This film was restored by StudioCanal and the Cinémathéque Francaise
with the support of the Franco-American Cultural Fund.
Pierrot le fou was shot in Techniscope, on Eastmancolor emulsion.
Techniscope was often used at the time, notably for reasons of economy, because the image only took up two perforations per photogramme.
The dupe-positive, also printed Techniscope, is lost. As for the internegative, it had become unusable and was destroyed in 1990.
A new internegative element was made on reversible film stock, with an anamorphic image on four frames, which is still used to make prints today.
However, this element doesn't reflect the qualities of the original work, particularly in terms of the colormetrics.
The restoration resides entirely in the making of a new negative from the digitisation in 2K of the camera negative,
which has the original colors of Eastmancolor.
As for the sound, the original magnetic elements disappeared, a new negative was made from a positive of the period,
respecting the original mono format.
"Past the age of 50, Velézquez stopped painting definite things.
He glided round objects with the air, with the dusk.
He elicited quivering colours from the shadowy transparency of the background
and made them the invisible centre of his silent symphony.
He gleaned from the world only those mysterious exchanges
which allow shapes and sounds to intermingle
in a secret and continuous progression
that no collision, no involuntary movement can halt or betray.
Space reigns.
It is like an airy Wave gliding over surfaces,
absorbing their visible emanations to define and model them.
It carries them along like a scent, like an echo,
and scatters them everywhere like some imponderable dust.
The world he lived in was sad.
The king was a degenerate, his children were sickly,
and he was surrounded by idiots, dwarves and invalids.
There were ugly clowns, dressed like princes,
whose purpose was to make fun of themselves
to amuse people living outside reality,
who were constrained by etiquette, who plotted and lied,
who were bound by the confessional and by remorse,
with the Inquisition and silence at the door."
Listen to this, little girl.
"There is a sense of nostalgia,
but he avoids what is ugly, sad or cruelly morbid
about this oppressed childhood.
Velézquez is the painter of the night, of vast expanses and of silence,
even when he paints by day, even when he paints inside a room,
even when the sounds of war, or of the hunt, are all around him.
As they didn't go out during the day, when the sun obliterates everything,
Spanish painters communed with twilight."
- Isn't that beautiful? - You're mad to read such things to them.
Go on, go to bed.
- Why hasn't Odile put them to bed yet? - Because you allowed her
to go to the cinema for the third time this week.
To go to the cinema for the third time.
They're showingJohnny Guitar. It's an education for her.
- This world is too full of fools. - Come on, hurry.
- Frank and Paola will be here soon. - I'm not going.
- I'll stay with the children. - Don't do that.
Frank is bringing his niece. She'll look after them until we get back.
She's a student. She always does this.
Since when does he have a niece? She must be a call girl.
- I'm not going. - You'll do as you're told.
The head of Standard Oil will be there, and Daddy will introduce you.
I should sue the TV station for firing me.
Oh, no, you won't. You'd lose the court case.
And when they offer you a job, please accept it.
Come, that's enough.
- Aren't you wearing a slip? - I'm wearing an invisible girdle.
"Under my new trousers, Scandal, for a youthful figure."
We've had Athenian civilisation, we've had the Renaissance,
and now our civilisation centres round the arse.
- Follow me, I'll show you round. - She loves children.
If there's a problem, you can call us on...
225-7001.
- This is Frank's niece. - Yes?
Good evening.
Hi.
225. Haven't you read Balzac? How about César Birotteau
and the 5th Symphony resounding in his head?
- What's up with you? - Come on, let's go.
Chapter two: a surprise party given by Mr and Mrs Expresso,
whose daughter is my wife.
An Alfa Romeo has great acceleration, powerful disc brakes,
holds the road perfectly and is an exceptional touring car.
It is safe, fast, pleasant to drive, responsive and stable.
It's easy to look fresh. Soap cleanses, cologne refreshes and scent perfumes.
And to avoid perspiration, I use Printil, and feel fresh for the rest of the day.
Printil is available as a stick deodorant, a roll-on or a spray.
But the Oldsmobile Rocket 88 is even better.
Look at its rigorous design.
Its powerful, sober lines
show that elegance and exceptional performance can be combined.
You look lonely.
He's American. He doesn't speak French.
