This film was restored by PATHÉ in 2015
THE END OF THE DAY
- Don't forget my hoofbeats. - Yes, sweetheart.
Récamier, my costume!
The train leaves in 18 minutes.
Seen the circus lines?
Full house. They must make 4000 in box office.
Antony plays to an empty house. So much for art.
They'll hear the circus music in the theater.
It'll cheer things up. Just between us,
Antony is a pill.
- It's Alexander Dumas. - It's still a pill.
Mme Marceau, give me your lace stole.
You know the box office?
433 francs. We didn't break even again.
- Not surprising. - Why not?
Antony is a pill.
I told the boss to change the dates to avoid clashing with the circus.
No point playing to empty seats.
Saint-Clair insisted. "I'm paid so I play."
He'll make us miss our train. He'll stab her all night.
The movie theater opposite took 1,200 francs.
So much for art.
Drop the curtain. I'll take this.
Hurry, the bus is outside. Let's go, kids.
- I'm done in. - Sleep on the train.
My daughter!
She's a child. She'll laugh about all this.
It's Armand, my husband!
Oh, my God! Have pity on me!
Come now, it's over.
He's coming up. He's ringing. It's him.
Flee!
I shan't flee.
Listen, Adèle,
you said you don't fear death.
No, kill me, for pity's sake.
Death will save your reputation.
I beg you on my knees.
Open up!
You won't hate your murderer?
I'll bless him, but hurry.
Fear not. Death will be here before him.
Think it over. Death...
I want it, I desire it, I reach for it.
Move your butt. Train in 14 minutes.
Well then...
Die.
Wretch!
What do I see? Adèle!
Dead!
She resisted, I struck her down.
Curtain!
Hurry, 11 minutes to go.
Curtain call.
Now? The train is in 11 minutes.
They're calling for me.
Let's have your wig.
Sorry, M. Saint-Clair.
The bus is waiting. Hurry.
Some nights we kill better. Tonight was perfect.
A blonde in the front row had her eye on me.
She couldn't care less about M. Dumas.
She was all eyes, no ears.
All eyes for Saint-Clair.
"See you at midnight."
What?
Just learning my lines for tomorrow.
Tomorrow you'll play without me. Saint-Clair quits.
He's through playing to housemaids.
"I'll be there. With the child."
Life is Paris. And women.
"Tircis, we must celebrate."
I'll retire to my estate.
Sure you have an estate?
Fishing, shooting, dinner parties. That's my program.
Remember me for the garden parties!
Don't overdo it. Get your pants on.
I'll take the bags. Our train leaves in 8 minutes.
We're all yours!
Bring your hand luggage.
I'll get the tickets.
Only to Tarascon for me.
Are you abandoning us?
I'm stopping at Villy. Visiting friends there.
I'll forward my address.
I know his address. Saint Jean la Rivière Abbey.
Actors' Retirement Home.
An old age home.
I just saw the admission letter. He arranges it in his own way.
I don't pity him. He had it all. Money, fame, women.
But there's no good martingale system.
Get the bags together.
It's like a manor house with lawns.
Flowers and lawns. Gardens and ponds. I love it.
Can I visit you?
We'll be among socialites. You'll feel out of place.
In company, maybe, but in privacy I'm worth anybody else.
I can guarantee that but my tastes change.
Bridge and hunting.
Why does he lie like that?
He's always lived in a dream.
I once wanted to enter a retirement home, too. I can't decide.
You think like that when you sleep 3 nights on a train.
Your tickets.
True actors never leave the boards.
Help me rehearse my lines? When I reach the villa.
Actors in a refuge? How idiotic. A peaceful old age, a joke.
The countryside is not for us.
We only like trees painted on a backdrop.
Where are we?
Get a move on!
Stragglers will be left behind!
Saint Jean la Rivière Abbey Actors' Retirement Home
I'm going to the station for the new one.
His name is Saint-Clair.
No need for names. Gisèle knows a ham at 100 yards.
Isn't that so, Gisèle?
What are you grimacing about?
A bad morning? The hams aren't behaving?
Worse than children. But I have to make an example.
And a certain Cabrissade will feel it.
0 sun, 0 torch of immortal light!
Hello, M. Lucien. Hello, sunshine.
- Any mail for me? - No.
I was expecting a letter.
It was you who cut the border flowers.
The innocent Cabrissade never left his room.
Well, it will end. I've reported you.
He who laughs last...
I'm in no laughing mood and I loathe sneaks.
I was told to tell you the administrator is waiting.
It will be a pleasure to see him. He's a fine conversationalist.
Sleep well, Mme Chabert?
Not very.
We're breaking rules. We're cutting the border flowers.
For Saint-Clair. He arrives today.
And when you land here the first day,
it's tough.
Matinee idols are all the same. Flirts and games.
An old story, Saint-Clair?
30 years ago.
- The heart is ageless. - I'm going.
By the way...
Have you seen Marny?
Not yet, but with the layout of this chateau,
a catastrophe is imminent.
Know his plans?
- About what? - Not afraid of a scandal?
Why? Because Saint-Clair stole his wife 10 years before the war?
Some things you never forget.
Good things, maybe, but bad ones...
25 years is long enough to get over being two-timed.
You know he and Saint-Clair haven't met since.
You know how it is... on tour...
One in Paris, the other elsewhere, the years pass...
I didn't mean to make your Grey hair blush.
If I had to kill my rival every time I was two-timed,
France would be a graveyard.
Don't worry about the flowers, I'll say I cut them.
The man who can scare me hasn't been hatched yet.
You're sweet. Thank you, M. Cabrissade.
Excuse me, Mme Marcelin.
You too?
You thought of him?
You knew him well?
Long ago. On a lovely tour.
For me it was Venice. A marvelous season.
He was so handsome.
But he was attractive.
He would say to me: "You're my first love."
To me too.
Who was he lying to?
Both of us probably.
Yes, but so sweetly.
How will we manage with only one vase?
My child, at our age...
He'll think it was you.
Men have no memory.
They're lucky.
The tragedy is having a memory.
Time can heal a wound.
But it can open again.
I know, my dear Marny, but what can I do?
Don't force me to live alongside Saint-Clair.
I have a right to rest.
I failed at everything.
Everything.
Both private and professional.
I did.
No illusions. No footlights here. I know my worth.
I had talent but no success. Many have success but no talent.
My private life...
A flop!
Come now, Marny, passions at your age...
Be generous.
- Your wife died long ago. - Long ago?
It seems like yesterday.
Remember the circumstances?
A hunting accident.
An accident?
Yes, so they said.
An accident.
If only I could be sure...
Come now, my friend,
you and Saint-Clair have no income.
The Abbey is your haven.
I know, I live on charity.
Don't be bitter. You were a great actor.
Without an audience.
We can't control fate.
Lesser talents have succeeded.
You earned this rest. Your peers offer it gladly.
Then shut the door. Don't let Saint-Clair in.
Trust me.
I'll see to it.
Oh, sorry.
I'll leave you.
Good news, Philémon?
A letter from the children.
Another one? Every day?
5 daughters, 3 sons, 26 grandchildren. Lots of mail.
Look at this photo.
The youngest's first communion.
What a brood! Kids are beautiful.
