A restored version of
THE YOUNG GIRLS OF ROCHEFORT
MORNING
Set up here?
That's all for today, children.
Good-bye, ma'am.
And don't forget your costumes tomorrow.
Delphine, come look. They're here!
They're setting up on the square.
The girls won't be ready. We'll rehearse Sunday.
- No need to. - Think so?
We are a pair of twins Born in the sign of Gemini
Mi fa sol la mi re Re mi fa sol sol sol re do.
We're two demoiselles Who took to the boys long ago
Mi fa sol la mi re Re mi fa sol sol sol re do.
Our mamma brought us up on her own
Working herself all her life to the bone.
To make sure our minds could expand
She's spent all her time behind a French fry stand.
Papa was somebody that we never knew
But when we undress, one thing is true;
In the small of our backs, in the very same place
There's the same beauty spot ad on his face.
We are a pair of twins Born in the sign of Gemini
Who love catchy tunes, silly puns and repartee.
We're a pair of carefree young things
Waiting for the joys that love brings.
When our blood races, When our heart stops,
We're ready to shout it from the rooftops.
We are delicate souls, two romantics
in love with art, music and antics.
Where's that man? The man we long to find.
Mr Right... A few faults we won't mind.
We are a pair of twins Born in the sign of Gemini.
With our feet on the ground We have flights of fantasy.
Teaching piano is making me turn pale.
I've had it up to here with the sound of bad scales.
I'm bored with these provincial ways.
It's Paris for me, where Art really pays.
Dancing lessons are starting to get me down.
My chance is in Paris too, not in this town.
Why teach plis and pirouettes all day
When I could be in the Opera Ballet?
We are a pair of twins Born in the sign of Gemini.
Two heads, four eyes Ready to rhapsodize.
Quarter to 12! I'm late!
Delphine! Pick up Booboo?
- Can't you? - I'll go at 4.
I can't wear this! Sure, I can... No, I can't.
Guillaume will be waiting.
- What's he want? - To see me.
Let him wait.
Home for lunch?
Yes, but not before 1.
Where's my compact? Here it is...
We play the cello, the trumpet and the banjo.
We love catchy tunes, Silly puns and repartee.
With our feet on the ground We have flights of fantasy.
We are a pair of twins Born in the sign of Gemini.
See you later.
- Where you off to? - The café.
Wait for us.
Fries?
Two orders of fries.
- Fair time? - We just arrived.
- It'll boost business. - No need to.
- We're going for a walk. - Not now!
We're not on call.
What slackers!
How you treat your ladies!
They aren't our ladies... not really.
Performers?
The blonde does an Indian shimmy, the redhead a Chinese shimmy.
- It's harder. - How interesting...
He's the boss. I second him. I'm a mechanic.
- Hello, Yvonne. - Hello, Maxence.
Hello, Josette. Hello, Gramps.
- Still abstract? - More than ever.
He was born that way.
In 3 days I'm demobbed.
- A Pimm's. - We're out.
- Aren't we? - But he can order something else.
A beer.
- So, did you find her? - Not yet, but I can wait.
A beer for Maxence.
- Did he find her? - Not yet.
- What'd he lose? - His feminine ideal.
He never found her to begin with!
He painted her. He's a painter-poet. He's stationed here.
We all seek our feminine ideal. He's not the only one.
Don't be so sad, Maxence. Girls are a dime a dozen.
I've searched all over for her, I've sailed the seven seas
From Venice to Java, from Manilla to Angkor.
There was Jeanne and Victoria, Venus and Mona Lisa.
I haven't found her yet, I seek her even more.
I don't know what she's like and yet her image is clear.
I have a name for her, her voice is in my ear.
I've sketched her silhouette, the face I'm dreaming of.
The portrait that I've done is the very image of love.
She is as gracious as only romantic girls can be.
A Botticelli beauty with such eyes, such poise.
In profile she is like those virgins of mythology
Who haunt museum galleries and the dreams of teenage boys.
Her stride is so much like a childhood memory
That passes my mind's eye lilting, dreamily.
Her hair pours down her brow like torrents of pure gold
Round which wind, sea and sun quarrel for a hold.
I could tell you of her hands, of her eyes.
I could go on and on until the next sunrise.
She is my only love, but what good is a dream?