What's his name? What does he do?
He's Samuel Fuller. He's an American film director.
- He's makingLes Fleurs du Mal. - Baudelaire, that's good.
I've always wanted to know what cinema is, exactly.
Films are like battlegrounds.
Love.
Hate.
Action.
Violence.
And death.
In one word, emotions.
My hairdo has stayed in place all day thanks to Elnett Satin.
And I can brush the hairspray off just as easily as I sprayed it on.
My hair is like golden silk.
It's shiny and clean.
Women should renounce flimsy negligees and romantic nightgowns.
In daylight, lingerie loses its charm and can look indecent.
Tristesse d'Olympio.
- Give me the keys to the car. - Aren't you staying?
No, I'm tired.
I have a seeing system, called "eyes".
I use my ears to hear and my mouth to speak.
I feel as if these systems were separate. There's no unity.
We should all feel unique,
but I feel as if I were many people.
You speak too much.
- Having to listen to you is tiresome. - I do speak too much.
Lonely men always speak too much.
I'll wait for you at home.
Next chapter: despair, memory, freedom,
bitterness, hope, a search for times past.
Marianne Renoir.
You're still here?
Sorry.
The tube is shut. How will you get back?
I don't know.
- Are you alone? - Yes, I got bored, so I came back.
Are you all right? You seem down.
There are days when you only seem to come across morons.
It leads you to look in the mirror and question yourself.
I'll drive you home.
- He lent you his car? - Yes.
- Why? Don't you like Americans? - No, I do.
- It feels strange to see you again. - Yes, it's been four years.
It's been five-and-a-half years. It was October.
You've married.
I met a rich Italian, but I'm not that interested in her.
- Why don't you divorce her? - I felt like it, but I'm too lazy.
You have to feel alive to want anything, have you noticed that?
- Do you still teach Spanish? - No, I worked in TV, but I resigned.
- How about you? - Nothing special.
- You don't want to talk about yourself? - No.
A friend of mine saw you in London two years ago.
- Are you still seeing that American? - That was over a long time ago.
How long have you known Frank?
- I... just met him by chance. - You're as mysterious as ever.
It's just that I don't like to talk about myself.
All right, then I'll keep quiet.
His garrison had already been decimated by the Vietcong, who also lost 115 men.
It's awful, so impersonal.
- What is? - They speak of 115 resistance fighters,
and it means nothing.
And yet, each one of them is a man, and we know nothing about them
if they love a woman, have children, prefer the cinema to the theatre.
We know nothing about them. All we can say is: 115 dead.
It's the same with photographs. It's always fascinated me.
You see the man, frozen in time, with a caption underneath.
He was either a coward or a hero.
But at the time the picture was taken, no one can say who he really was,
or who he was thinking about. His wife? His mistress?
The past? The future? About basketball? We'll never know.
That's life.
What upsets me is that life is so different from novels.
I wish they were the same.
Clear, logical, organised.
But they aren't.
They're more similar than people think.
No, they're not, Pierrot.
Must I remind you to call me Ferdinand?
But one can't say: "My friend, Ferdinand."
Yes, you can. Just try it, Marianne.
I'll try.
I'll do anything you want.
So will I, Marianne.
I'm putting my hand on your knee.
Me too, Marianne.
I'm kissing you everywhere.
Me too, Marianne.
We'll see.
Marianne Renoir.
Come on, wake up!
- I was right. - About what?
You didn't believe me when I said we'd always love each other.
I've never said I'd love you forever.
Oh, my love
You never promised to adore me at all
We've never exchanged such vows
Though we know each other so well
We'd never have believed we'd forever be slaves to love
As we're both so fickle
And yet, without having to say a word, little by little
Feelings slipped between our bodies, which so loved to merge
And then words of love fell from our naked lips, little by little
Many words of love mingled with our kisses
I never would have believed I would always love you
My love
We never thought we could live together without tiring of each other
Or that we'd wake up every morning so happy to be in the same bed
Or wish for no more than the simple joy of being so comfortable together
And yet, without either of us saying much, little by little
Our feelings have bound us together forever
Feelings which were stronger than any known or unknown words of love
Feelings which were more passionate than either of us could have anticipated
Don't ever promise to adore me forever
Let us not exchange such promises, given the way we both are
Let us pretend that our love
is a love without a future
We'll know by the time we're dead if we carried on loving each other.
