Regular Lovers
Hello.
Do you think I should publish them?
What?
My poems. You know I write poetry.
Why are you asking me?
It would feel like betraying something. But I don't know what.
What about you?
Me?
A decorator.
A decorator?
Why not a real artist?
A real artist?
A decorator is a real artist.
You seem to be very interested in me.
Is it because I've got the hash?
You know I'd never want to be famous or important.
I want to be anonymous.
Anyway. We're always alone.
Jean-Christophe pretends not to get it.
And you've really understood.
You see. We communicate without words. You'd never have believed it.
Mum!
François Dervieux?
Your medical exam for military service, you didn't respond.
- Take your things and come with me. - I can't.
- It's the law. You must obey. - I can't come with you.
I won't come with you.
You are coming with me!
What's this? A gun? Well, shoot me.
Shoot me. I'm telling you to shoot me.
Don't joke with me.
Alright, if that's the case...
Sign this form confirming your refusal.
I'm not signing any papers.
You must sign, young man!
I'm not signing and I'm not coming with you, officer.
- Have they gone? - They have.
- Seen what's happening? It's great! - Tough shit.
On the Boulevard Saint-Michel, some guy gave me a Molotov.
All I had to do was throw it.
So I went towards the crossroads where the police vans had stopped,
full of coppers.
I said to myself: "I'll light it, and roll it under the van
"and 5 coppers burn alive."
But then I turned back thinking: "I can't kill people."
So I left the Molotov cocktail in a gutter.
See?
"Enough of repetition. Move forward. "
Next time that you arrive late...
Hopes of fire
Free our comrades!
And what is the Party saying?
The Party? What Party?
We are the Party.
You're right.
If someone wants to take power, but waits for permission
it means he'd rather take orders instead of power.
You're wrong. There's nothing you can do without organising first.
Take over the power first, then do the organising.
Organising is for sheep.
What we want is anarchism.
What's next?
Avenue du Maine, 11 p.m. Tomorrow.
You should disperse now.
Girondists are coming!
Back off, comrades!
Bastards! Arseholes!
Block the way, go back!
Block the way instead of standing there!
What shall we block it with?
Miss, can you hear me?
Try to wake up.
Come on Madam.
Make a little effort.
Police SS! Police SS!
Call the guys! Hey guys! This one here!
Let's move this one.
Take it there. Over there. No, further.
Slowly! Over here.
A bit further!
Stop! Go on the other side.
Let's turn it over!
Individual rights, you bastards!
Careful!
Hurry up, come on!
It's no stroll in the park.
Let's knock one down before they load it up!
Want some?
Officer, ready to charge.
Slowly. We need to go slowly.
Get back!
Tomorrow in Champ de Mars then.
- I'm a pacifist. - No problem.
I'm a pacifist!
First right. Then right again.
Then through the front door before they turn the corner.
If they see me. I'm dead.
Who is it?
Sir, I'm very scared. Please let me in.
- Are you the one burning cars? - Yes.
You should've thought of that before.
Shit.
You take the stairs.
Check the courtyard.
Well? Nobody?
Go and get five torches.
- Nothing? - Nothing to report.
Let's get the torches.
Crisis: 1 st contact betwveen the government and trade unions
New clashes last night in the Latin Quarter
Cabinet reshuffle:
Pompidou remains Prime Minister. Debré may leave Finance
Strikes: More factories have been occupied
François! Are you hurt?
Nothing serious. Can I hide here?
Come on in.
I was listening to the radio.
The police were following me
and I ended up in this area.
- There. - Thank you.
Sugar.
Call your parents. They must be worried.
No, I saw a doctor last night. Nothing serious.
What a nightmare!
You've no idea what bastards cops are!
First they came close to the barricade that we'd built,
while we were stepping back.
They took it down with their vans
while we were making another one.
A huge one, 2 metres, with cobbles and road signs
and so forth. Instead of taking down the barricade
the riot police got out of their vans, climbed over it
and chased us with truncheons.
They're dangerous. They hit women.
Shall I run you a bath?
- Shall I run you a bath? - I'd love one.
I'll give you your father's clothes.
The trousers may be too big.
No, they're fine.
- The shirt. - Yes.
- Are you coming? - Yes.
Has my dad given up? Is he moving in here?
I wish I knew!
Each time he leaves more of his stuff here.
He's dropping his guard.
- Towel. - Thanks.
I must go to work.
You can sleep in my bed if you like.
- Lock the door when you leave. - I will.
Sorry, I really must go.
I'm meeting up with a friend. We'll hitch a ride together.
- There's food in the fridge. - Okay.
- Will you call your parents? - I will.
- Bye. - Bye. Sorry, I can't give you a hug.
