Pathe presents the restored Les Enfants du paradis.
This involved 4K digital scanning of the original nitrate negative
and two nitrate fine grain masters.
Refurbishing of elements and 4K scans
were done at lmmagine Ritrovata (Bologna).
Reconstruction and picture restoration
were done by Eclair Laboratoires (Paris).
Sound was restored from the original sound negative scan
by L. E. Diapason (Paris).
The poor state of certain shots could not be improved.
Theatre scenes include shadow effects
typical of 19th century stage lighting.
Other scenes respect the soft-focus effects of the cinematography.
THE CHILDREN OF PARADISE
PART ONE "THE BOULEVARD OF CRIME"
Old clothes to buy.
Step right up. Truth is here.
Come in and see her.
Once you've seen her, she will fill your thoughts, haunt your dreams.
Totally unadorned, naked for all to see.
You can pay as you leave.
Our show is enticing.
Audacious. Arousing.
For those with eyes to see.
For lovers of beauty.
Step right up, gentlemen.
None of your "Stage door, please."
You can't fool me.
You bluff your way in to catch the show for free
and from a box seat.
It's the manager I want to see.
The manager. Is that so?
What do you want from him?
It's simple. I want to see him... so he hires me.
Hire you. And why not put your name on the marquee?
In great big letters.
Why not, Mr. Still Life?
- Hey, you. - Yes, I see it, foresee it.
My name up there in huge letters.
Frederick... Frederick Lemaitre.
Etch that on your feeble, doddering memory.
Remember the name.
Look.
Not bad. You know her?
Not yet.
You smiled. Don't deny it.
How marvelous. Isn't life beautiful.
And you're just like it, you're beautiful, too.
You've been running.
Yes. After you.
After me? But you ran toward me.
Yes. I saw you a moment ago.
The shock. The emotion. Before I could move, you were gone.
So...
So?
So as I hate to follow a woman,
I ran ahead so I could meet you face to face.
Now I'll never leave you. Which way?
That's simple.
You go your way, I go mine.
They may be the same.
And why not?
I have a rendezvous.
Rendezvous? O Cruel Fate.
Together for two minutes and you're leaving me already.
Why? For another, of course.
And you love this other?
I love everyone.
I don't mind, I'm not jealous.
But this "other" is.
How do you know?
All men are... except me.
But let's talk about us. We have so much to say.
Do we?
Yes, we do.
First, my name. Frederick.
Now tell me yours.
They call me Garance.
Garance. How lovely.
It's a flower.
A red flower, like your lips?
Well?
Well, good-bye... Frederick.
You can't abandon me,
all alone on the Boulevard of Crime.
When will I see you again?
Soon, maybe.
Chance will tell.
Paris is so big.
Paris is so small for such great lovers as we.
You smiled, don't deny it.
How marvelous. isn't life beautiful.
PUBLIC SCRIBE
"My love, light of my life,
time weighs on my heart like chains on a convict's limbs.
Come back, I beg you.
Never again, I swear...
Yes, I solemnly swear
never to raise my hand against you,
as I once did."
Will that do?
Will it? it's grand, moving.
If that don't bring her back, nothing will.
Poor fool.
You gotta admit, it's swell.
What is?
Being educated.
My poor Avril.
Honest, Mr. Lacenaire.
How d'you find the words?
Enough nonsense.
Down to business.
Have you the silverware?
It's sterling.
Sterling, indeed.
Spoons today. Clocks yesterday.
Here's my guardian angel.
I'll see you tonight.
Out of your well, my angel, my sweet?
The well's over with. And so is the Truth.
So soon?
The customers got too demanding.
Truth, but only from the neck up.
They were disappointed.
Those good people wanted more.
"The whole truth." I understand them.
The costume must suit you.
Maybe, but it's always the same.
How modest. How chaste.
It's not that.
They're just so ugly.
Ugly, indeed.
I'd like to stamp them all out.
Still cruel, Pierre-Frangois?
I'm not cruel, I'm logical.
I declared war on society long ago.
Any recent victims?
None, my angel. See? No trace of blood.
Just some ink stains.
But I'm planning something grandiose.
You're wrong to smile. Truly, I'm not like other men.
My heart doesn't beat like theirs. Absolutely not.
Have you ever been humiliated?
Never
Nor I. But they've tried.
Beyond the limit for a man like me.
As a child, I was more lucid and clever than the others.
They never forgave me.
I had to be like them,
talk like them.
"Lift your head, Pierre-Frangois. Look at me.
Eyes down."
They crammed my mind with books.
Old books.
So much dust in a child's head.
A fine childhood.
My worthy mother favored my dim brother.
My confessor would say,
"You are too proud. Withdraw into yourself."
So I withdrew into myself.
And there I remained.
The fools.
Leaving me alone with myself, yet warning me against bad company.
How thoughtless.
But what a splendid destiny.
To love no one.
To be alone.
To be loved by no one.
To be free.
True, I love no one.
Not even you, Garance.
But you are the only woman for whom I have no contempt.
I don't love you either.
That's fortunate.
Then why these daily visits?