I've searched all over but she's nowhere to be seen.
He could tell us of her hands, of her eyes.
He could go on and on until the next sunrise.
She is his only love but what good is a dream?
He's searched all over but she's nowhere to be seen.
Can she be far? Is she close to me?
I couldn't say but I know she does exist.
Is she a wicked girl? Or born to royalty?
Her pedigree means nothing, because I am an artist,
And Love is the sole authority.
Nice portrait, but no one like that here.
- No, no one. - I prefer redheads.
- Heavens! Have you seen Delphine? - No, ma'am.
I bet she forgot to pick up Booboo.
Could you go, Maxence?
I'm already late for maneuvers.
I have to set the tables.
- I'm sorry. - Never mind.
'Bye, Gramps.
Could you two gentlemen go? The school's around the corner.
Sure, we don't mind.
You're sweet. Just ask for Booboo.
- Who? - Booboo... He's my son, my youngest.
I'm afraid I can never go out.
I'm confined to this aquarium.
Me, who was meant to live in the open air on the Pacific shore,
Iistening to sweet music and reading poetry.
Yvonne, I'm out of glue.
Could you buy some glue on the way? Thanks.
Hi, Delphe!
You're filthy! Look at you! And in your new pants!
- Are you Booboo? - Why do you ask?
We came to fetch Booboo.
- Says who? - The lady in the café.
- What nerve! - We're straight.
We came with the fair.
I bet you did!
- You're quite pretty. - So I've been told!
- You'll split your dress. - Quiet!
So, do we take the kid?
- I wanna go with them. - You kidnappers?
- We wouldn't say if we were. - Smart aleck!
Actually, it suits me because... Never mind!
Behave yourself. Bye, pumpkin.
- Your aunt's swell! - She's my sister!
She's a honey!
I want some candy.
We gonna stand here all day?
Hello, dear rose.
- You're lovely, dear soul. - By "soul" you mean my body.
You're so right, dear heart.
If I weren't so in love with you, I'd be jealous.
But I love you and that fills me with pride...
And craving, since I want you.
I inspire your baser feelings.
And gluttony and lust.
And prattle. You love to hear yourself talk.
Myself and yourself. I love you.
That why you wanted to see me?
You don't love me, but you'll marry me.
I already said no, Guillaume.
- So why do you come? - You're so entertaining.
But if you prefer, I'll stop coming.
Why, that's me!
Yes, dear rose.
Since when do you pose for soldiers?
Soldiers? What's this nonsense?
- Who painted it? - I said, a soldier.
Calls himself a painter and poet. Get the picture? Know him?
An uncanny likeness, don't you think?
Mere coincidence.
- But it's me all over! - No, it's just figurative.
You're spiritual, dear soul.
It's a worthless picture, pure fantasy.
He modestly calls it "Feminine ldeal."
He must really love me to dream me up like this. What's he like?
Dull, insignificant.
I want to meet him.
Sorry. He just left for Paris.
But he's not your type at all.
You think you know me, you like to talk a lot
But really you do not not not...
You don't know how I feel. If you did know you'd reel.
You'll never know.
I know how you think!
You'll never know what tickles me pink pink pink.
What makes me play Or why I dream night and day.
I'm just a doll in your gallery.
What did you ever see in me?
You find my chatter tedious and dumb.
You couldn't care less if I'm cheerful or glum.
Doubts are something you don't show.
I'm a fool, whether I say yes or no no no.
You say; "I live only for money. " And then you say you love me.
If you really loved me...
But I tell you every day...
If you really love me as you say say say...
When you tire of me You say; "Excuse me, time is money!"
But time for me is love, my friend.
It's laughter and song until the day's end,
and love each night since Creation. Time is love, life is celebration.
So...so stop thinking that I'll be your prize.
You lie when you sentimentalize, lies, lies...
Buy other girls a drink, you'll find love for the price of a mink.
Then you'll forget me.
It's simpler than you think...
Any girl will give you a wink wink wink.
It may be a girl with velvety voice But love for her is on an invoice.
Excuse me for being so blunt, I won't put feelings up front.
Let's not drag it out for both our sakes,
Let's make it a friendly break.
Farewell, Guillaume.
Good-bye, dear heart.
Your eyes are the same blue as the picture.
- I can't help it. - Aren't they?
