Idiot! How many times have I told you not to cram the blossoms in
like you're stuffing a chicken?!
Watch how Grenouille does it.
Look how skillfully he handles them.
The whole art of enfleurage is to allow the flowers to die slowly.
In their sleep, as it were.
Handle them as you would a lady.
Wouldn't you agree with me, Druot?
If you say so, Madame.
You. Check the jonquil blossoms.
They need more time.
Do what I say!
Stop it!
- I'm not in the mood. - Are you sure?
Of course I'm sure.
I said
no!
Suit yourself.
Lucien?
Fetch me back the ladder.
Fetch it yourself.
Lucien?
Lucien?!
Tuberoses for Madame Arnulfi. She here?
She's busy.
Seems such a waste to boil them.
Or whatever you do with them.
So what do you do with them?
Warm them in animal fat.
What for?
The fat soaks up their scent.
Then what?
Then I cool it to a pomade
and then I filter it before.
Before what?
Before I add in alcohol and other essences to make a perfume.
Don't touch anything.
What's in there?
Nothing. Just flowers.
- Can I look? - No.
Not now. I've got work to do. You must go now.
Come on. Let me look.
Don't touch.
Ah, my tuberoses.
Morning, Madame.
Morning.
Why have you covered the tank?
It's an experiment, Madame.
To protect the blossoms from daylight.
To preserve the scent better.
Well, if you say so.
Come with me.
I'll settle your master's account.
To preserve their scent better, you say?
I don't smell much.
No.
Then my experiment was a failure.
Make sure it's your time you're wasting, not ours.
How much must I pay
to be with you?
Depends what you want.
What's that stuff?
I'm creating a perfume.
Lie down, please.
It feels horrible.
It's only animal fat. To soak up your scent.
Creating a perfume, eh?
Come on. Admit it. You're getting some sort of bang out of this, aren't you?
Aren't you?
I enjoy my work.
Hold your arm still.
Don't think you're gonna tie me up.
Hold out your arm, please.
I've come across some strange men in my time...
Just
relax.
Holy Mother, what's that?!
- Just for scraping off the fat. - Are you mad?
I said relax.
You'll ruin everything.
If you're frightened, you stink. Then your perfume will be spoiled.
I've had enough.
Get out!
Here, take your money.
Basting me up in all this goo.
What do you think I am, a Christmas goose?
Get out of here!
Quickly, blow them out before the roses melt.
- Roses can't melt, Papa. - These ones can.
Now I'd like to propose a toast
to our guest of honor, His Excellency, the Marquis De Montesquieu.
May our trade continue to flourish.
Here, here.
I thank you all, and would ask of you the honor
to be the first to offer my congratulations to your beautiful daughter
and present her with a small token of my affection.
It's beautiful.
- Splendid. - It's beautiful.
I'm overwhelmed, Your Grace.
Your Grace?
I had hoped that we would be on more familiar terms by now.
Let's have a game of hide and seek.
Oh, yes.
But everyone must play.
Let the men catch the women.
Bravo! Bravo!
Put me down.
Please?
Now there's no escape.
Game's over, everybody.
Laura?
Time to go in now.
Laura?
Albine?
Françoise?
Laura, have you seen the twins?
No, not since the game started.
Albine? Françoise?
Jacques?
Take this way.
You two with me.
Your Excellency?
Through here.
Albine! Françoise!
I told that cretin ten times to get these ready!
Don't keep picking on the boy.
I'll kill him, the useless little sewer rat!
Grenouille!
What are you doing?
Why aren't the enfleurage frames.
Yes, master?
I mean, would you be good enough to prepare the enfleurage frames,
Jean-Baptiste?
Certainly, master.
Hey, look!
Sweet.
A curfew?!
Are you mad?!
Jasmine can only be picked before dawn. We all know that.
This could mean the ruin of our trade. Yours.
And yours and yours.
Supposing it's your daughter next time.
Of course a curfew is necessary, but we also have to catch this man
and the only way to do that is to understand how he thinks,
what he wants.
I should have thought that was obvious.
Use your imagination.
And if I were to tell you that all except the prostitute
went to their graves with their chastity intact?
How would you know?
The coroner had each girl examined. They were all found to be virgins.
Supposing there isn't a next time?
If we introduce a curfew we may all go bankrupt for nothing.
So we wait until he's killed, what? Six?
Seven? Eight?
Lord save us. It's Pauline.
- Curfew! Go back to your homes! - Stay inside.
It's a curfew. Back inside.
Gentlemen!
We have to face the fact that our police are helpless in this matter.
I suggest that we ask for support from Paris.
Paris won't be smarter than we are.
We must arrest every Gypsy in Provence! And every beggar!
And every man without a wife and family!
Listen.
We have to put ourselves inside the mind of this man.
Each of his victims had an especial beauty.
We know he doesn't want their virginity,
so it seems to me that it's their beauty itself that he wants.
It's almost as if he's trying to gather something.
As if his ambitions are those of a collector.
A collector? Of what?
Their hair?
Get out! Get out of my store!
You murdering scum!
Whatever it is...
I fear he won't stop killing until his collection is complete.
There you are. Next. Quick as you can. Right.
You, too.
Monsieur.
This man. this man is a demon.
A phantom who cannot be fought by human means.
Now, I insist that we call upon our bishop to excommunicate him!
What good would that do?
Have you no faith in the power of our Holy Mother Church?
This is not a matter of faith.
There's a murderer out there
and we must catch him by using our God-given wits!
I say until we submit to Mother Church
these killings will not cease.
Citizens of Grasse
we hereby declare that this murderer, this demon in our midst
has incurred the sentence of excommunication.
Not only has this depraved monster robbed us of our daughters
the young and fair blossom of this city
and by his wanton acts
has brought our trade, our livelihood, nay
our very existence to the brink of eternal darkness.