Because I don't demand what all other men do?
You're no coquette. So why?
I'm bored.
Do I amuse you?
Yes, you talk all the time. It's like watching a play.
It's entertaining and relaxing.
You don't take me seriously.
If I were vain, I'd be deeply offended.
But I have no vanity,
only pride.
And I'm sure of myself.
Absolutely sure.
Thief by need, murderer by calling, my path is charted out.
I'll Walk with my head high...
until it drops... into the basket.
My father used to say, "You'll end up on the guillotine."
You're right. Always listen to your parents.
Still writing plays?
In my idle moments.
"Misconduct." A tragedy?
No, a slightly ribald farce.
I loathe tragedy.
Such an inferior genre.
Characters who kill one another, yet never get hurt.
How depressing.
Here comes Judgment Day.
It's Jupiter.
Alias Jericho, because of my horn.
Alias Medusa, because of my gaze.
Greetings, Lacenaire.
My respects to Beauty.
What do we have today?
How much?
I have no secrets from the lady.
My compliments.
Don't mention it.
How much?
Twenty francs.
You're joking.
Remember, they call me the Tightwad,
the Niggard, the Rat,
cause I scavenge... like a rat.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen.
A franc for the boxes if you're well-to-do,
four centimes in the Gods if you're badly off.
Come in and see...
"Perils of the Virgin Forest" or "Crime and Virtue."
A pantomime that's magic,
exotic, pyrotechnic.
Come in and see a girl of 15
pursued by a mountain lion.
A forest fire.
An abduction by balloon.
And you shall see me, the one and only,
the incomparable Anselme Deburau.
I who performed in the harem before the Grand Turk
and his 82 Turkesses.
But inside you won't see - have no fear -
this one here.
Because he's a know-nothing.
A dolt.
A sleepwalker...
even sitting down.
An unbelievable nincompoop.
A deplorable blockhead.
An utter good-for-nothing.
And this, alas, is my son.
Here sits the shame of an artistic family,
a famous father's despair,
the cause of his gray hair.
When I say my son,
luckily I exaggerate.
One night - it was a full moon -
he fell from above...
into a bucket.
When I got home it was already too late.
But I won't wash dirty linen in public.
The show's about to begin.
A unique show.
For the penny-pinchers,
the tightfisted, the miserly, or the parsimonious...
the management, sparing no expense,
leaves them Baptiste, free of charge.
Say, Baptiste, if you have pups, save me one.
He really looks stupid, doesn't he?
I think he has nice eyes.
Nice eyes.
That deserves a hand.
My watch.
Someone stole my watch.
My gold watch.
She did it.
It had to be you.
Thief!
Let go of me. You're crazy.
And she insults me.
Thief! Police!
Officer! Someone!
What's going on?
This gent had a watch, now he doesn't. And he blames me.
Why? A mystery to me.
Naturally, you're innocent.
As a lamb.
Are you sure of this?
Absolutely.
Arrest her.
It wasn't me.
So you say.
Any witnesses?
Me.
I'm a witness.
What did you see?
The whole thing.
What do you have to say now?
Why, nothing.
I'm sorry.
Anybody can make an error.
An error of justice.
May I go now?
You're free.
Fine, because I adore freedom.
You're on next. Look alive.
What are you sniggering about?
Artists don't laugh here,
the audience does.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet,
alias the Flask, for my drinking,
alias Woe-Is-Me, for my hard lot.
Greetings, stage manager. Here are the props:
a hunting horn, a royal blue tunic, three skulls,
gold epaulettes, patent leather shoes
and a wedding gown.
Interested, Nathalie?
It's contagious.
Another pillar of salt.
Love cheers the heart.
Same old story?
Her father against it?
He wants what she wants.
No, it's that dunce.
He should count his blessings.
I'll have to do something.
It's no business of yours.
They also call me The Spark, The Stoker, The Dove-keeper,
because I like to unite turtledoves.
How now, my lovely.
Show us your palm.
An amazing fate line.
Oh, fate and me...
Don't be silly.
It says here it will all work out.
Take it from a wise old pappy.
You'll marry the one you love.
Do you think so?
It's plain to see.
And when you set up house,
remember old pappy has sterling silverware
at a reasonable price.
Sorry to interrupt your daydream,
but I'm looking for the manager.
Is it important?
I'm warning you,
the manager's in a foul mood.
Then I'll try him another day.
But he's in a foul mood every day.
Well, then, I'll try my luck.
Wait here.
What a charming playhouse.
What a fine profession.
It would be,
if it fed us properly.
"Speak to me." About nothing, probably.
This fop here?
You're on.
Young man?
Remember, post the fines. "Seraphin, two francs:
On-stage drunk and swearing."
There they go again.
What's got into them?
They sense a storm brewing.
You can't imagine. My theater is torn by hatred and jealousy.
We perform on a volcano.
This isn't pantomime, it's a vendetta, a corrida.
They're worse than the Horatii and the Curiatti.
Worse than...
The Montagues and the Capulets.
Never heard of them.
It's Shakespeare. Romeo...
Don't know him.