At this very moment there's fire inside the Stock Exchange.
A little while ago. Demonstrators got into the Stock Exchange building.
They broke open the gates. Got in.
Bashed in the doors. Leaving inside...
Mum, we're fucked.
The working class are about to give up.
Trade Unions are more scared of the revolution than the bourgeoisie.
What they want is to get more money from their bosses.
As if it would make them happier.
They don't understand that life is what counts, not money.
And money won't change their life.
It's really tough. It drives me mad, I swear.
So now the only question is:
"Can we make the revolution
"for the working class despite the working class?"
- Just wait. Things may change. - They won't.
They can't change.
Go to bed, you'll be more comfortable.
Mum, we haven't lost, you know. We just didn't want anyone to die.
You really think people could've died?
- How is it going? - And you?
- Your finger? - It's okay.
- Good. You can't see anything. - It hurt, to begin with, not now.
It's nothing.
- Hello. - Hello Lucien.
- Everything okay? - Yes.
It's over.
- Finished? - Yes.
Nothing to be happy about. But it's over.
Before a similar occasion arises...
That's it. The shops are empty.
- They're cold! - Of course they are.
I was scared.
- He's lost weight, don't you think? - A bit.
It's nothing. I eat, I'm fine.
You know, when you reach... a certain age, 100 years or older...
Thank you. They look after you like after a baby.
"Are you eating?" "Yes. I don't want the soup."
At times I used to throw it.
Shall I help you?
We'll be able to eat what we like.
They'll even supply the fuel.
So we'll go away for a weekend.
It's all organised. First we wash the car.
Look, the day will go like this. In the morning we wash the car.
Then we set the table and eat until five o'clock.
This is life, normal life.
That's enough. Eat the sardines.
A house in the country,
one's better off without it.
Unless you like screaming children,
risks on a motorway...
As if none of this ever existed, right?
Lt'll be like none of this ever existed. Like nothing ever happened.
Stop playing. Eat the sardines.
I wanted to tell François...
a story, to take his mind off things.
Someone once said to me:
"You know, with life getting longer,
"you should think that you'll be around
"till you're 140." Well, I am...
You know very well.
That is, 20 plus...
plus 140... 60 more years to live?
Fine, I'd love to. But...
The pensions, you're ripped off.
60 more years to live! And all the...
And you get to 180, two centuries!
The old ones in the Bible...
They say that the old ones, the Church priests, in 70 BC,
used to live 700,
800 years, the old people in the Bible.
It's a legend. But they talk about it
as if it had been real.
I'm not talking about gorillas. A gorilla lives...
long.
A hundred, hundred and fifty years.
An elephant, 300 years.
Others... Octopuses live long, they're very clever.
And you, little bird...
chirp chirp chirp, sing for the others.
This is typical. All the Jewish suffering of the world.
- Will you come to visit me? - Where?
- In the country. - Why?
She's leaving. Dumping us.
Cut the thread.
Where's she going?
First to stay with friends in Vercors.
Then I'll see.
I'm not going back to the office. Not after all this.
See, you're being conceited. But...
You're more disappointed than us.
It's not that.
Don't want to live like this anymore.
Anyhow, she's doing the right thing.
You were hoping for a change too.
Well! It's normal...
More than us.
You did too.
Will you come to see me, Lucien?
I will.
Of course.
Wait!
Shall I show you something, like when you were a child?
The knife trick?
- You remember? - I do.
Wait. Do you know it too?
- Shall I do it or not? - Yes, go on.
Let's see if I can still do it...
- You remember? - Not bad.
Well? Did you get it now? No?
It's more clear.
Magic for kids.
During the afternoon snack, in front of the friends.
One more time.
Attention.
- Did you get it? You don't anymore? - I did, I did.
You've seen it all now.
It only works once.
Look, there's this trick. It's easy. It always works.
- The paper, is it there or not? - Now it's there.
Now it's not. Do you want it to disappear by itself?
By magic. Disappear, go!
- Is it there or not? - It's not.
- And now, is it there? - Not anymore.
- Do you want one? - Yes. Not bad at all.
- Do you want two? - Yes.
There, it's back.
The sitting of the Permanent Court of the armed forces is now open.
Third trial, case nr. 45, François Dervieux.
Please rise and give your name,
age, occupation and address.
My name is François Dervieux, I'm 20 years old
and I live at nr. 20... 29 Richelieu Street, Paris.
I'm an artist.
You're subject to a procedure of direct summons.
You're appearing here for failure to report for military service.
I shall briefly list the facts of which you are being accused.
On January the 20th 1968
a police officer came to your house
after you didn't attend the medical examination for call-up.
You refused to follow him.
When the police officer came back with reinforcements,
you had disappeared.