They're a worry.
A worry if you have them, a regret if you don't.
Luckily you have other people's.
Have they arrived?
I'm waiting for a letter.
Vacation has started, but no news.
It'll come tomorrow.
I'm not worried.
There are rules, sir, they must be respected.
Even by M. Cabrissade.
We must be indulgent.
There are limits.
You don't know this yet.
Our guests are living their last days of serenity.
Let's not poison them.
- Their last days? - Exactly.
We've been struggling for years.
We can't go on any longer.
New taxes, the rising cost of living.
We're cleaned out. I can't raise more credit.
I'm making one last try.
And if it doesn't work?
We'll close down.
Where will they all go?
I have no idea.
They don't suspect a thing, so you see...
Of course.
But Cabrissade goes too far. Talk to him.
Yes?
Reporting for duty, colonel.
'Morning, sir. How are you? And the missus?
Fine, thank you.
My dear fellow,
I must ask you some questions.
Fire away.
Why, despite some polite hints,
do you still cook in your room
bloaters that stink up the corridors?
I hate veal and I love bloaters.
How tiresome.
And we've often asked you not to walk around in the buff.
Nudism is the key to good health.
But do you consider your female friends?
Have any of them complained?
I thought so.
The body is Creation's masterpiece.
Only retarded minds would ever grumble about it.
Every night, you jump over the wall.
I need company in the evening
and when I get back, the door's bolted.
But it's the rule.
You trample the begonias.
I jump where the wall is lowest.
I asked the deputy to replant his begonias.
Every day, a new way to annoy Marny.
Pajama hems sewn up, apple pie beds,
shoes hidden, itching powder everywhere...
- Marny is your whipping boy. - M. Marny is a lout.
M. Marny deeply offended me
by repeating in front of my peers
that I never had a smidgeon of talent.
You carry on like a child. For the last time,
when will you be reasonable?
Never.
- What? - I said: "Never."
Being reasonable is being resigned.
Which is being old. And I can't grow old.
It's not in my nature.
Marny suffered a great deal in his lifetime.
Today, fate has an ordeal in store.
At lunch, would you offer a hand and a friendly word?
If that would make you happy...
Please, a few less bloaters and a bit more trousers.
All right.
My dear Estelle,
inform the kitchen:
The sausage is badly cut again.
In a community like ours,
the sense of equality lies in the smallest details.
That slice is double the size of this one.
When you've finished spluttering.
You were the first to note
that the sardines couldn't be from the same can
as they were different sizes.
No reason to spit in the plates.
My dear Tusini,
only once have I met anything as venomous as you,
on tour in Chile with the great Sarah.
Opening my makeup kit,
I found a scorpion.
You fit in somewhere between that creature
and the poison mushroom.
Honey, let me butter your bread for you.
You don't see very well, poor dear.
Noble lords, greetings.
Dear Estelle, congratulate the cook on his imagination.
Who would think there were 27 ways to prepare veal.
Excuse me. Today it's my turn to serve myself first.
That was yesterday. You took the bone marrow.
No, it's Mme Marcelin's. The bone marrow was the day before.
But it doesn't matter.
Silence in the kindergarten.
I request the floor!
My dear colleagues, my dear Marny,
you see before you the living statue of repentance.
Observe my head covered in ashes, my bare feet and all that.
I confess,
I'm the hypocrite, the trickster,
the spreader of itching powder, the maker of apple pie beds.
The ghost who haunts the corridors at night.
The poison: That's me.
My dear Marny, do forgive me
for my past, present and future mystifications.
Here is my hand. It's that of an honest man.
I've always considered you a sinister scoundrel.
Sinister, I don't know, but scoundrel,
you're right about that.
I'm a youth lost in an assembly of patriarchs.
He's insulting us!
It's an outrage that the most obscure actor here
wants to set himself up as an example.
When we saw the most obscure actor come on stage
we didn't start snoring in the house.
You never had a scrap of talent.
I made 30,000!
- In the jungle! - The jungle?
You never had a part in a real play.
Rejane once told you...
"You're a lousy ham."
So you're all against me.
It's the conspiracy of greybeards.
I accept the challenge and I warn you that Cabrissade...
As usual, there's a din and Cabrissade is the conductor.
- Hello, Saint-Clair. - Hello, Cabrissade.
Unbearable as ever. A joy to see your mug.
My dear comrades,
Saint-Clair takes his rightful place as his age and talent's due.
It's a loss for the French theater,
but a great honor for our house.
Make a place for our colleague.
His place is here.
With those who trod the Paris stage.
I'll sit between charm and smiles.
- Hello, Berthelin. - Hello, Saint-Clair.
I'll be going. You're among friends here.
Hello, Deaubonne.
Hello, Lacour.
Why, it's our dear Marcelin. You haven't changed.
Marny. So you're here too? I didn't know.
The great Marny. Fate is unfair. You deserved better.
Thank you.
Do you like veal?
- Love it. - Then you're in heaven...
on earth.
Recognize me?
Of course, Lucile Chasseur.
- No, Chabert. - Yes. Jeanne Chabert.
No, Marthe.
Marthe Chabert, well well!
You remember? Venice.
"You're my first love."
What play was that in?
It wasn't in a play.
It's that old cow Tusini!
Still bite, honey?
I said you'd end up here.
Just passing through. An enchanting place.
Not for long. Rules are the rule here.
The best hotel can't rival home.
I wanted a rest before London.
- London? - Yes, for a delightful play.
Article 2: Residents are forbidden to work professionally.
If Paris calls me I must.
- Paris or London? - We owe it to our public and our art.
We've no right to desert.
He's a spoilt child. Incorrigible.
He has class.
Better than that: Charm.
So much so that one can't help forgiving him.
Yes, you were marvelous in that part.
I saw you 10 times. Memorable.
And in Old Heidelberg. So young and dashing.
I was adequate.
No, Saint-Clair is right. You couldn't see yourself but I was there.
You were magnificent.
Charming music. What memories it brings back.
I remember singing opera one night,
it was at the Met in New York.
The Met? In New York?
No, you're right. It was the Chicago Opera.
A fan threw me a bouquet of orchids.
There were 74. I counted them. Between two high Cs.
Rubbish. You never sang opera or went to America.
True. But if I don't invent memories I won't have any.
I ask you to listen, not believe me. Now I have an audience.
I love you. You lie with integrity!
Thanks. Ever been to America?
No, but here's a true story.
I was in Montluçon, not Chicago.
Playing the lover, as usual.
After the break-up scene, a woman shot herself.
Funny, huh?
Most amusing.
She identified with the actress.
She couldn't live after we parted.
How about that, Cabrissade?
Incredible. And she died?
No. Her husband divorced her.
Now she's a prompter in Brussels.
I met her while playing the lover, as usual.
It's an addiction. She recognized you?
She only saw my feet.
The stage! What a life!
And life, what a stage!
Pretty girls lose their heads
Lovers have sun in their hearts
When we sing In cherry blossom time
The blackbird will sing sweeter than ever
Growing old must be awful.
You have to resist it. Take me, I'm 20.
You don't look it.
What's this?
Is it you? You?
Yes, of course. You haven't changed.
Haven't changed...
No different from your portrait.