Alas, few know and appreciate Shakespeare.
Who knows you? Who appreciates you?
What do you want?
I keep asking you.
What I want...
I want to act.
Act. Act.
You've got the wrong theater.
We're not allowed to act here.
We walk on our hands.
I can do that.
And you know why? They bully us.
Why? They fear us.
If we put on plays, they'd have to close
their great, noble theaters.
Their public is bored to death
by museum pieces, dusty tragedies and declaiming mummies
who never move.
But the Funambules is full of life and movement.
Extravaganzas.
Appearances, disappearances,
like in real life.
And then... Wham. The kick.
Wham. The slapstick...
like in real life.
And the audience.
Sure, they're poor,
but they're pure gold.
Look, up there
in the Gods.
Watch out, the old fogey.
The king of the desert.
Shut up!
We can't hear the pantomime.
He hit him too hard.
Did he?
You animal.
You snake.
You'll pay for this.
Friends,
he dared strike Anselme Deburau.
Help, Barrignis.
Curtain!
Fine everyone 3 francs.
Pull them apart.
Curtain.
Stop this instant.
It's shameful.
What's shameful
is a lowly Barrigni striking a Deburau,
like a traitor, and in public.
I demand an apology.
Yes, an apology.
Apologize, and on with it.
The audience is losing patience.
A Barrigni never apologizes.
We're leaving for a better offer across the Boulevard.
You're not serious.
To work for Saqui?
Yes, right this minute.
Come, Barrignis.
This is a fatal blow.
A conspiracy. A disaster.
Stage manager, a chair.
O Deceit. Treachery.
They stabbed me in the back.
Curtain! Curtain!
What a disaster.
Listen to them.
My dear audience.
Refund! Refund!
How's that?
Refund?
Never. I'd rather...
I don't know... anything.
Or anyone.
I'm your man: I'm anyone.
I'll slip into my character's skin
and show my stuff.
But I don't know you.
Where have you played?
What parts have you done?
Lion parts.
I've done the whole lion repertoire:
Gulf of Lions, Richard the Lion-Hearted, Pygma-lion.
Thieves! Thieves!
Hurry. They'll tear the place up.
The voice of the people.
The Christians demand a lion.
Disaster upon disaster.
How much...
Wages,already.
No. How much time on stage?
As little as possible.
I'm warning you:
It won't be easy to call me off.
Relax, I know the plot.
Enter Pierrot...
Pierrot.
We lost our Pierrot.
Disaster.
What about Baptiste?
Never
Never will my unworthy son tread the boards with me.
They loved him out on the street.
You saw it?
The cashier saw it.
The cashier? Vox populi.
She's got an infallible eye.
She's never a centime off.
Get Baptiste.
I protest.
And I command.
Go on.
The Funambules is sinking.
The rats are abandoning the ship.
Storm winds blow...
the audience howls...
I'm sole captain on board... after God.
I'll make an announcement.
Ladies and gentlemen.
Prepared for any sacrifice,
the Funambules Theater
is proud to present,
for the first time,
at no extra charge...
What is it, Baptiste?
Nothing. Why?
Yes, there is something.
You're handsome.
You know you are, because I love you.
Today, you're even more handsome.
You're shining.
What's that flower?
A flower.
Are you glad to perform at last?
Perhaps.
I'm happy, too.
I have such faith in you.
Oh, Baptiste, if only you wanted to,
we could be so happy together.
But you don't love me.
I know.
You're fond of me.
I don't want your fondness.
I want your love.
Loving is so easy.
You're doing it on purpose.
Or you're in love with someone else.
This flower.
What's this flower?
Someone gave it to you?
Who was it?
Answer me, Baptiste.
Remember,
you said I was your friend,
that you had no secrets from me.
Answer me.
Was it a woman?
Where did you meet her?
Do I know her?
What's her name?
I don't know.
I was gazing into a well.
Others were looking, too.
But only I saw her.
Still dreaming and laughing at me.
It's true.
What more can I say?
I saw her again, by chance. She gave me this flower.
That's all.
Well, it's not much.
And you love her.
Oh, yes, I love her.
How you said that.
My little lambs, you're on next.
You look fine, Baptiste.
A nice touch, the flower.
It will get a laugh.
You know the plot: You love her, she laughs at you.
Play the fool. Nothing to it.
Look alive, children.
This mulled wine is splendid.
It goes down like God in red velvet tights.
To your health, Baptiste.
And to yours, friends.
Remember that tonight you drank with Julius Caesar.
Julius Caesar or another.
Charles the Bold, Attila,
Henri IV, Ravaillac.
Yes, I'm sure of it.
It's my destiny to resuscitate the great men of this earth.
They played their parts.
It's my turn now.
Give me my chance.
Rise, Julius Caesar.
Frederick is here.
I'll dust him off,
and drag his shadow across the boards.
He'll live again
to astonish the world once more.
Thanks to me.
Go ahead and laugh.
I won't end my days at the Funambules
in a lion's skin.
A lion who can't even roar.
What torment, when inside me here,
there's an entire orchestra,
a whole universe.
Words and phrases leave you cold.