You like blue eyes, so you can tell.
I've never seen anything like them.
How odd! It can't be abstract if it resembles his eyes...
Which aren't abstract, so this picture sees you as I do.
Look, Mom!
- You shouldn't have! - It's nothing.
Thanks.
- Here you go, Gramps. - How kind of you.
- Will you have a drink? - Why not?
We met a knockout blonde!
- Your sister. - I don't have a sister.
- He means Delphe. - Delphine... my daughter.
- She's a peach! - So are you!
So I've been told.
S.O.S.! Storm at sea!
Be quiet, Booboo.
Hello, Dutrouz!
Hello, everyone.
They're friends. Subtil Dutrouz.
"Subtil" like a scent, Dutrouz with a silent "z."
- Bill as in billiards. - Etienne like everyone else.
- Here, for you. - What is it?
A plastic atomic submarine.
- How's it holding? - Fine.
That's good.
I just saw them tramping by, armed to the teeth.
They'd shoot us like rabbits.
- What'll you have? - Nothing, I'm off.
I'll be back later.
- Who's that? - A friend of Gramps'.
- What's he do? - Retired.
- What exactly do you do? - Us?
We go from place to place, With motorcycles to sell,
Bikes and boats as well. The road's our home base.
Today we're here, Tomorrow there.
We live free as the air, Like boys without a care.
On the move, having fun, Avoiding shadows for the sun.
We prefer what is sweet, not sour,
A pretty girl, not a wall flower,
And pleasure, not despair.
We flit from face to face Like bees among the flowers.
In each port, a pretty girl, In each town, some tender hours.
We live on the heady brine, a baker's loaf, a sip of wine,
The morning haze, the evening storm,
A child's smile to make us warm,
The siesta at mid-day,
Making love in the hay,
The wind on our face.
We go from town to town, The future's an unknown.
A pretty girl lends a hand And life is grand.
Today here, Tomorrow there.
Our life's a romance, A melody composed by chance,
Full of new delights.
We prefer joy to misery,
Intelligence to stupidity,
Straight talk to hypocrisy,
And gentle arms to gendarmes.
We go from fair to fair, Folks point and stare.
They call us carnies But poets are what we are.
Today we frown, Tomorrow laugh.
Life's a double bill, A tragedy of fate,
A comedy of good will. As friends we will grow old,
Knights without fear or blame, We haven't a penny to our name,
But our hearts are made of gold.
We go from place to place, Across rivers and valleys.
They call us carnies, The road is our home base.
- What's wrong? - I'm sad and bored.
You're hiding something.
It's over with Guillaume.
That's good news! I never liked the guy.
Know what I'm thinking?
Yes, about your dream man.
How'd you guess?
It's easy, darling...
You have that "dream man" look on your face.
I know nothing of him and yet his image is clear.
I have a name for him, His voice is in my ear.
Often when I dream I see the face I'm thinking of.
The look in his eyes is the very image of love.
He is handsome as only romantic men can be.
Like divine Raphael his talent is heavenly.
A philosopher in love with democracy
And a poet who rhymes endlessly.
I could tell you of his hands, of his eyes.
I could go on and on until the next sunrise.
He is my only love but what good is a dream?
The illusion of love is only love unseen.
Is he near or far? Could he be in Rochefort?
I'm sure to meet him, I know he does exist.
Whatever reason says, my heart tells me more.
Its reign, its law is something one can't resist
And resist I never will.
Sweetie, guys like that don't hang out in Rochefort.
Not right now. He's in Paris. He did my portrait.
Who is it? You never mentioned him.
A painter. I don't know him.
He exists and he loves me.
But I've never seen him.
- You're ill! - I'm serious.
- To Paris, then! - And our pupils?
- Our careers first! - Without money?
Never mind, for now we're free! We leave for Paris next week.
This afternoon I'll go see Mr Dame...
What's so funny?
Nothing. It's such a silly name.
He's very nice. He knows Andrew Miller.
- Who's that? - Dunno...
An American composer. They went to school together.
Andrew Miller is giving some recitals in Paris
and Simon Dame will tell him about me.
In a letter... Then I'll get Booboo.
No need to. Mom sent two guys this morning.
I went for nothing. Booboo left with them.
You let Booboo go off with two strangers?