- 22 years difference. - Obviously.
A snapshot in this, but posing for 22 years now!
What patience.
- And him? - Who?
- The boy. - Tall. Handsome. Your son?
- Yes. - He's your son.
He was.
I'm sorry.
- He was nice. - Wasn't he?
Yes, a sweet, nice boy.
Wasn't he?
Notice anything?
- No, what? - Look closely.
He looks like someone I know?
- Someone you know very well. - Who?
Guess.
Who does he look like?
Saint-Clair.
What...
Yes.
You never said anything.
- Words can destroy. - Why?
So you wouldn't treat him shabbily.
I'm not angry with you.
Admit it, my dear, you're not family man material.
He was a sweet boy.
He'd been 28 now.
28 years old...
The age of a young leading man.
You're leaving us?
I have a date in society.
- Is it always like this? - No, tonight we party.
You reassure me.
- Coming? - You can always count on me in trouble.
A hand while we're waiting?
M. Cabrissade said he'll be back.
Another round to pass the time. Barman!
- Same again! - Coming up.
Another tin of cocoa for Mme Verdun.
Has she paid?
And three bloaters for Cabrissade.
- He hasn't paid. - No more credit.
He said it was a deal for the wood he brought in.
Alright then.
It hasn't brewed, I just poured the hot water.
Not reading your newspaper?
- I was thinking. - About merry things.
Not very.
I don't bore you with my mending?
You're the only one who never bores me.
I never have anything to say.
We don't need to talk. Being close comforts me.
For what?
Life.
Just looking at me?
You're simple.
Love hasn't painted your lips red yet.
Sometimes it scares me. I'm already 17.
You haven't lied or cheated yet.
I have nothing to hide.
You haven't exchanged insults or blows with anyone.
Is that love?
Sometimes.
You say that to frighten me.
It can be more gentle.
More tender.
That's terrible too in the end.
- 'Evening, all! - At last!
Gentlemen, the famous Saint-Clair! The king of Paris.
He'll stand a round, Saint-Clair?
A bottle of champers, on ice.
In my cellar.
But paid up front.
- I am Raphaël Saint-Clair. - Sure, but...
The groom at the Ritz would advance me 10,000 francs.
They're a bit thick in Paris.
For his first evening?
I do have some bubbly. As it's you.
- Do we invite Marny? - Certainly.
Will you toast with us?
No thanks, I have my herb tea.
Jeannette!
Get the bubbly.
Pretty girl.
Pert breasts, long thighs, a sylph.
- You've seen it all. - I know fillies.
Hands off, she's a good girl.
- What about our card game? - If you're not scared.
We have our eyes on you tonight.
Insinuating that I cheat?
Got it. Spades, I scratch here. Hearts, I stroke there.
And I cough for no trumps.
You're as shady as a gamekeeper.
All yours, boss.
- Not playing cards, Marny? - No, never.
Baccarat is fun for high stakes.
You lost a lot of money?
And won a lot too. But money attracts expensive women.
You had many adventures.
Women interest me. They like that.
You have to search adventure.
It's funny to find you here.
It's normal for a gambler like me. I have no regrets.
I've had good times. But you surprise me.
No faults, great talent.
What happened to you?
- Never any success. - Incredible.
- That's how it is. - Why?
Some questions have no answers.
Tragedy struck me unexpectedly.
You're not still thinking about that old story?
I never thought you cared.
I only loved one woman.
You should have called me or written. You're unforgivable.
- I must confess that Lucienne... - Simone.
Yes, Simone... only played a bit part in my life.
A fleeting affair.
How...
- How did she die? - She was overwrought.
- Making scenes about nothing. - She was unhappy?
My dear fellow, you know women.
They think fidelity means something.
One day on a hunting party...
We're playing hearts, don't cut.
He didn't see the trump.
Didn't see it!
A hunting party?
She was nervous handling her gun, it was bad luck.
She died two hours later.
Was it an accident?
She was a bit dizzy but not crazy.
What's wrong?
Don't worry. He's an unsociable fellow.
I've kept you waiting.
Such pretty eyes can get away with anything.
I saw your photo in the newspaper.
Really?
It said you're living at Saint Jean la Rivière.
Is it true you're famous?
- Who said that? - The newspaper.
What's your name?
Jeannette.
You're beautiful, my sweet Jeannette.
Is that you?
You're very late.
The minister was busy.
I waited for hours, for nothing.
- Did you see anyone? - Some private secretary.
"Your foundation is private. Draw up a report."
I said: "Private or not, 60 old folk will be out on the street."
What will you do?
Try to raise support through a newspaper. Not much hope.
I saved you some cold meat.
Thanks, you're sweet but I'm not hungry.
I walked through the garden.
All the bedrooms were lit up.
They'll sleep, dreaming of their youth and glory.
They suspect nothing.
How wretched.
Bathroom
When are you coming out of there?
- 45 minutes! - Not his turn.
This is no luxury hotel.
What can be taking 45 minutes?
Just finishing my chapter.
- He's reading! - Outrageous.
What is it now?
He's locked himself in again.
- I have mail for him. - Here.
It might flush him out.
More letters from women. Smell them.
- Every day. - Amazing.
Open up, Saint-Clair, you have mail.
Wait, I'll see if I can.
No, out of the question. I'm stark naked.
- Oh, children! - What's up?
Oh, calamity!
Extraordinary, sensational news.
Where's the great Marny?
Downstairs in the hall.
He's in the paper. But it's not that scoundrel Cabrissade's view.
It's in black and white.
It's show time! A one-off!
The fans better hide on the stairs.
The show is free. Curtain!
"Theater news.
"We announce the death
"at the Saint Jean la Rivière Home,
"of the actor Gilles Marny.
"Gilles Marny was an original, gifted, picturesque actor.
"He created many major parts on the Boulevards
"yet he never won the favor of the general public.
"He always remained an actors' actor.
"What a strange career this actor had,
"always coming up against the public's indifference.
"We can call Marny a dark star, an unknown celebrity.
"This man of letters, friend of poets, art lover,
"was a great leading man
"who'll be remembered for his supporting roles.
"He retired from the stage
"where his absence went unnoticed."
Page 5, column 3, in tiny print.
Bastard!
M. Cabrissade, telephone!
What?
Hello, what?
I can't hear a word.
I can't hear, for God's sake!
What?
What? Is that you?
Why didn't you write to me, you rotter?
I've been waiting for 3 days.
But where are you?
In the same spot?
Right, I'll be there in a minute.
- Scouts... - Prepared!
Pierrot! Well, blow me down!
At ease!
Break ranks!
Hello, M. Cabrissade!
- How are you? - Good to see you!
We were waiting for you.
- You're a man now. - You haven't changed.
- A bit more belly. - We'll file it down.
- We have great projects. - A bridge!
It's Toto! And Fernand! And Maurice!
But you're late this year.
Our exams. My high school diploma.
How terrifying.
- Stay for lunch! - Do, M. Cabrissade!
Back to detail, guys!
You were only so high when I first saw you.
I remember. Over there, you were chopping wood.
This is so moving. It's like finding the son I'd lost.
Did you want a son?
Yes, a son like you.
If I'd had the choice I'd have tried.
If only we could choose our dad.