You tell your story without speaking.
And you do it so well.
You really astonished me.
You speak with your legs,
answer with your hands.
A glance, a shrug,
a step forward, back...
and they understand in the Gods.
They understand, though they're poor.
I'm like them. I love them, I know them.
Their lives are small, but their dreams are grand.
I don't want only to amuse them.
I want to move them,
frighten them,
make them weep.
All that without a word?
Without a word.
That's not easy.
Think it's impossible?
Not easy. it's not the same.
Barkeep.
Consider yourself lucky I can pay for a drink.
But not a bed.
Try my place, the Post House.
A hotel?
No, but they let rooms.
On credit?
If not, I'd have to move.
You really don't want the second-floor flat?
A small room is fine.
What a shame.
It's perfect for a bachelor.
It has flower-print curtains.
But I'll show you the rooms upstairs.
I'm sorry it's so late, Madame...
Madame Hermine.
Don't apologize.
I usually turn in late.
I often read for hours... in bed.
Love stories, no doubt?
Mr. Baptiste, this young man knows a woman's soft spot.
After you, Monsieur...
No,after you.
Oh, please.
Good night, Frederick.
Good night, Madame Hermine.
Going out at this hour?
He goes out every night.
A real alley cat, your Mr. Baptiste.
"Silent, stealthy as a cat in the night,
He slinks through the shadows towards love's light,
To his beloved, his heart's pyre,
His naked companion, a tremble with desire."
How beautiful, Mr. Frederick.
And slightly...
And slightly?
You'll make me say something silly.
After you, please.
After you.
Here are the rooms.
This one's quite nice.
Yes, quite pleasant, cheerful.
Or if you prefer this one...
It has a double bed.
Yes, I'd prefer that.
A double bed.
Poor Frederick.
All alone at night in a big bed.
But beds are for sleeping,
no matter the size. Not so?
Of course, Mr. Frederick.
Well, I'll leave you.
Good night.
The key's in the door.
I always leave my door unlocked.
You do?
A pretty lady might wander in.
"A pretty lady-"
Young people are so demanding today.
Did I say you were homely?
Alms for a poor blind man.
Why do you tiptoe by?
To avoid giving me anything?
Why won't you give alms to a poor blind man?
Why?
I have no money.
No money?
Hear that, bird?
That's a good one.
Folks strut around with full pockets.
Easy to pick when you can see.
It's not my trade.
His trade.
Hear that, bird?
Hasn't a cent, but he's got a trade.
A fine trade that feeds a man.
A fine trade, even so.
May I sit here a moment?
I've walked a lot and I'm a bit tired.
What are you doing wandering the streets at this hour?
Taking in things.
Hear that, bird?
Taking in what?
Everything-
Say, you're nosy. Too curious, you are.
Say, pilgrim, would your trade be...
Oh, no. Don't worry.
We're not worried.
We just don't like "flies," the bird and me.
So, where do you work?
At the Funambules.
You sell oranges?
No, I perform.
Perform?
Yes, pantomime.
I just love pantomime.
I often go.
You?
Sure, I can't see it,
but a friend describes it all.
So that's it.
So you're an actor.
Why didn't you say so?
Let's celebrate.
Sure, let's get a drink.
And when I say a drink...
Thank you, but...
Thank me when we're good and drunk.
Let's go, bird.
Your coach is leaving.
We're not going far.
It's just around the corner.
"The Red Breast."
You're curious, so you're in for a treat.
Shall I lead?
No, thanks. I know the way.
Nice name, eh?
"The Red Breast."
On account of the former owner.
He got bled one night behind his bar.
So the name "Red Breast" stuck.
Take a seat.
We'll be fine here.
This is my place.
Hullo, Silk Thread.
Hullo, Little Louis.
Rotgut and your best grub. I've got a guest.
Something for the bird, too?
Naturally.
Is this gold or imitation?
I'll see.
Gold. You didn't get taken.
Thanks.
Can't believe your eyes, funambulist?
It's quite simple.
Out there, I'm blind.
A hopeless case, blind as a bat.
In here, I'm healed. A miracle.
So I do some appraising.
Jewelry, stones, gold.
What d'you say, artist?
Nothing? You're a wise man.
Never say a thing.
Do you dream about cats?
Do you dream about dogs?
Have you seen troubled waters?
Here's the key to your dreams, bound and illustrated.
Greetings, boss.
Lacenaire's on his way with his merry gang.
Mum's the word.
I get it, thanks.
Here's Jericho, alias the Trumpet,
alias the Sandman,
alias Sweet Dreams, because he cures nightmares.
Do you dream about snakes, fires, new-born babes?
Believe it or not, Silk Thread,
a real collector's item.
Well, I'll be.
You here, Baptiste?
In a place like this?
What would Deburau say? And Nathalie?
Don't mention Nathalie.
So gentle, fresh as a rose,
pure as a lily.
I won't listen. I don't like you.
I don't care about you.
I told you so. Leave me alone.
Hear that, Silk Thread?
Try and be helpful...
What I said is for your own good.
Here comes high society.