You were arrested
when you went to the police office to collect your passport.
Do we agree on this?
Yes.
Were you not aware of having to complete national service?
I was but I didn't have time.
Are you making fun of us?
Mr Chairman, I...
Counsel, you'll be able to speak later.
I call upon the government officer for the prosecutor's final speech.
Failure to report for military service
is punishable under article 397 of the code of military law.
All objectors justify themselves with the same excuse,
thinking they know a better way to spend their time
instead of dedicating it to national defence.
Imagine what would become of this defence,
if all the young people eligible for military service,
each with an occupation
totally worthy of priority,
reasoned like Mr Dervieux.
This is why I'm asking you to apply the maximum sentence
provided for by military law.
For this reason, I am asking to sentence Mr Dervieux
to an irrevocable term of imprisonment
of no less than six months.
The defence has leave to speak.
I fully agree with what's been said by the government officer.
In fact, as a general rule, if youths who've been called up
decide they have better things to do, we wouldn't have an army.
But each general rule has exceptions which confirm it.
Besides, among these young people
some, even though they're able, as the government officer just said,
are not fit for military service.
That's my client's case
as his medical certificates show.
But this in fact doesn't show that these young people
aren't capable of serving the country by other means.
I'm talking about those with a gift that brings honour to the Country.
In my opinion,
for as much as an opinion of a contemporary may be worth,
my client is one of them.
He's a poet, a real poet.
His work would suffer irreparably,
being extremely sensitive,
from the rigours of military life.
If you read some of the poems enclosed in his file,
I'm sure you'll share my opinion.
To conclude,
I'm asking you, gentlemen, not to suffocate at birth
work which may count one day
amongst those that add to the immortal glory of France.
I've finished, Mr Chairman.
The Rimbauds, the Baudelaires, the...
they all need to be put in prison.
Thank you, Mr Counsel.
Suitable for office work.
Not exempt from the call-up of '68.
6 months of prison with suspended sentence.
Declared unfit for military service, number 2, with tests.
Do you want a puff of the bamboo?
Wanna try some?
Yes.
Sit down here.
There.
Breathe in very slowly.
Things were horrific in Rome too.
Luc got grenade shrapnel in the chest.
There were people hurt here also.
And one person dead.
Breathe in slowly.
Come on.
Lie down.
Shit!
You two, take them to the cells.
Come on folks, to the lock-up.
Come on, show us!
- What? - Come on, show us.
It's not funny.
Gunshot hopes
Want some?
No, thanks.
I'm hot.
We've met before, right?
Yes.
In May, in the street.
You're very beautiful.
- Are you François? - Yes.
- Are you a friend of Antoine's? - I am.
- How do you know? - I just do.
- Are you a friend of Antoine's too? - It's not him.
- What? - It's not him.
- Who? Your friend? - No.
Who is it?
It's not him who told me.
That my name was François?
You write poetry?
Right?
You were told that my name was François and that I wrote poetry?
Yes.
Who told you that?
That's what I was told.
- Tell me who told you. - No.
- Okay, see you later. - See you.
Go on, idiot! Can't you see she's waiting for you!
You're right.
Could we stay here together a bit longer?
- Will you wait? - Sure.
It's fine.
"I miss the peace
"The quiet lightness that of this life a mirror makes
"where all is painted in an instant and on which
"everything glides"
It's by Musset.
Do you know Musset?
Not very well.
You know, apart from Verlaine,
no, also Baudelaire. A bit.
Then,
I'll introduce you to poetry.
And you will introduce me to sculpture.
That way we'll introduce each other to the things we're really keen on.
Sheer pleasure, isn't it?
I work in a foundry to earn my living.
Casting other people's sculptures.
But I like it.
Do you remember we're meeting up tonight?
Yes.
Are you coming?
- What's wrong? - Nothing.
Do you think I could have a bath?
I'll check, wait.
Yep.
You never told me what your father did.
Do you really want to know?
No. But you know, in general...
He's a bastard.
Oh yeah? You're lucky.
Shall we swap?
I don't have one anymore.
He went to Heaven when I was small.
In his place, a load of cash.
My real father is the cash.
And if you didn't have the cash?
With my cash, would you be yourself?
There you are, the cash and me are inseparable. The cash is me.
But I'm not it.
If I didn't have it, it wouldn't be me,
and I wouldn't ask this question,
which I'm not doing actually, you are.
It's the ones who have no cash that wonder whether to have it or not.
For those who do have it, it's not a question, it's obvious.
Is what I'm saying shocking you? Are you shocked?
Are you crazy or what?
I wasn't joking. You are lucky.
Oh yeah?
Hating your father makes you do things.
I don't hate him. I feel sorry for him.