Not happy with yours?
Yes, but he wants to impose his ideas on me. We disagree.
Families are like that.
If I was just your uncle or a distant cousin
you wouldn't stand me.
- What's that? - A Girl Scout camp.
Bad sign. Is that why you're building a bridge?
No, they camp just like we do.
Girls mean trouble and love.
Not our style.
We need a man for potato detail.
- Take Raoul. - He's chopping wood.
- André. - He's on water detail.
Me? Potatoes remind me of the army!
- If you like. - No, give me an order.
Cabrissade Ernest, potato detail!
I feel 40 years younger!
Hello, M. Saint-Clair.
Hello, lovely lady.
Why did you stop saying hello?
And stop singing? I love your voice.
I'm always scared when you come.
- Of me? - The way you look at me.
What an idea.
The other day I went swimming in the river.
There's never anyone beyond the chateau.
Then I saw a horse looking at me.
I was so embarrassed.
It's the same with you.
When you stare at me like that, I feel naked.
You remind me of an adorable girl who said that too.
But she got used to it,
you couldn't persuade her to get dressed.
Whatever I say reminds you of a woman.
You should feel flattered.
To evoke such lovely women.
The eyes of a Russian princess.
The mouth of a diplomat's wife who ruined herself.
The legs of a dancer.
Sum total: A beauty who killed herself.
- Because of you? - No. For me.
You say it like that?
Death frightens old pensioners, but attracts those afire with passion.
Just before dying she wrote me:
"I love you, I'm happy."
Careful, that's my shirt.
I know. Only you have silk shirts.
Would you like the same?
And silk stockings that caress your skin like gossamer.
Those things aren't for me.
Not until someone gives you them.
I know how I'd dress you. The right furs for you.
And the perfume.
Tell me, Jeannette...
Can you get some cigarettes for me?
Yesterday he repeated: "No credit for Saint-Clair."
You did get them.
To please you. I have some savings...
You're a darling.
If you can, stock up in advance to avoid unpleasant remarks.
Naturally I'll pay you back.
If you're happy, there's no rush.
Of course.
And it's between us. It's marvelous to share a secret.
Someone for you, M. Saint-Clair!
Coming.
Here he is.
Gaston Noblet.
At the Abbey they told me I'd find you here.
Quite right.
- Will you have a drink? - A beer.
Two beers!
I handle the Marsotte estate.
I don't have the honor...
it goes back to 1905.
In August 1905, you...
You met Mme Henriette Marsotte.
Did I? 1905 is a long time ago.
Mme Marsotte died last month.
My sympathies.
She asked her oldest son to return to M. Saint-Clair...
- To me? - To you.
She asked him to return a ring to you.
- Strange. - A very fine ring.
Perhaps you'll recognize it?
A pretty stone.
Given by a man with taste.
Wait... 1905, Deauville, the Grand Prix. I remember.
Mme Marsotte wore it till her dying day.
I can't recall Mme Marsotte, but I remember Anémone.
A lightweight filly. I had a flash. 75 to 1.
What a race.
I thought I'd lost, at the final furlong Anémone...
This is about a woman, not a horse.
She felt deeply for you.
I can see her clearly.
A pretty little head.
Fine tendons, elegant...
This woman is dead, sir.
I meant the filly.
That evening, with my winnings,
I gave a young woman a ring. It must be her.
The Marsottes wish to execute this unusual bequest informally.
Without a receipt.
What is it worth?
Any jeweler would offer at least 100,000 francs.
100,000.
Dear little Anémone.
I mean poor dear Henriette.
She didn't suffer?
She passed away peacefully.
My mission is done.
I'm honored.
His bill.
Jeannette, can you bring paper and ink?
That's 4,50.
Send this off from the post office.
M. Victor Leloup, valet of the Marquis de Mircourt.
"Saved by the bell.
"Expect you 9 a.m. tomorrow with trunks."
M. Victor Leloup.
- Hello, Victor. - Hello, sir.
Did you sleep well, sir?
Like a baby.
Not easy to find a boiled egg, toast and your newspaper.
I'm moved to see you, Victor.
You just have to call, sir, and I come running.
- Two sugar lumps? - As ever.
And the Marquis?
Act of God. Terminated.
- He said nothing? - "You're deserting."
You replied?
"Serving the Marquis is a necessity,
"M. Saint-Clair is a pleasure."
Were you bored?
They don't know how to live. Money, connections,
but no sparkle. Serving you is very different.
Style and originality.
- Is the car here? - At the gates. A full tank.
The garage let you hire it?
When I said it was for you, sir.
- It runs well? - Like a thoroughbred.
Any 1,000 notes for the first day?
You needn't worry, sir.
What is it?
A letter from the head office.
Funny way to deliver it.
I don't give a damn. Our head office is in Monte Carlo.
The greybeard chorus!
Planning to sing something?
- Seen this? - What?
It's from the management.
I never read those letters. On principle.
No more wine with meals.
No electricity after 9 pm.
Sick cases will be hospitalized.
- It's a joke? - Read it.
But why?
The cost of living.
We're too expensive.
So it's time to do penance. It was inevitable.
Calling on God as witness to your quarrels,
He heard you and He's had enough.
He's punishing you out of disgust!
Being old and ugly is one thing, but there's a limit!
A good thing we're used to your brutal speech.
There's a rumpus in the Abbey.
I'm beyond all that.
Because they're cutting your wine?
When you live on charity you can't make demands.
A siphon, please.
It's hard, though.
- What is it? - The mustard.
Bring a siphon.
- You never sit with me. - I have to work.
You're always lost in thought.
- I'm not thinking of anything. - I'm not asking.
You don't like old Marny any more.
It makes me sad.
They've confirmed it.
M. Cabrissade won't let them get away with it.
But Cabrissade's threats would only frighten a child.
Got any cigars?
A few maybe.
It's for M. Saint-Clair.
Then I'm out of them.
Cash. I'll have four.
Stocking up for the road.
He's leaving?
Off to Monte Carlo in 2 minutes.
- You're leaving? - I'm a bird, I need air.
- Will you be away long? - Ask the stars.
What about me?
I won't forget you. I'll send you postcards.
Onward, Victor!
You said you'd be sad without me.
I said that?
M. Saint-Clair, if you don't come back soon...
Hear the engine? A purr. Goodbye, Jeannette.
He's gone.
He means so much to you?
What is it about him?
You're crying?
Believe me, child.
He was right to go.
Who let you in?
M. Marny. The janitor thought you were here and sent me up.
I don't receive visitors.
The Evening News sent me.
We printed that unfortunate piece about...
No one knows where the information came from.
- We want to make amends. - No need.
Whether people think I'm alive or dead is irrelevant.
I ceased to live 7 years ago.
It's extraordinary. Your voice hasn't changed.
I heard it so often in the Grand Theatre in Lille. Remember?
You saw me perform?
I never missed a classic.
Oedipus, Hamlet, Nero, all the protagonists.
At university we were all crazy about you.
We even wanted to go backstage once, and tell you.
- But we didn't dare. - You should have.
It could have been a bad day.
I'd have liked it.
Why did you leave the stage?
My taste in drama didn't draw crowds.
Where are Racine and Musset played nowadays?