Greetings, Mr. Lacenaire.
It's wonderful.
What's wonderful?
Everything-
Life.
His lawyer tells him not to talk.
But the priest says, "Confession is half remission."
So he confesses.
But the judge says, "You killed and confessed.
Off with your head."
The man, disappointed, protests:
"But you said confession was half remission."
But since justice had to be done,
they cut off half his head.
That's a good one.
Why so sad and silent, my angel?
Life is beautiful.
Why do you always harp on death?
I only talk about other people's deaths.
Mine is for later.
What can I say?
Life is like that.
Philosophers think of death,
beautiful women think of love.
So, that makes you all philosophers.
Why not?
How cheerful, charming and neat your philosophy is.
And love is cheerful, charming and neat, perhaps?
A sight better.
I've seen 'em lovesick,
but you take the cake.
I'm not one to give advice,
but if you want to wake up tomorrow,
you'd best leave now.
The former owner...
they're the ones who did him in.
I shouldn't tell you.
She doesn't love him.
It's obvious she doesn't.
Must you go?
I'm tired and bored.
This is serious.
Never have I felt for a woman... - Love, Pierre-Frangois?
Spare me your nonsense.
I desire you, that's all.
But I have my pride.
So you want me to make the first move.
Your head's too hot for me,
and your heart too cold.
I worry about drafts.
I watch my health.
A pity.
We could have done astounding things together.
I'd spill torrents of blood
to give you rivers of diamonds.
I'd settle for less.
What a lovely hand.
May I, Lacenaire?
Your future, beauty?
If it amuses you.
But I don't believe in it.
I only believe in what I love.
Such as?
Anything, anyone.
Still, if you predict traveling, I wouldn't mind.
That's just what I do see: a journey.
And a long one, too.
To India, maybe?
Why India?
Because it's far away.
The consultation's over, Jericho.
But explain this for me:
I dreamed about you.
You were in the street, shouting:
"Ragman. Used clothes for sale?"
But in my dream I heard something else:
"Rat-on-the-man. Friends for sale?"
Do you really deal with those "gentlemen"
and sell friends?
Lies. As sure as I'm called...
You're called Snitch, Forked Tongue, 13th at Table.
That's spiteful talk.
It's not spite, but I suggest you be more discreet.
You'll betray me, my angel.
It's your right.
You're wrong.
You will, my angel. If need be, with my help.
Leave me alone. You tire me.
I came here to have fun, to dance...
Would you dance with me?
How 'bout that, Mr. Lacenaire?
- Who is he? - Nobody.
An actor at the Funambules.
An actor. What a breed.
I see why the Church buried them at night.
I didn't recognize you at first.
But be careful.
They're vicious.
Be careful.
I don't care. What could happen to me?
I'm so happy-
How 'bout it, Mr. Lacenaire?
If that's your pleasure.
Let go of him.
What about my window?
Say, owner...
can't we have fun...
at "The Red Breast"?
I didn't mean to...
it's late.
I'll escort you home if you like.
Poor Avril.
What do we do?
Nothing.
Unless someone disagrees.
Lacenaire doesn't complicate his life over a woman.
No great deal, women.
Back to serious matters.
Once a month, bank messengers carry small fortunes.
Attacking them outside is common and risky.
And one might catch cold.
Best to work at home, by appointment.
So I rent an apartment, and when the bank messenger calls...
He gets the message.
You catch on so quickly, Avril.
You don't look that strong.
I'm not strong.
But back there...
I had a rough childhood.
I learned how to defend myself.
You were unhappy?
When I was, I slept.
I dreamed.
But people don't like that.
So they beat me to wake me up a little.
Luckily, my sleep was heavier than their blows,
and I fled them in my sleep.
Yes, I dreamed,
I hoped,
I waited.
For you, maybe.
Even back then?
Why not?
I surely saw you in my dreams.
Stop smiling.
By throwing me that flower
you may have awakened me for good.
You're a funny boy.
You're so beautiful.
No, I'm just alive.
The most alive of all.
I'll never forget tonight and the light in your eyes.
Just a glimmer, like everyone else.
Down there,
look at the lights of Menilmontant.
People sleep and wake.
Each has a glimmer that glows and fades.
It's nothing much.
I can't even find the room I lived in with my mother.
In Menilmontant?
I was born and grew up there,
very happily-
Yet Mother was poor and my father left her.
She worked for others as a laundress.
She loved me, I loved her.
She was lovely and cheerful.
She taught me how to laugh and sing.
Then she died
and everything changed.
You were left alone.
I was 15.
Around here, a girl who grows up too fast
isn't alone very long.
Please don't be sad. It pains me.
Me, sad? I'm as happy as a lark.
I love your laugh.
So do I. I'd be lost without it.
And me, without you.
Tell me your name.
You're shaking. Are you cold?
I'm shaking because I'm happy.
Happy because you're here, near me.
I love you.
Garance, do you love me?
You talk like a child.
People love that way in books, in dreams.
Not in real life.
Dreams, life... they're the same.
Else life's not worth living.
But it's not life I love. it's you.
You're the nicest boy I've ever met.