I'd like to live in a society where dads and sons don't hate each other.
That's nice.
Don't you believe in it?
I don't know.
You do believe in it and that's what counts.
Don't you want to have a revolution?
I had it when I inherited.
With my cash I've created for myself a kingdom without laws.
Not now!
Oh, Shad, it's you.
- Do you want anything? - No, nothing.
So you think only the poor will benefit from the revolution?
No, but I'm less of an idealist than you.
One can try to take over the power or at least to balance it,
but I don't believe in human generosity.
You can't change values.
But don't worry, I'll help you guys.
Do you want some cash?
You can't make a revolution with cash.
Well, thank God for that.
Do you want some?
I mean, just for yourself?
No, thanks.
- Are you sure? - Yes.
I think he was very much in love with my mother and disappointed.
He threw himself into work. Between Paris, Beirut, Geneva.
We had everything. He would send her anything she asked for.
Money for clothes, travelling, even if he wasn't there.
When he would come back, they would pretend to love each other.
Why?
I don't remember much of him. He died in an airplane crash
when I was... eight.
After that a friend of hers moved in to live with us.
I had to call her godmother.
It's crazy. Like that, from one day to another!
One night we were alone, she brought a tray into my room...
- What for? - Well mate, it was my christening.
Where are you off to?
We'll get some opium and come back.
Be careful. Want a bit of camouflage?
You're freaking me out.
Calm down, if they wanted to get me, they would've done it ages ago.
What is it you do that...
- Have done. - What?
Tell me.
I used to dig up skulls in cemeteries.
- How old were you? - Fifteen.
- I also used to steal cars. - When you were 15?
Time to go.
It's just down there, nr.35, 4th floor on the right.
Tell him that Jérome sent you. If he doesn't know him,
give him this.
Wait.
Take this.
Wait.
Why don't you come with me?
Are you scared? Do you want me to go?
- No, we said I'd go. - So it's not always the same person.
I'm going.
If they catch you, use my name.
Are you stupid or what?
As we said, I'll see you at home.
Later!
- Antoine? - Yes!
I go up. I see your guy.
Take the pack, go back to the entrance and then hesitate.
Try to hide it in a mailbox. Can't do it.
I say to myself: "What an idiot! There's nobody outside."
On the way out I see a dustbin.
Hide the pack in the dustbin.
Go outside.
"Hey, you!"
Two plain-clothes policemen.
"What were you doing in there?"
"I went to see a friend but she's not in."
While I was talking to one, the other was searching me.
"What's your friend's name?"
Thank God I had thought about the mailboxes!
I remembered a name that I'd read,
similar to a friend's name.
So I tell him that surname hoping he won't ask for the first name.
And it works.
Either they knew everyone in the building
or I bluffed them. One of the two says:
"Okay, get lost." "Have a nice evening, gentlemen."
I walk away, then go back.
"Excuse me, do you have any paper?
I'd like to leave a note for my friend."
One of the two takes out a note-book,
pulls out a page and hands it to me. Nice.
I go in to the building.
Wait a bit as if I were going up the stairs,
done.
Honestly, not bad.
The idea of the note was brilliant!
Lmagine if it ended up in a dustcart!
I don't care about poetry right now.
You're all that matters.
I can also work,
you know.
You should never give up what you love.
I'm not. But for the moment I've put it aside.
A friend of mine lives here.
He lives here, second floor.
Oh yeah?
Frédéric!
He's sleeping.
Look.
I've got clay under my nails.
I like walking with you at night.
Do you?
Yeah, I do too.
"To close the eyes in the terrible roar of nothingness"
What is it?
A poem that I wrote.
You'll never forget, will you?
What?
This, now.
No.
Promise me.
I promise.
Twice I thought I was in love.
Then I realised I wasn't listening
to the girls I was with.
I never managed to dream about the girls my age.
Are you sure it's not going to rain?
I've got a hole in my shoe.
Go.
Go!
- Hi. - How are you, Joséphine?
This is Camille... Joséphine.
- How are you? - Good.
Bye.
- Shall we get some fresh air? - Yes.
Is something wrong?
No, why?
I don't know...
You're back early.
Is three o'clock early?
I'm making tea. Will you have some?
Do you know where Shad is?
I'm with a girl.
She's in my room.
- Take care of her. - I will.
This is Christian's new number.
It's top secret. Don't give it to anyone.
He's looking for you. I said to come here. He was choking.
Nothing resembles a priest more than a militant.
You're talking rubbish.
They got it all. They've got the truth.
It's not the Bible but the Red Book. Where's the difference?
It's also the universal truth.
- Christian isn't Mao. - Maybe not.
But it's the same.
Just like them, he thinks the masses will teach him to make the revolution,