Of course.
And how are they played?
There was a love and respect for theater that's died.
So best be silent.
And there's something else.
Something else?
I've never told anyone, anyway it's not important.
As you know, I played romantics, lovers,
but you don't know I had a wife.
I loved her passionately.
One day she left me.
It was over.
I stopped believing in love,
in my characters.
Never again,
with the shadow of that rupture in my mind,
did I play my parts thoroughly.
I played on the surface.
And playing on the surface of myself,
I vanished.
Without a trace.
But some people never forgot you.
You served the poets with talent and sensitivity.
There's someone here,
a comrade who everyone ignores.
She played Musset and Shakespeare as they're never played now.
Sometimes we read together,
a scene, an act.
We couldn't live without it.
I'd love to hear you.
We're forbidden to perform in public.
It's better that way.
A 70-year-old Juliet and a Romeo my age
would be quite comical.
See this scar.
One day, a comrade said...
No, I won't repeat it.
But we fought.
Because insulting you,
is insulting all the poetry and the heroes that I love.
As when I think of Rodrigues, Cinna and Hippolyte,
I see you.
Listen,
there's an old barn in the park.
Be there at 9 tonight.
I'll play for you, for the scar.
M. Cabrissade, come and give us a hand.
I must see Pierrot first.
You'll find him by the fire.
I'm sure my father will say yes.
He knows you and he likes you.
I told him everything in my letter.
He can't wait to get rid of me.
Won't he find you too young?
He knows I want to go to Morocco.
A new country where we can breathe.
So today or next year, alone or with my wife,
it's all the same to him.
With your wife?
Don't tell anyone before he answers because...
We're having a feast today.
Hello, Miss.
- Am I disturbing you? - You, never.
Danielle Michelet, chief of the Girl Scouts.
A pleasure to shake your hand, sir.
The bridge is nearly finished.
We were saying the path needs widening.
Talking bridges and highways...
with a pretty girl, bravo.
Isn't she nice?
You couldn't find a better bridge builder.
I'll get the others. See you later.
We'll wait.
The girls are eating with us today.
The mayor gave us a lamb and a cask of wine.
It will be splendid.
Don't you like it?
Yes, but it bothers me.
When you're serious you're planning a joke.
I'm serious today because of something sad.
What's wrong?
My boy, you've been coming here for 5 years,
and I've been putting you on.
I pretend I'm a bursar in a nursing home, it's untrue.
But we know that.
No, you don't.
I'm a pathetic old ham who's ended up
in a Home in Saint Jean la Rivière.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.
I've always been a bit of a liar.
Not out of spite, but to pretty things up.
An Old Age Home...
is not very pretty.
We guessed it ages ago.
We love you even more.
Artists are wonderful. You must have had a great life.
A great life...
Were you talented?
In all honesty, I can say I wasn't too bad.
But they didn't go for my looks in Paris. I suffered from that.
Drama or comedy?
I could play both.
Only I never got to play.
In the big theaters, the stars have an understudy.
For when they're sick.
But I was an understudy for someone who was never sick.
The brute was as strong as a horse.
Liver, flu, epidemics,
nothing put him in bed.
So I never got to play. You see?
I was never famous.
Why tell me this today?
There are big problems at the Home.
From today, the power goes off at 9 p.m. and our wine is cut.
I know, it's not much but...
Old people don't expect a lot from life.
It all shrinks. Only minor worries, little joys.
So one less glass of wine,
is like having a tooth pulled.
It's tiny, it leaves a big hole.
You must fight back.
That's just what I said.
How about the young people helping the old?
My poor boy, what can you do?
Listen, it's dead simple.
Tonight at 9, when the power is cut...
Let's have a discreet, warm ovation in honor
of our young friends,
who've armed us with a weapon of rebellion.
Go on, hurry.
If they catch us, they mustn't find out how.
See you tomorrow.
Not too early with a hangover.
Watch out, that's pretty heady stuff!
Ladies and gentlemen,
dear comrades,
may I turn on the tap
and pour the first glass of this nectar.
Let's raise our glasses of revolt
and drink in protest.
Good French citizens, when I...
drink this glass of fiery-colored wine,
I thank God when I think
they don't have any in England.
Come closer.
Stand back, children.
Let the party begin! These gentlemen first.
- Mme Chabert isn't here. - Nor is Marny.
Don't talk about those teetotalers.
I don't have a seat for you.
I'll be fine here.
3 centuries ago, actors played in barns.
The true atmosphere for poetry.
Mystery and poverty.
Let's see. What shall we read?
Hamlet? Othello?
My favorite has always been Romeo and Juliet.
I'm no longer Romeo's age.
Yes, please, Romeo and Juliet.
So be it. But my dear, you can't see.
I know all the parts by heart.
I began as Juliet.
And ended as the Nurse.
"Three knocks.
"The curtain rises on a square.
"Our scene is Verona.
"A grand, brightly lit hall in the Capulet house.
"Enter Tybalt and Paris, carrying their masks..."
To the years of our youth.
Now riper with age.
A nice little wine. Remember?
No need to drink to remember you.
We first kissed in a wine glass.
A glass of hock.
- You towed me off to the country. - Towed you?
Well, you took me in tow and I went along.
Delightful.
I drink to remember. To when we were 20.
Easy. That's your fourth glass!
So I drink to 4 x 20.
Lucky you're not any older.
May I have silence, please!
We haven't gathered here only to drink.
But to force the management
to drain the bitter dregs of our protests.
Well? I'm not in performance. You can applaud me.
Thank you!
We'll set the agenda
and draw up a list of our demands.
Thank you again.
We mustn't be frightened of words.
Words don't frighten us.
We mustn't leave anything out.
A motorcar purchased with the community funds
to be at the disposal of the residents
who can take it out in turn.
Excuse me.
I don't like cars. Speed goes to my head.
I contest it.
You must think we're Yanks. Now, joking aside.
A wireless in every room.
No, I don't like the wireless.
I'd prefer a gramophone. With a horn.
Will you be quiet!
Free postage stamps for all residents twice a week.
Agreed?
I don't like postage stamps.
I demand a contingency fund for fortnight visits
to those dens of iniquity tolerated by the police.
Quite right! That way you'll leave us in peace!
This item will be discussed by special sub-committee.
Two of these demands form a block:
Any detailed discussion is refused in advance.
The council will deliberate first thing in the morning.
No delaying. Justice is on the move.
We must strike now.
Isn't it wiser to wait till tomorrow?
We represent France: France will not tolerate transactions.
Immediate acquiescence or instant sanctions!
At first refusal, turn on the taps in all the rooms!
At second refusal, we blow up the heaters!
At the third...
Comrades, do you trust me?
The certainty of happy old age in dignity and modern comfort,
I promise you that!
What's going on? What a row!
What are you all doing here?
Your arrival is timely, sir.
The retired actors of Saint Jean la Rivière
at a federation meeting,
all present except Mme Chabert and that traitor Marny,
have voted the following measures...
You're drunk! You stink of wine!
What is this?
Article 1:
Henceforth the Abbey will be run
by a committee elected by the actors.
Return to your rooms. Immediately.
Article 2...
Your attitude is scandalous. You'll be sent away.
We'll see about that. No more bullying.