I won't forget tonight, either.
I like you.
I love you.
Love is such a simple thing.
A storm.
You'll be soaked.
So what?
You've no coat.
I'll take you back. - Where?
Home.
I don't have a home.
I quit my job
The lodging went with it.
I can get you a room where I live.
A room?
Yes, do come.
Don't wake the house for a room.
Where is she?
Coming. Coming.
It's you, Mr. Baptiste.
What is it?
Miss...
Excuse me, I was upstairs.
Someone's ill. Nothing serious.
Can I help you?
A room. She was caught in the rain.
Of course. Caught in the rain.
She's charming. Take her to room 10.
A good thing I left the key in the door.
Have a good night. And no bad dreams.
You're drenched.
The storm's passed.
I'll hang my dress out to dry.
Turn around if you're embarrassed.
It's not bad here, though it's a bit sad.
Why sad?
It's always sad when you sleep alone.
You can turn around now.
Charming costume.
It's like being in India.
You're so beautiful.
But I must let you sleep.
I'm not very sleepy.
Remember, you could work at the Funambules.
But I can't do anything.
I'll help you. You need work.
Why not? I could show my legs.
The public doesn't ask for much.
But I love you.
Please don't be so solemn.
It chills me.
Don't be angry, but I'm not the way you dreamed.
You have to understand me.
I'm simple, so simple.
I am what I am. I want to please those I like.
And when I want to say yes, I can't say no.
I prefer moonlight, don't you?
The moon?
Of course, the moon.
My homeland, the moon.
"He's not one of us. He's not like us.
One night during a full moon, he fell to Earth.
He dreams of the impossible."
Why "impossible," if I can dream it?
You don't realize how much
I want you to love me the way I love you.
"Yet I'll not shed her blood
nor scar that whiter skin than snow
and smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then..."
Yes, let's put out the light.
Good night, Desdemona.
Good night, Othello.
I am as I am
I'm made as you see
When I feel like laughing
I laugh heartily
I love those who love me
Am / really to blame
If the one that I love
Is never the same ?
Charming outfit. But I prefer the other one.
A question of taste.
Exactly.
Do you live here?
Of all places to meet.
"Paris is so small for such great lovers as we."
You're alone, I hope.
Sadly, all alone.
Left to do penance.
Poor Garance.
You're not afraid, all alone at night?
The sun will be up soon.
It's an early riser.
And you?
Me.
What does it matter?
If it's up before us, we close the shutters.
And your door, my love, is it locked?
I'm not afraid of thieves.
What's there to steal?
The incomparable Baptiste, my own son,
his father's pride,
is the sole author
of the show we present today:
"The Palace of illusions" or "Lovers of the Moon."
Unique in the annals of the Funambules Theater,
the show, ladies and gentlemen, is in its fourth week,
for ever more select audiences,
at still reasonable prices.
Only 1.50 francs for a box, 30 centimes in the Gods.
Have you ever seen such a splendid creature?
She's ravishing, simply ravishing.
Now I know where you spend your evenings.
And nights.
Wrong, as usual, Georges.
I've never even met the young lady.
Hard to believe.
Perhaps. But absolutely true.
I haven't dared.
Hey there, Baptiste.
The laurels adorning his father's brow
have bloomed overnight on my son's.
A family of prodigies.
And him? isn't he prodigious?
He's clearly gifted.
But he's no mime.
What is he?
An actor.
It's marvelous.
Quite amusing.
How funny.
Those people are amazing, simply amazing.
Someone shouted on stage.
A three-franc fine. Five francs.
Who was it?
My daughter?
Just three francs.
What got into you to yell?
You know it's forbidden.
Do you want to shut us down?
Answer me. Why?
I was frightened.
Frightened of what?
Baptiste frightened me.
He frightens me.
You don't understand.
You don't see, you don't feel.
You don't see how he's changed. He's not the same.
The way he looks right through you now,
as if he were lost.
Lost forever.
You've lost your wits.
Never has Baptiste been more cheerful and alert.
A father knows best.
You may know him,
but I love him,
and I see his torment.
And that rope.
That was his idea.
A fine idea, no?
A splendid idea.
The son is worthy of his father.
Mine beat the craft into me, with the motto:
A kick in the butt, if well aimed, makes the whole world laugh.
It's true.
There's an entire order, a science, a style of kicks in the butt.
Alas, traditions die out.
Audiences always want something new.
Something new. Novelty.
What does that mean?
Novelty is as old as the hills.
Distress... That's meaningless.
Are you distressed?
It's not the same.
Why?
Because I have faith.
Faith?
I hope.
I believe one day you'll love me.
You're sweet.
So are you.
We're not to blame for the situation.
But it's so stupid and unfair.
We run in circles, like circus horses.
I love you. You don't love me.
You love Garance.
She loves Frederick.
How can you say she loves Frederick?
I don't know. Because they live together.
That proves nothing.
If all couples living together were in love,
the earth would glow like the sun.
They don't live together.
They only pretend to live.
Your pantomimes are killing me.
I'm dying of silence,
like others die of hunger or thirst.