The town's crawling with soldiers, sadists and painters!
You'll never get a man, old girl.
You were born 12 min. Iater! Don't "old girl" me! As for men...
- That's it! - What?
I've got the theme for my concerto!
Good day, sisters.
Schubert's "Ave Maria."
Here we are.
- Is that all? - Yes, thank you.
Good-bye, Mr Dame.
- Hello, Mr Dame. - Hello, miss.
Your music paper arrived.
I'm sorry about the delay.
Setting up this store has taken a lot out of me.
Rochefort isn't Paris, and I haven't adapted yet.
It looks really nice.
I've tried to recreate a musical atmosphere.
Now where did I put it? Here it is.
- Ready for the fair? - The girls rehearse daily.
I wrote a little piece for them,
a 3-part choral in C minor.
How much is it?
12 francs.
Please call me Simon.
Really?
My name's so silly.
I'm called Solange.
The key of so
and the flight of angels. The name suits you.
I have a favour to ask.
Go ahead.
I plan to go to Paris next week.
You hinted, last Tuesday,
you could recommend me to your friend, Andrew Miller, the composer.
Andy... certainly. I haven't seen him since Conservatory.
After school, Andrew went back to the States
and found fame and fortune...
Life's come between us.
It's a chance he's in France. I'll write him straight away.
I'm sure he can help you.
You'll become a great composer, Solange. A great composer.
I hope so.
I have the 3rd movement for my concerto in F sharp minor.
- Care to hear it? - With pleasure.
Admirable!
What texture, originality, passion! What force! What lyricism!
I like it a lot, too.
- When do you leave? - Monday, after the fair.
Don't take it badly,
but when my fiancée left 10 years ago
I felt the same twinge in my heart.
Your fiancée?
It was because of her that I left Paris.
I moved here last month to relive my memories.
Does she live in Rochefort?
No, in Mexico.
But we met here.
It's a strange story for an ordinary man like me.
My fiancée found my name a bad joke.
I think it even shocked her and one day I awoke
To find she'd left me without a word, without a sign.
I haven't laid eyes on her in 10 years' time.
She had told me one night so tenderly
That we were soon to be no longer two but three.
It fills a man with pride, it's woman's greatest claim,
But she couldn't stand being called Madame Dame.
Yet she cared for me and I called her my muse.
But I had no idea (how poets will ruse)
That a name like mine could shame and irritate.
I didn't understand until it was too late.
I was a handsome fellow and she a sweet young thing.
She hadn't planned it but had already mothered twins.
I never met the girls who were always out of sight.
They went to boarding school and never came home at night.
A few years later I met a mutual friend
Who told me some foreigner had married her in the end
and taken her away to a place in Mexico
To live romantically in a seaside bungalow.
So here I am alone, a lover in despair.
I came to see this city since I'd met her here.
I decided not to leave and here I plan to stay,
Living with my memories and my heart at bay.
- You never saw her again? - Never.
She must be living it up in Acapulco.
She worshipped the sun.
But I go on and on...
I'll write to Andy. I hope he hasn't forgotten me.
- Maybe his head swelled. - What?
He may be pretentious.
No, Andy was a bright fellow.
Besides, I'm sure you'll like him.
4 o'clock, already!
I doubt she'll come.
The kid can't walk home alone!
Excuse me!
Let the young lady by.
- Hi, Solange. - Hi, pumpkin.
Your slip is showing.
Fighting again! Look at you!
You naughty boy!
- Hi, Booboo. - So you came?
- What do you want? - We've come to fetch Booboo.
These are my buddies.
We came with the fair.
- When do you leave? - Monday.
Then, bon voyage!
- Miss! Your slip is showing. - So I've been told.
Your aunt's not nice.
She's my sister.
She sure has changed!
Come on, skip it.
They buy me candy.
I'll get you liquorice.
I want to go with them!
Then no liquorice!
I'm sorry.
Don't mention it.
- Are you a musician? - Yes.
Good-bye.
Miss, your slip is showing.
I know, but it doesn't matter.
Miss...
- Can I see you again? - I don't know.
I don't think so.
Come on.
That guy's got some nerve!
Say, that's in G minor!
I'm in love, I am.
Lucky you!
I do what I can.
I come to Rochefort to see a friend,
Simon Dame, he lives out this end.