Give that back! The dictatorship is over.
Don't push!
The list of our demands.
We'll talk when you're sober.
No talking! It's an ultimatum!
- An ultimatum? - Yes. You have 10 minutes.
- Go to bed. - Or expect the worst!
Will you go back to bed?
No! And if you refuse, we're all leaving.
- You're leaving? - We're leaving!
You are indeed.
No insinuations.
Here's where you're going.
Delormel: Mercy Asylum in Strasbourg.
Marny: Valenciennes Charity Hospice.
Berthelin: Saint André Hospice, Cubzac.
What is this?
Lacour: Verdon Asylum in Manosque.
Verneuil: Hospice of Our Lady, Bayonne.
What's that?
Your transfers.
Not happy here? You want a change?
You have one. The Abbey is closing.
It's up for adjudication.
You'll all be dispersed in a week.
What are you saying?
So you insult private charity?
Now you'll get a taste of State charity.
We're closing down. You can pack your bags.
You're ungrateful renegades now.
Tomorrow you'll be scattered in Old Age Homes all over France.
Is this a joke?
I'm in no mood for joking.
You're not satisfied.
You bellyache while I fight to save our Home.
To save it?
It's lost. We're penniless.
You'll join the unwanted elderly.
But... it can't be.
I would have waited, but if you want to go, go now.
Here are your addresses.
"Cabrissade: Municipal Hospice, Roubaix."
No, not Roubaix.
M. Laroche, it's impossible. You can't do this to us.
You're not on the street.
Not with ordinary old folk.
Are you better than them?
We're not like other old folk.
You're more unbearable than them.
We're not to blame.
I am, I suppose?
No, sir.
Our lives are to blame.
An actor's life is different from other people's.
Even for the untalented, footlights, curtain calls,
applause make us believe the world is watching us.
We become spoilt children and we remain so.
Our heads held high, playing tragedy or comedy.
But we still made people laugh and cry.
We made them forget their troubles, that's what counts.
Go to bed, Cabrissade.
Actors are a family who grumble and gripe,
but a great family with a great profession.
We don't deserve to be separated.
Good night, my friends.
I'm sorry, I didn't know. Forgive me.
"Private sale of the property
"to the highest bidder.'
It's been the same all my life.
I slaved away, when I thought I'd earned a rest,
catastrophe struck.
I had to leave, I had to move out.
Do you know where Joué-lès-Tours is?
Saint André de Cubzac is near Bordeaux.
Too far for my son. A good excuse not to visit me.
I've no one left. I'll be nearby.
Manosque isn't far.
Our card games are over, old boy.
Estelle, didn't you work in a State Hospice before?
Yes, M. Deaubonne.
Was there a piano there?
A piano? Heavens!
State Homes aren't like here.
Open up, Mme Varenne! You're not being reasonable.
You won't get me. I'm locking myself in.
I won't go to an asylum.
I want to die here!
Come along. Are you asking me something so embarrassing?
My old lady and I are being sent to a Home.
Alas, my friends...
We're not complaining.
Only it's not the same Home.
An error. You needn't be separated.
Only married couples can stay together.
Yes, and my old lady and I,
with our 8 children, 26 grandchildren and 5 great grandchildren...
we never married.
You're not married?
We've lived together for 35 years.
You never had time to make it official?
We've seen so many actors marrying
then divorcing, then starting again, then...
So we thought if we don't get on,
it's better to part peacefully.
And we've never parted.
How noble and touching.
So...
Before we leave,
we'd like to get married in this house we love,
with some of our comrades as witnesses.
You're both splendid, I promise you a party.
The last before the break up.
Hey! No throwing stones in the pond!
Buzz off.
Does it hurt to be polite?
I don't feel polite today.
You never feel like much anyway.
Give the goldfish a break.
I'm not disturbing your goldfish. I ignore them.
- I'm looking. - Looking at what?
The landscape.
In autumn it's all red on top of the wall.
And in spring,
it's all white.
With the wisteria.
M. Lucien, you know I snarl sometimes...
but I don't mean it.
I'm not a bad fellow.
I know, M. Cabrissade.
- Oh, sorry. - No matter now.
This morning's numbers.
Good. Had a look?
- 4 and 31 seem promising. - Let's go for them.
What can I do for you, M. Saint-Clair?
Send flowers to a lady. Victor knows her name.
Something nice, 2,000 francs.
Take your commission, only 10%.
- M. Saint-Clair! - Don't be cross. Cheer up.
We'll make a tidy million tonight.
So I owe the hotel groom 3,972 francs
and Victor is back with the Marquis.
He has contacts.
We did 100 mph yesterday,
today it's sunny and Gisèle is trotting. Lovely.
It's M. Philémon's wedding day.
Philémon left her?
Heavens, no! But they forgot to tie the knot.
Another superstition.
This morning the whole family arrived in buses.
3 bus loads, all jam packed.
Ages ranging from 6 months to 40.
You wonder how one hen could lay so many eggs.
Before the altar, Lord
Your son and daughter await
With beating hearts
Kneeling before You
And within Your sanctuary
A double family
Bear witness as if from heaven
To the vows of their faith
They grew up
Both of them Under your guiding hand
Your love fired their hearts
To one day unite
As you saw fit
Almighty God Heavenly Father
Unite these two children
And give them Your blessing
Why is grandma crying?
What's up? Something wrong?
You look dour.
Just like Mounet-Sully in Oedipus Rex.
I never expected to see you back.
I thought I was at peace.
And here you are.
I've never been good at riddles.
Saint-Clair,
this may be the last time we meet.
- I want to know. - Know what, dear man?
How Simone died.
Again? But it was in all the papers.
I was at home that day. I remember.
Looking at the dresses she'd left behind.
Suddenly I heard a scream. A cry for help.
If you're hearing voices...
The thought that Simone committed suicide has obsessed me.
I want to be free of it.
I want to be sure.
Free yourself, old man.
I'm not jealous or bitter,
I don't resent my wife being stolen
and my losing everything.
I loved Simone more than myself.
I hope she found the happiness
I couldn't give her,
even with you.
Say you didn't make her suffer.
I don't make women suffer, it's not my style.
I loved her so much
that if you were good to her
I won't be angry.
I'll be your friend.
- Swear it was an accident. - I swear it.
Swear on what? You believe in nothing.
On my son's head.
You never even knew him.
He was my son.
You never cared!
You sneer at everything.
Surely you loved someone in your rotten life.
Swear on their head.
- Or else... - Or else?
It will be your last lie.
I swear it on my mother's head.
Swear what?
That Simone was happy.
And... she died in an accident?
An accident...
Thank you.
I believe you.
All the pain you caused me...
is gone.
United here in this chapel
where actors were so often welcomed,
that it became the theater chapel.
The Church no longer casts out members of this great family,
albeit unruly.
Today, the Church is happy to welcome her prodigal children.
Two children who are already a grandfather
and a grandmother.
I always advise couples who wish to sanctify their union:
"Go forth and multiply."
But I'm in a spot today as you beat me to it.
The joy of aging together,
with your many descendants, is not new for you.
And yet...
your hearts were not at ease,
hand in hand,
you advanced along life's path,
and rather than tire of each other,
you decided to seal your union
for all eternity.