As a boy in church,
I wanted to speak from the pulpit in the priest's place.
Donâ€™t get angry-
You gave me a fright.
I thought you wanted a raise.
I've such expenses. We'll work it out.
You could be the sideshow barker.
That might tide you over.
Sideshow? Why not?
Anything, anywhere, but not dumb shows for deaf-mutes.
I'd rather play a cripple running in the streets, singing ballads.
Or play hospitals for the blind.
Joan of Arc was blissful. She heard voices.
I don't ask for that much.
I'd be glad just to hear my own sometimes.
Sweet nightingale, where have you been?
At last, rose of my days,
light of my nights.
My raven-haired blond Isolde.
My sweet, gentle Iphigenia.
Let me know when you finish.
Ingrate, you'd still the voice of love itself.
The voice of love.
What's on your mind, lovely sphinx?
Nothing.
A lot of things.
I was thinking that all over the world,
there are lovers who make love in silence,
or else they use simple words.
Everyday words.
I think that's beautiful.
Aren't you happy with me?
You're not happy with me either.
Me?
If you were, would you joke all the time?
If you thought I was happy,
would you try so hard to amuse me?
Not happy, not unhappy. We're somewhere in between.
We're not in love. No one's to blame.
All the same,
it's nothing to be proud of.
"A gentle moonbeam in her pitch-black hair."
Would you rather I badger you with questions,
pry into your memories,
spy on you, follow you in the street,
hugging the walls on which I've written your name?
Or should I shake you awake at night
to ask who you're dreaming of?
Besides, that's unnecessary.
Why?
You dream out loud, my love.
Out loud?
Yes, my love.
Only last night.
You talked in your sleep.
What did I say?
Nothing much.
"Baptiste!"
I said "Baptiste"?
Yes, my love, that's what you said.
anything else?
Nothing.
Just "Baptiste."
That's all?
That's all.
What do you mean?
But isn't it enough to fill my heart with despair?
O perfidious creature. Othello killed Desdemona for much less.
For nothing.
Othello became a widower by his own hand.
For nothing.
For a trifle. A little handkerchief.
A batiste handkerchief, no doubt.
Someone insists on seeing you.
Why all the flowers?
Has someone died?
Yes, someone has died.
An overconfident man who thought he'd seen everything.
And you killed him.
You're frightening me.
Have no fear. Because of you, another man is born.
He entrusts his life to you.
To do what?
As you wish.
I am your prisoner. Do with me as you will.
All that I possess...
and I possess a great deal...
all that is mine, I lay at your feet.
Forgive me.
Never have I been so moved, so overcome.
I express myself poorly.
I realize I speak in platitudes, banalities.
What I say is of no importance.
What matters is your reply.
One word can change your life.
Tomorrow, if you wish,
the most feted beauties will bite their lips bloody
hearing your name.
Their rarest jewels will pale next to yours.
The finest equipages...
I'm afraid of horses.
Don't say no.
Why say yes if I don't want to?
Then say nothing.
Let me hope.
While you do all the talking.
And being overcome, you'll spout more banalities.
Diamonds, horses, the strap, the oats, then the harness.
The easy life.
If it all fell from heaven, I might say yes.
But the way you talk:
"One word can change your life."
So my life is a trifle.
A bagatelle of a life.
What if I enjoy my little life?
But you just walk in and take over.
You take inventory.
I appeal to you. Fine and dandy.
What if someone loved me?
Out of the question.
You're much too lovely to be truly loved.
Beauty is an exception,
an affront to an ugly world.
Men rarely love beauty.
They pursue it to blot it out, forget it.
Are you a hunter?
Don't misunderstand me.
I'm being serious.
I merely offer you shelter.
Shelter?
I've changed.
It's regrettable, but I can't help it.
Ever since I saw you,
I've been dreaming absurd, childish things.
I'm getting old, or else lightning struck.
I no longer exist,
I'm shattered.
Listless, made of air,
cardboard, like this chicken.
Lightning struck.
And that's thunder.
A three-franc fine.
My apologies.
I know how troublesome I've been.
Who sounded the thunder?
I did.
You know the fine: three francs.
You owe me three francs.
But there's no rush.
I have work and enough to live on.
Enough to live on. I hope that's true.
Allow me to take my leave.
Forgive me if I've looked foolish.
Your beauty alone is the cause of my confusion.
I haven't introduced myself. Unforgivable.
Count Edouard de Montray.
Do keep the card.
One never knows.
Misfortune strikes at random.
Someday you may need help or protection.
If you do, come what may,
I remain your faithful servant.
You can have complete faith in me.
Flowers.
A wreath.
Just as I said, a funeral.
Mine, perhaps.
You're mad.
Why Say that?
Why shouldn't Baptiste have his funeral?
Like everybody else.
It's true, I think of it sometimes.
A good idea: Baptiste takes his secret to the grave.
Stop it. It's stupid to talk that way.
His secret.
His little glimmer.
The memory of the night he thought he'd be happy forever.
Spare me that expression.
A funeral's not so sad.
A few rays of sunshine and everyone's happy.
