?

Arnaud borrowed a car with which he hit a police officer.

Grand larceny, driving without a license,

traffic accident and hit-and-run.

Don't be so dramatic!

What's the use in being a lawyer if nothing ever happened?

If modern man is meant to go to prison,

you might as well get it over with when you're young.

Didier, I'm a devastated mother.

- More like a grandmother. - What?

My God, that's right. You didn't know the best part.

Florence is pregnant, with a little Bolshevik.

And she refuses to marry the father.

I don't want Gilles

to give his name

to a member of a degenerate class. - Whose elimination

is the revolution's top objective. - There!

There's the result of 20 years of sacrifice.

Formula, English nanny,

ski vacations in the South, Latin, horseback riding...

The lucky ones

get Karim Aga Khan or Farah Diba.

We get a thief and a teen mother.

I'm cursed. Nothing more can happen to me.

- Leave me alone! - André!

I knew you were a psychopath, neurotic, a liar and an idiot.

I didn't know you were a snitch. Every disease has its cure.

Oh!

As for you...

I'm afraid I'm not strong enough.

3 years of doctor's fees.

Go find a new doctor.

I recommend a hypnotist.

Madam's case exceeds the possibilities of science.

Did you hear that, Alfred? My faculties betray me.

What's going on?

I take back my opinion of Challemberg.

I thought he was a husband. He's a lover.

He slaps.

- André, what did you do? - I slapped that bitch.

Is Albertine with you?

No. She went back to Bordeaux.

Ah.

André, you're an intelligent man.

Don't you think that's more reasonable?

You know, intelligence, when it comes to these things...

Maybe she was right.

If she changes her mind, tell her I'll be happy to see her.

Thanks to her, I got rid of my wife, so I'll always be grateful.

Weren't you going up to see Marie-Laure?

Not anymore. Whatever I had to tell her,

you did it much more clearly than I ever could...

On track number 5,

express train, first class, "Le Drapeau".

All aboard, please.

Train departing.

- Have a nice trip. - Thank you.

What do you think happened?

Albertine arrived in Bordeaux 3 minutes early.

Jacques was waiting for her.

Albertine threw herself in his arms in tears.

Jacques consoled her.

10 months later,

Albertine and Jacques picked the legitimate fruit

of that torrent of tears.

They named him simply Alexandre.

Albertine and Jacques believe

they overcame an emotional tragedy

worthy of the great love stories.

It's often those kinds of misunderstandings

that lead to big families.

Subtitles: Eclair Media