May God save you and protect you.
So where's the honeymoon, lovebirds?
We're going to Savoie.
The Saint-Jean-de-Maurienne Hospice.
Here's M. Laroche.
Forgive me, my friends. I couldn't make the ceremony.
I went to Paris for your wedding present.
Here it is.
My dear friends,
our beloved old Abbey is saved.
Your nightmare is over, you all stay together.
Public opinion has responded.
The French press has started a subscription for you.
The main newspapers each contributed 100,000!
We already have over a million francs!
I know it would all work out!
Could you see me in foggy Roubaix?
That's not all.
A special benefit performance will be held in our hall.
In solidarity with their old comrades,
the most famous stars in France will lend their support.
A dream cast!
- Us! - In a great play.
To our generous benefactors
it works.
All fine.
I was afraid it was rusty.
Could you hear at the back?
Perfectly!
A chair for the prompt box.
That sound brings back memories.
Put the benches in the middle.
There's room for two more rows.
See to the chairs.
- The programs. - We'll sell them.
No, that's the ladies' role.
Excuse me, artists in the hall, servants in the pantry.
Check the washbasins are clean.
- You... - Does it hurt to be polite?
Put them in packets of fifty.
But where's Pierrot? I can't see him.
He's waiting for a letter from Paris. He'll be here.
"Unique performance.
"L'Aiglon, drama in 6 acts, in verse, by Edmond Rostand."
L'Aiglon, what a play!
And Flambeau, what a part.
"And we, the humble, the obscure, the lowly..."
- You played it? - Hundreds of times.
Well, I should have played it.
I was Lucien Guitry's understudy.
He wasn't bad,
but he sensed how Cabrissade would have done it.
So he hung on for 3 years.
The part was here. I said: "If only he'd fall sick once."
No such luck. He was always in the pink.
Well, chin up.
Ladies, please put the flowers in the dressing rooms.
Two letters for M. Saint-Clair. I'm too busy.
Always the same perfume.
He thinks we're idiots.
The king always sent me flowers for opening nights.
Now we send them.
No mail today?
Everyone wants to help but he'd get his hands dirty.
Any mail for me?
Two letters for the sender.
- What? - Spare us your number.
Letters from women, perfumed letters.
If a boy sent himself letters it would be silly,
but playing these pathetic games at your age!
You doubt they're love letters?
Fool! Empty envelopes, blank paper.
A woman wrote this:
- "My beloved..." - Hilarious.
"You've just left and I miss you already.
"The room is still cluttered with our love.
"I'm weeping, I'm so happy I could die."
Saint-Clair!
"I hear a gondolier singing outside my window."
A gondolier...
The letter comes from Venice.
With a French stamp, from Avignon!
It's from Venice.
What's the date?
"Venice, January 1912." That's so funny!
He sends himself old love letters to prove he's still loved.
Old perhaps, but written to me.
So he reads one a day as a booster,
like other people take a dose of salts.
I need it. Just as you need to spit your viper's poison.
My viper's poison!
Am I lying when I call him old?
She'd laugh now, for writing that.
Others could still write it.
- And kill themselves for you? - Perhaps.
Look at yourself!
Women would die laughing.
Tusini, this scene is atrocious.
Go on, stand up for him.
He's young, right? Handsome and irresistible?
Sorry, mad men don't amuse me. They scare me.
Die laughing...
While you were away, I came here every day.
Strange child.
You like solitude.
There was no one here to ask questions.
So I could be sad.
One day, gazing into the water,
I wanted to slip gently into it.
What prevented you?
Knowing you'd come back.
You were right not to, they wouldn't understand.
It's forgotten, now you're here.
Unfortunately I haven't come back for long.
The Abbey is saved.
I'm not the kind to settle down, and anyway...
I'm bored here, no one cares about me.
You say that to me?
I don't mean you. You're a sweet child.
But you don't know what love is.
I only knew one woman who did.
I love you as much as she did.
All those romantic dips and ponds are just fancies.
When you say you're leaving, women always turn on the gas
but they leave the window open.
I know what I'd do if you leave.
Jeannette,
I'm leaving tonight.
- You're not coming back? - Never.
So promise me to be sensible.
I promise I'll come here tomorrow.
They'll think it's an accident.
You'd do that?
You'd have the courage?
To prove you loved me the most?
I'm not afraid.
Then prove it to the world.
So everyone will know that a child like you
is capable of great passion.
Tonight, before I leave,
I'll come to the café, about 10 p.m.
It will be empty.
Take the boss's pistol.
I'll watch you.
Go to your room and leave the letter out.
What letter?
Your farewell letter to me.
Hold the gun here. It won't hurt, you'll see.
Splendid.
- Here, write. - My handwriting is awful.
They'll think your hand was shaking.
"My beloved..."
Put the date here, so it's legible.
Tuesday 24 September 1938.
"I did my best to close my eyes.
"But so many women pursue you.
"You're leaving,
"and I can't bear it.
"Never to hear your voice again,
"never to see your eyes,
"or feel the touch of your beloved hands,
"it's too much to ask of me.
"They'll think it's a hunting accident."
Cross out "hunting."
"Only you will know.
"Feel no remorse.
"I am happy."
Has he arrived?
Curtain.
Is he here?
- But we can't go on. - Curtain call.
It's all right, he's with Marny.
Open the door, Marny. It's important.
Now the stars from Paris are here, I want to be left alone.
Is that clear?
Dear man, it's not the moment to be touchy.
I played L'Aiglon all over France. We should perform it.
I've come to ask you to do just that.
Bruno was supposed to play Flambeau, but his car broke down.
Only you can save the show.
- Me? - All Paris is here.
They adored Act I. 400,000 in box office.
For the honor of this house and your old comrades.
Ah, you said yes! Thank you. Here's the line-up.
The costume. Makeup. Come in.
- I'll do my own makeup. - Leave it to me.
I'll announce it.
At your age, still a simple soldier.
Will you ever make corporal?
In a bearskin you'll look like an undertaker's horse.
Let me re-read Act II in peace.
The Knight of the Woeful Countenance, playing Flambeau.
What a laugh.
If it was a walk-on part,
or a liverish old fogey, you could handle it.
Look,
they're playing a joke on you.
Spare me your comments.
The character is called Flambeau.
Flambeau as in flame, not Guttering Candle.
They should have chosen someone fiery, flamboyant.
Not a dying ember.
You, for instance.
I see what you're getting at.
But I wouldn't look like a grenadier
back from the Russian Front with lumbago.
Jean-Pierre Séraphin Flambeau, known as "The Braggart",
ex infantry sergeant of the guard,
father from Brittany, mother from Picardy. That's my line.
L'Aiglon isn't a military farce.
Listen, Marny,
that part has haunted me all my life.
I was always about to play it but I never did.
Let me do it today.
You're mad.
You don't know what I can do with it.
You've tasted success, I never have.
Just this once. Let me play it.
The children are watching.
Give them a happy memory of old Cabrissade.
The memory of an old ham being booed off stage.
I'll never play jokes on you again.
I'm sorry about the other day.
I shouldn't have shown you the newspaper.
Let me play for my boys.
All Paris didn't come to see your stage debut.