Think of it this way.
It's merrier than a wedding with just a groom
and no bride.
I don't like this wedding bouquet.
I hate these flowers.
I hate everyone.
That man who was just here.
I hate Frederick.
I hate myself.
Baptiste? Who's this Baptiste?
His beloved doesn't love him,
he's a nothing, a will-o'-the-wisp, an automaton, a bogeyman.
No more Baptiste.
Here lies Baptiste.
Life gave him a red flower,
a good beating,
a pinewood overcoat.
Who says I don't love you?
I say so.
How would you know?
When it comes to Baptiste, I know, see, understand, feel.
I forbid you.
It's true. You have nothing to say.
Of course, I don't mean you're lying.
But I know.
All the love in the world for Baptiste is mine, mine.
There's no room for others.
It's fate. it's written.
I have it all.
That's how it is.
Go ahead and smile.
I always do.
You're lucky.
I hardly ever smile now.
Nor do you.
You were so lively, devoted to your work.
Stop it, please.
Leave me, leave us alone.
Get out, do you hear? Go.
It's your fault he's like this.
Forgive me for saying that.
It's not just jealousy
but I have so much faith.
I'm absolutely certain
Baptiste and I were made to be together.
Mr. Forestier?
Second floor, rear.
Places. Our prey is here.
The hamper's in place. Fine.
You give me the creeps.
Remember: He knocks, I let him in, you hit him.
If necessary, I finish him off.
He's in luck. Mr. Forestier's rarely in.
In the two weeks he's been here, I've seen him twice.
What's he like?
A gentleman.
Commended by Miss Garance, oddly.
- You don't like her? - I ignore her.
She bamboozled poor Mr. Frederick.
But I rented the flat.
A well-bred boarder is a nice change.
Murderers!
What is it?
Just a drunken brawl.
I'll get the police.
Murderers!
Poor Avril.
You were as white as a sheet.
Like the victim.
His face was so close. His eyes.
You should've hit him sooner.
- What will you have? - A stiff brandy.
A hot chocolate. With cream.
Like a lion, you hear?
Quiet, please.
You say this "Mr. Forestier" knew Miss Garance?
An odd name, no?
I fought like a lion.
They thumped me, but I held my bag like a lion.
My head's solid. - Enough.
A solid head, all right. It took the shock.
You were saying.
I don't know. I'm in such a state.
Mr. Forestier. Such a gentleman.
But when I asked Miss Garance,
she said, "Don't know any Forestier."
Thrown from the third floor.
Horrible. A father of six children.
The third floor.
I heard he jumped from the third floor...
because of a woman.
What happened?
A man threw his wife out the window.
Horrible.
A mother of six.
You can't go in.
I live here.
All right, then.
That's her.
I know her.
I arrested her over a watch.
She went free, but it was suspect.
Better and better.
Anything you say may be used against you.
I'm not talkative.
We'll see about that. Sit down.
What do you call yourself?
I never call myself.
I'm always here. There's no need.
But others call me Garance.
That's no name.
It's a flower.
My real name, my maiden name, is Claire.
Claire what?
Claire as the day.
Your surname.
My mother was Reine.
Madame Reine. She didn't have family.
A foundling, as they say.
Your trade?
I'm an artiste.
I'm surprised Madame didn't tell you.
Put down "artiste."
Artiste... in the boudoir.
Why so rude?
We're not rude. We're just joking.
Where do you perform?
And since when?
The Funambules. About three weeks.
Just passing through town.
And before that?
I was a model.
Sure. For who?
Lots of people. Mr. Ingres, for one.
Don't know him.
He's a bit like you.
He fiddles around.
None of your jokes, my girl.
You joke, too.
I imagine I needn't ask the lady what outfit she poses in.
A beauty like that?
Some question.
This is my inquiry.
Your inquiry's done, since I'm safe and sound.
He threw his wife out the window?
He doesn't look mean.
That's enough.
What did I do wrong? I don't understand.
You'll understand soon enough.
But first tell us who this Mr. Forestier is.
I told the lady I didn't know him.
The nerve.
But you may know him by another name.
Young, dark clothing, manicured hands,
very mannered speech, and impeccable white shirts.
Ring a bell? White shirts?
You know, I used to be a laundress.
A respectable trade, at least.
Yes, and it could even be pleasant
if folks were cleaner.
Chief, I saw the fellow with her.
I did. The day you stole the watch.
So you deal in watches, too?
It wasn't me. You let me go.
I was sorry I did.
If it wasn't her, it was him. And they were together.
Why the face? This watch business is nothing.
Just an appetizer before the main course:
attempted murder.
Accessory. That'll get you five or six years, at least.
It's for your own good. We're only trying to help you.
We set the table. Now fork out.
Hands off.
Respect, is it?
Why not? I'm innocent.
That'll do.
Pack her off.
Pack me off. Careful.
Fragile: Work of art.
Use a bit of tact, please.
You don't know who you're dealing with.
Kindly inform this person I've been the victim of a judicial error.
END OF PART ONE
COMING UPI PART TWO
"THE MAN IN WHITE"