We therefore declare
that this vile viper
this ignominious carbuncle
this execrable evil in our midst
shall henceforth be solemnly banned from our holy presence
rejected from the communion of Holy Mother Church
as a disciple of Satan
slayer of souls.
Stand clear! Stand clear!
An infected limb
an outsider of the faith
a necromancer, a diabolist, a sorcerer
and a damned heretic.
Oh, God, in Thy most merciful spirit
bring down thunderbolts upon his head
and may the Devil make soup of his bones.
Amen.
My Lord! My Lord!
It's a miracle! He's been caught!
He's been caught!
My Lord, the fiend has been caught.
In the city of Grenoble.
He's confessed to everything.
He's confessed to everything!
Oh, hallelujah. Hallelujah!
Praise be to God!
And we thank Him for listening to our prayers and answering them.
Amen.
Just read the report. This cannot possibly be the same man.
He confessed to everything. Including the murders in Grasse.
Yes. Under torture.
Look. Here.
He admits to strangling his victims, pulling out their hair
and ravaging them.
The girls of Grasse were killed by a single blow to the back of their heads
their hair was carefully cropped, and not one of them was violated.
Antoine
we're all happy it's over.
Let it go.
Papa, what's the matter?
We're going home. Now!
But why? I'm enjoying myself.
Don't argue with me, Laura...
Stop it! I'm going...
Laura!
Out of my way!
Laura!
Papa!
I'm so sorry.
I know you must think me a very foolish man
but try to understand
you're all I have left.
You don't need to explain, Papa.
If anything were to happen to you.
I know. But you must stop worrying about me all the time.
Sweet dreams, my love.
Sweet dreams, Papa.
Laura!
Papa, what's the matter?
Did you open the window?
No. Why?
Have this letter dispatched to the Marquis de Montesquieu immediately.
Marie? Quickly!
Steady!
Stay on the road north into the mountains.
Did Monsieur Richis leave?
He did.
Which way?
North.
You sure it wasn't south?
I saw them with my own eyes.
Why do you want to know?
I said north.
North!
Grenouille?
Grenouille?!
Good God!
Good afternoon, Monsieur.
Good afternoon. Do you have anyone else staying here?
No, Monsieur.
Then I would like to take all your rooms for the night.
It will be our pleasure, Monsieur.
And tomorrow, at first light, we wish to be ferried to the Îles de Lérin
It's deserted except for a few monks...
I'm aware of that.
Very well, Monsieur.
Our finest room, Mademoiselle.
With a superb view of the sea.
One moment.
Very well.
Do you have a room next to this one?
Yes, but the view cannot be compared...
I have no interest in the view.
Papa, will you please tell me now what's happening?
You haven't said a word all day.
Why all this secrecy?
Last night I dreamt you were dead.
Murdered. Like all the other girls.
And the truth is, I'm convinced that the killer is still here somewhere.
All of his victims were young and beautiful
and who is there more beautiful than you, Laura?
Whatever his insane scheme, it will surely be incomplete without you.
I've written to the Marquis, accepting his proposal of marriage on your behalf
and requesting that it take place as soon as possible.
Until then, you stay in the safety of the monastery.
And all this, because you had a bad dream?
I've made my decision.
But I don't know whether I even love him.
I'm afraid the circumstances leave us no choice.
- Papa. - It's all arranged, Laura.
On your feet!
Hands in the air!
Why did you kill my daughter?
Why?
I needed her.
Why did you kill my daughter?
I just
needed her.
Very well.
But remember this.
I'll be looking at you...
when you're laid on the cross
and the twelve blows are crashing down on your limbs.
And when the crowd has finally tired of your screams and wandered home
I will climb up through your blood
and sit beside you.
I will look deep into your eyes
and, drop by drop
I will trickle my disgust into them
like burning acid
until
finally
you perish.
What do you think they'll do to him?
Apparently they're gonna break every bone in his body with an iron bar.
Filthy piece of bile.
Fathead!
Look, there he comes.
Unchain the prisoner.
That's enough!
Let him be brought to the scaffold.
What's that?
Is he coming? What is it?
This man is innocent.
He didn't do it. It's impossible.
He's innocent!
An angel.
This is no man!
This is an angel!
Grenouille!
You can't fool me!
Forgive me
my son.
The people of Grasse awoke to a terrible hangover.
For many of them, the experience was so ghastly, so completely inexplicable
and incompatible with their morals
that they literally erased it from their memories.
The town council was in session by the afternoon
and an order was passed to the police lieutenant
to immediately begin fresh investigations into the murders.
The following day, Dominique Druot was arrested since it was in his backyard
that the clothes and hair of all the victims had been found.
After 14 hours of torture, Druot confessed to everything.
With that, the case was closed.
By then, Grenouille was already halfway back to Paris.
He still had enough perfume left to enslave the whole world if he so chose
He could walk to Versailles and have the King kiss his feet.
He could write the Pope a perfumed letter and reveal himself as the new Messiah.
He could do all this and more if he wanted to.
He possessed a power stronger than the power of money, or terror, or death
the invincible power to command the love of mankind.
There was only one thing the perfume could not do.
It could not turn him into a person who could love
and be loved like everyone else.
So, to hell with it, he thought.
To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself.
On the 25th of June, 1766, around 11 o'clock at night
Grenouille entered the city through the Port d'Orlans
and like a sleepwalker
his olfactory memories drew him back to the place where he was born.
An angel.
I love you!
Within no time, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille
had disappeared from the face of the earth.
When they had finished, they felt a virginal glow of happiness.
For the first time in their lives
they believed they have done something
purely out of love.
Over here!
Look!
A jacket.
Let's take them all home.
You can wear them.