But I meet a girl and I go crazy.
The girl's gone but love's fazed me.
It took a trip across two continents,
It took this one amazing chance
To change my life, to give it sense,
It took my coming back to France.
Ready?
We can't go without saying good-bye.
- My heart's racing. - That's normal.
Look: First, I've had it. Second, they exploit us.
Third, I don't love Etienne. Fourth, Bill's eyes aren't blue.
Fifth, adventure beckons. And sixth...
Here they come!
What's with you?
Can't you see? We're leaving.
- What? - We're leaving.
- With who? - Two sailors.
Don't whine, it's pointless.
They're dumb.
We love them, but that's not the worst.
We give them a golden opportunity and they cut out before a show.
And for who? Sailors!
Sailors give us a better time Than all your carnies combined.
- Sailors aren't the marrying kind. - But as lovers they're just fine.
As friend, lover or husband Sailors are absent all the time.
Chance often does things right But it got its wires crossed
With the faded roses it tossed On the bed of our lonely nights.
Well, if our bed of roses Is now just full of thorns,
And your heart is now sea-born, What can I say or propose?
Shall I shoot you and mourn? Or die broken and morose?
You had what it takes to please; Your nose, mouth, brow and hair.
If only your eyes were blue I could have died for you.
If my eyes, dear marquise, Are not worth dying for
And a sailor boy can offer more, What can I say to please?
Should I go down on my knees?
Should I die of jealousy?
You mustn't hold a grudge Or I'll get all teary-eyed.
My makeup is going to smudge, I'm already bleary-eyed.
Fly away, turtledoves, Get along to your tropics,
Since our eyes are not topics To make you melt with love.
Go on then, my lovelies,
Good sailing and good loving.
You thought it over?
We flit from face to face Like bees among the flowers.
Today we're here, tomorrow there.
For us life's a cinch...
Braque, Picasso, Klee, Miro, Matisse...
That's life!
Sure, life!
But how do you manage?
Don't tell me you paint in the barracks!
No one paints in barracks!
I have a room in town. It's my studio.
Every night I go AWOL, and I go home and paint.
Next week I go to Paris. And in 6 months: a show!
- If you're released. - That's not funny!
There's trouble everywhere, like in '39. That's how it started in '39.
I saw you this morning doing your clown act.
We were on maneuvers. Think I enjoy it?
Cut it out!
Next week I'm a civilian. Freedom!
Monday. Right, Yvonne?
It's sad to see everyone leave.
Why everyone?
No special reason.
It reminds me of my past.
It's none of your business, of course.
You'll break that chair.
A past love, I suppose?
What else?
It was...
a secret passion.
I never told anyone.
No one ever found out.
Not even my daughters.
Your daughters! I've heard so much about them.
- I'd like to meet them. - Hush up!
And this passion went sour, if I get your meaning.
My fiancé had a name that was grating to the ear,
An irritating name that was more than I could bear.
So I went and left him without a word, without a sign.
It's been 10 years now That his path diverged from mine.
I had told him one night so tenderly
That we were soon to be no longer two but three.
It's a woman's greatest claim, It fills a man with pride.
Booboo, the poor dear, would soon be by my side.
He was a handsome fellow and I a sweet young thing,
Even though I had twins before I met him.
He never met the girls, I kept them out of sight.
They went to boarding school and never came home at night.
A few years later, through a mutual friend,
I let him know that some tycoon from Mexico
Had offered me his hand and a beachside bungalow.
It was bitter lie, pathetic duplicity.
So here I am alone, and my youth is long gone.
I came to see this town where the only love I'd known
had seen the day. I settled here permanently
Iiving amid memories, my life's debris.
You don't know what became of him?
No. He's probably in Paris.
You should try and find him.
What was this monster's name?
Dame. Simon Dame.
I'd have become Madame Dame. Absurd!
He was a bastard!
Not at all, Papa, calm down!
A bastard!
Maybe so, but he had a charming name.
"Madame Dame."
It's amusing.
- So I did wrong? - I didn't say that.
- Shall we? - It's figurative?
I told you: it's my only figurative work. The abstracts are at camp.
Coming with us?
- To see my feminine ideal. - Where?
On show at Guillaume Lancien's gallery. Around the corner.
Sorry, I really can't.