To hear you, maybe?
They missed you in Paris!
You look like a ghost, not a grenadier.
Get out.
They think you're dead, they'll panic.
I'm sick of being in the wings.
Get out!
Sick of letting others play.
For the last time, go!
I'm an actor like you!
A talentless ham.
Two hams: Untalented, unsuccessful.
Shut up, Cabrissade!
We're not on stage. I wrote my lines, I'll keep talking.
A talentless ham.
No one ever saw you play.
I didn't bore people stiff with my bad marriage.
Will you shut up?
You've poisoned everyone.
Even your wife, your best audience, walked out.
How dare you!
M. Marny, it's Act II. You're on in 5 minutes.
M. Marny is coming, I'm helping him dress.
Right, we can start.
Ready, curtain up.
- What do you want? - M. Cabrissade.
We'd hear him.
- He's giving M. Marny a hand. - Thank you, sir.
- Who is it? - Me, Pierrot.
I'm coming.
How do you like it?
You're playing?
A surprise for you. Flambeau isn't Bruno, he's me.
- We'd love to see you. - Later. Hurry, go in.
Don't miss my entrance.
But we can't. We have to catch the train to Paris.
The train to Paris?
We have a surprise for you too.
Danielle and I are engaged.
Engaged?
Won't you congratulate us?
My father is in Paris briefly, he wants to see us.
- You're getting married? - Now.
Well, next spring.
We wanted you to share our happiness before we go.
How nice.
Flambeau! Flambeau! You're on!
I'm coming.
You won't be back next summer?
The Scouts and camping are over now.
- You're not coming back? - Not here.
But we'll find a way to meet. We won't forget you.
I'll write to you about our plans.
You'll write?
Flambeau, you'll miss your cue!
Coming.
We have to go. We can't miss our train.
I'll write, I promise.
Hurry up.
- It's you? - Don't worry.
Come on, come on.
"And we."
And we, the humble.
We, the humble.
We, the humble, the obscure.
We, the humble...
We, the humble, the obscure.
I don't know...
I don't know any more.
- Curtain. - Lower the curtain.
Come on, curtain.
Curtain!
It's a joke!
- Impostor! - You made fools of us.
What does this mean? Where's Marny?
I don't know, I'm old.
- You picked the loopiest. - It wasn't him.
Where's the other one?
Where's your comrade? Where's this costume from?
I don't know... I'm old.
We'll see about it later. Go home. Let us through.
I'm not to blame. I'm old.
I'm old.
What's the time, Jeannette?
10 o'clock, M. Martin.
Time to close up and go to bed.
- Closing time. - Just finishing my herb tea.
Everybody said you were sensational.
Yes, my swan song.
I should have watched you, but I loathe verse drama.
Drama must be contemporary to move me.
With commonplace words and silences, as in life.
I can't believe Theramenes' monologue.
Middle-class theater.
You acted the parts. I lived the characters.
My deepest emotions were not on stage but in real life.
Scrutinizing my partner...
To see what she'd say or do...
When it really mattered, when it was vital.
The blood in Oedipus Rex is fake and smells artificial.
Not going?
I'm thirsty.
Marny saved the Abbey and kept your clientele afloat.
How about a bottle of bubbly?
It means going down to the cellar.
Wait till tomorrow.
Jeannette wouldn't mind, would you?
I don't have the key.
Be quick.
Here. But bedtime in 5 minutes.
The women who die in all your tragedies are ridiculous.
They stagger and roll their eyes, weeping. False.
On the contrary, they are utterly calm.
Look at that child.
Will she wail and moan?
Isn't she simpler than Juliet, purer than Iphigenia?
Yet she climbs to the altar where love is sacrificed.
The same expression as Simone's when she wanted to die.
She wanted to die?
See, she didn't suffer.
Simone and Jeannette are one.
The same letter, the same gesture.
She climbs the stairs to heaven.
What?
Jeannette?
Are you mad? Drop that!
Drop it!
I said drop it!
What's going on? Who fired a shot?
It's nothing. The Commander is coming.
What? Where's M. Marny?
I hear the Commander's footsteps on the stone stairs.
I am the immortal Don Juan.
The Commander is coming. Light the torches, open the door!
It was him. Did he make you do this?
No, I wanted to.
He's playing with you, to believe he's still young.
I'll try again!
And I'll save you. He'll pay for this.
Don't hurt him!
M. Saint-Clair is mad.
Leave it to me.
- Don't be rash. - Let me!
I said light the torches, Victor, why am I in the dark?
You think I'm Sganarelle?
No. Don't enter the room.
There's no one here. She's not here.
I said light the torches!
No, that's not her gown.
It's the mantle of the moon, of my beloved.
Enter, My Lord. Enter.
Don Juan welcomes you.
We mourn the loss of two of our colleagues.
Saint-Clair, admitted to an asylum this morning.
Cabrissade, whom we will accompany to his final resting place tomorrow.
Our poor comrade, forever young at heart,
passed away suddenly.
Old men's parts were not for him.
He drew up his will recently.
I'll read you his last wishes.
"Although I'm too young to play a dead man
"and I only intend to visit the cemetery as a tourist,
"one must foresee the unpredictable.
"I thank the Abbey management and committee
"for the peaceful years they've granted me.
"I bid my fellow actors farewell,
"and I shake the deputy's hand.
"Cabrissade was an enfant terrible, but he wasn't really.
"The china cat on my mantelpiece,
"I leave to Pierre Andrieu, his address is in my book.
"He was and always will be my spiritual son.
"I have nothing else to leave
"and no one else to leave anything to.
"Farewell, everyone.
"18 February, 1938. A gloomy day."
Several weeks ago, Cabrissade added a post-scriptum.
Here it is:
"A few words to be read over my grave.
"I trust my comrades,
"but to do something right, best do it oneself.
"So I wrote a little speech.
"They won't have to rack their brains,
"and if I don't write it myself
"I'll never know what they'll say.
"This way I'll know, and I'll sleep in peace."
Dear Marny, as is our custom,
it's your turn to pay tribute to the departed.
What does his oration say?
"The theater is in mourning. Ernest Nicolas Cabrissade is dead."
"The theater is in mourning.
"Ernest Nicolas Cabrissade is dead.
"He belonged
"to that great family of thespians,
"who from Talma to Coquelin,
"Frédérick Lemaître to Lucien Guitry,
"were the glory of the French stage.
"Cabrissade was their equal.
"In tragedy and comedy,
"modern drama and the classics,
"his talent...
"so extraordinary...
"his talent...
"so extraordinary...
"has..."
No, I can't read this.
It's not true. I can't.
Cabrissade, you never had talent.
But...
we shall still miss you.
You loved the theater,
it only rewarded you with setbacks and failure.
But you remained loyal to it.
Loyal to your first love, your obscure, marvelous dream.
That's what moves us here today.
My poor friend.
Rest in peace, Cabrissade.
Actors serve a noble cause.
And when in the presence of something ennobling
we become noble ourselves.
Rest in peace, Cabrissade.
Rest in peace, my old friend.
Rest in peace...
My good man.
Subtitles: Lenny Borger - Charlotte Trench
A 4K restoration by L'Immagine Ritrovata - Bologna
with the support of the CNC