I know that I love you. It's you I'm not so sure about.
- I'm not sure. - I do love you, Marianne. I do.
Well, we'll see.
- Your wife came round this morning. - Who cares?
- That's not all. - I just told you I don't care.
Marianne told Ferdinand a complicated story.
- I met some people... - It was like the Algerian war.
- I'll explain everything. - It was like waking from a bad dream.
- Frank had your keys? - I'll explain.
Were you in love with him? Did he ever kiss you?
I'll explain everything.
- It was a complicated story. - To wake from a bad dream.
- Politics. - An organisation.
Arms traffic.
Silently, silently.
Silently.
- It's me, Marianne. - Did he kiss you?
- A complicated story. - Were you in love with him?
- Used my apartment. - It was like the Algerian war.
- I have a brother. - To wake from a bad dream.
We had to leave quickly.
- To knock out. Garage. - Who is he?
To go south. No money.
It was high time we left this rotten world.
- We left Paris by a unique route. - Recognising two of her own,
the Statue of Liberty greeted us warmly.
Sir!
- Put a tiger in my engine. - We don't sell tigers here.
Then fill her up and keep quiet.
He'll be less suspicious if it's me.
That'll be 4,900.
Check the water and the oil, my man.
Help me, you fool.
- Shit, there's another one. - Get in the car.
- Don't you have any money? - No, sir, we don't.
Don't you want to work to earn money?
- No, sir, we don't. - So how will you pay for the petrol?
Shit, there's another one. Stay there.
I'll call the police!
- Total. - It was an adventure film.
- A diadem of blood. - Total.
- Tender is the Night. - A romantic novel.
- Tender is the Night.
We'll find my brother eventually.
- What does he deal in, exactly? - Stuff in Africa.
In Angola, in the Congo.
I thought he worked for Télé Monte Carlo.
Yes, that too.
So, where are we going?
We said we'd go to Nice. And then, maybe, on to Italy.
12,000 francs won't last us to Nice. We'd better abandon this car.
- Have you ever killed a man, Pierrot? - My name is Ferdinand.
Why do you ask?
Because you won't like it.
I wonder what she told the police.
- Maybe they've not questioned her yet. - Don't you believe it.
She must have really slammed you.
She's quite right. I'm sorry for her.
Sorry? Men like you are always sorry.
And always too late.
- What are you doing? - I'm looking at myself.
And what do you see?
The face of a man who's going to throw himself off a cliff at high speed.
I see a woman who is in love with the man who'll throw himself off a cliff.
So let's kiss.
- The following day. - We got back into the car.
- And arrived in a little town. - We're almost out of petrol.
Marianne and Ferdinand stop at a bar.
They order something and wonder how they'll pay for it.
- The police are after them. - They're getting odd looks from people.
- The police... - People...
- They're getting odd looks from people. - There's...
Laszlo Kovacs, student.
Born on the 25th January 1936, in Santo Domingo.
I left after the American landing.
I came to France as a political refugee.
France is the country of freedom, equality and brotherhood.
Viviane Blassel, born on the 21st March 1943 in Marseille.
I'm 22. I work at the cosmetics counter in a department store in Auxerre.
Eté André, born on the 25th May 1903 in Marbouie, Eure-et-Loir.
62 years old. Currently acting as a film extra.
Let's tell stories, maybe they'll take pity on us.
- What shall we tell them? - About the fall of Constantinople,
about Nicolas de Staels suicide.
About William Wilson, who saw his double in the street
and went after him to kill him.
And once he had, he realised he'd killed himself
and his double was still alive.
OK, they might even give us some money.
Marianne, who had the eyes of Aucassin and Nicolette,
told them about William of Orange's nephew, Vivien,
who died fighting 30,000 Saracens.
He bled from 1,000 wounds and he fought alone, for he'd sworn not to retreat.
Oh, young and gentle nephew, why such a mad and noble oath?
Ferdinand told them the story of Guynemer,
but they didn't listen to him, so he spoke of the summer,
and of how lovers crave the warm night air.
He spoke of man, and the seasons, and unexpected encounters.