- You snub my work. - No, I don't.
So long! Coming?
- You've been crying! - Not at all.
Don't lie, I can tell.
- I like your hat. - So do I.
Is that all that's new?
I'm flustered: I just met my dream man.
Otherwise, we're working.
I haven't seen Delphine in 3 days.
We're hard at work!
Next week we're off to Paris.
I'm joining the Concert Hall, and Delphine the Opera.
- We're not going to rot here! - You're old enough to know.
Dutrouz's right: there's trouble everywhere.
Why this urge to fight all the time?
I forgot my beret.
So long, Maxence!
Who's that?
Maxence. A painter doing his military service.
Get down! I told you not to walk on the tables!
Leaving already?
I'm going home. 'Bye, Mom!
Come for dinner tomorrow. Dutrouz will be there.
- Who's Dutrouz? - Don't know him?
A friend of Gramps' from back in '24.
They met last week for the first time in 40 years!
- See you tomorrow. - Till then!
You again?
Your sister's charming.
- She's my daughter. - Her, too?
I had twins by a first lover, but they're not identical.
Then I had Booboo, much later.
Another lover...
Be polite, I'm not in the mood.
We aren't either. We've got trouble.
- Is that so? - The girls left us.
- The girls? - The ones you saw this morning.
They do a number for us, not bad in fact, to draw customers.
The Asian shimmy.
That's right. So now we're up the creek.
You won't find anyone here to do an Asian shimmy.
That, or something else.
Your daughters could help us.
Don't count on it!
They can dance, no?
Delphine dances...
Solange sol-fas. She writes music. She can dance, too.
- But they won't do it. - Think so?
I'm sure of it. With their talent, they won't rot here.
Next week they're off to Paris.
- What'll it be? - White wine?
Two glasses.
It wouldn't hurt to ask.
- It's worth a try. - Nothing ventured...
Oh, my God!
One of Booboo's pranks.
That's her.
Your ideal?
I once knew a young lady
who looked a bit like that.
A dancer.
This was 40 years ago.
But she was a brunette, with short hair.
Not at all alike!
Not really.
A slight resemblance, here.
I don't know anyone like that.
You won't find that sort in Rochefort.
I've searched for her, I've travelled countless miles
From Bali to Lima, across the South Sea isles,
From deep river beds to beds where young girls smile.
I keep running after her, hoping all the while.
Just knowing she's alive makes her my beacon fire.
Knowing she's out there fills me with more desire
Than all the naked girls in my wildest fantasies.
I've looked everywhere, I've sailed the seven seas.
Can she be far? Is she close to me?
I couldn't say, but I know that she exists.
Is she a wicked girl or born to royalty?
A movie celebrity
or a simple florist?
I know she'll come to me.
That's all, children.
I met my dream man!
Where?
In the street.
Tell me!
I picked up Booboo at school, He was whining and being a fool.
He threw a tantrum in the street, He slammed his bag down at his feet.
There I am, bikes wheeling round, Picking notebooks off the ground,
When I hear a masculine sigh. I look up to see this beautiful guy.
He pours words in my ear like honey,
Humming like a swarm of playful bees.
I look at him, his eyes take me in,
My heart goes into a spin.
He's dark, with an intelligent air, Streaks of grey in his hair,
Like a shepherd or troubadour. It was like a concerto overture.
His languid gaze says more than I can tell.
We're both caught in the same spell.
Booboo's waiting, traffic's rolling still,
But Time has stopped for our idyll.
But we really have to part, My handsome stranger gives a start.
He says, his emotion growing;
"Excuse me, but your slip is showing. "
And that was all.
Is he near or far? Can he be in Rochefort?
I'll find him because I know that he exists.
I know what reason says but my heart can tell me more.
Its reign, its law is something no one can resist,
And resist I never will.
Surely a foreigner or a tourist.
- Why? Did he have an accent? - I don't remember.
- A camera? - No.
So why an American?
I said a foreigner, not an American.
Not all foreigners are American.
But they're often tourists.
Good Lord! What if it's him?
It's Jules and Jim!
You again! You know them?
We've already met.
Don't stand there, I'm cold.
What do you want?
- Well, your mother, Yvonne... - Yeah, right...
- Let them talk. - Yes, let us.
Your mother, Yvonne, said you were going to Paris.