But he told them never to ask which came first,
words or things, nor to ask what will happen next.
I feel alive, that's all that matters.
I have an idea.
We'll pretend we've had an accident.
That way, the police will think we're dead. OK, Pierrot?
My name is Ferdinand.
All we have to do is burn the car. They'll think we've burned too.
- Always fire, blood and war! - It wasn't my idea!
Bring the car closer. It has to look real. This isn't a film.
Come closer. Hurry up!
- I don't have any matches. Let's go. - It doesn't matter. Give me the rifle.
- It's the make that killed Kennedy. - Didn't you know I killed him?
- Get out of the way. - Wait a minute.
- It's burning well. - Yep.
Do you know what was in the suitcase? Dollars. The ones in the flat.
- I bet you didn't warn me on purpose. - That's right.
Think what we could have done with that money.
We could have gone to Chicago, Las Vegas, Monte Carlo. You idiot!
I'd have gone to Florence or Athens. Let's go, travel broadens the mind.
- Chapter eight. - A season in hell.
- Chapter eight. - We crossed France.
- Like shadows. - Like mirrors.
I saw the cafe where Van Gogh decided to cut off his ear.
- You're a liar. What did you see? - I saw...
- Look, Pierrot, a Ford Galaxy. - My name is Ferdinand.
Yes, that's the '62 model.
- Show that you're a man. - Let me finish.
"After eating up a good many miles, they came to the Bayuda desert,
which they had to cross to reach Khartoum.
'Not much shade!' they grumbled, as they set out under a burning sun.
'We'd be better off in the shade of a glass of lager!"'
Make up your mind or I'll hitchhike alone.
All right, let's go.
A grease-job.
Where are the toilets?
Come on, Mimi.
Hey, kid! How'd you like to own a car like this?
Well, you never will.
Marianne, the jacket!
Hey, kid! How'd you like to earn 10,000 francs?
The landscape rose slowly before us.
Many centuries fled into the distance, like storms.
Get rid of the clothes while I turn around.
Hey! Not my comic book!
- Well? - Nothing much.
They questioned her. She said she saw us naked in my bed.
You see? And you called me a liar.
- Anything else? - You're pretty interested in your wife.
Nothing happened. I don't understand. He went mad.
As soon as you leave a woman, she says you've gone mad.
Men are exactly the same.
That's true.
Besides, I don't know why, but I'm beginning to smell death.
- Admit that you miss her! - Stop, you're getting on my nerves.
The smell of death in the landscape, the trees, in women's faces, in cars...
What are we going to do without money?
- We can't even get to Italy. - We can stop anywhere.
- What will we do all day?
We must find my brother. He'll give us lots of money.
Then we'll find a smart hotel and have some fun.
- She just wants to have fun. - Who are you talking to?
To the audience.
I told you you were having regrets.
- You were crazy to do this. - No, I'm in love.
It's the same thing.
I've decided never to fall in love again.
- I think it's disgusting. - Don't say that.
Don't say that.
Ten minutes ago, I saw death everywhere. And now look,
the sea, the waves, the sky.
Life may be sad, but it's still beautiful.
I suddenly feel free. We can do whatever we want when we want.
- Right, left, right, left. - Look at the little fool.
He's driving down a straight line and he has to follow it all the way.
What? Look.
- Chapter eight. - A season in hell.
- Love needs to be reinvented. - Real life is elsewhere.
Many centuries fled into the distance, like storms.
I held her close and began to cry.
It was the first, it was the only dream.
- Are you coming, then? - Yes. Where are we going?
To the mysterious island.
- To do what? - Nothing. Just exist.
- That won't be any fun. - That's life.
No, not at all.
It's a good thing I don't like spinach, or I'd eat it,
and I can't stand the stuff.
It's the same with you, only the other way round.
There was a film like that with Michel Simon.
- He was taken by this girl... - You did want to change your life.
- I didn't mean to be nasty. - You said we'd see this through.
To the end of the night, yes.
What a good view of the moon.
- I see nothing special. - I do. I can see a man.
Maybe it's Leonov, or that American, White.
Yes, I see him too.
But it's neither a Rusky nor a nephew of Uncle Sam.
I'll tell you who it is.
It's the moon's only inhabitant. And do you know what he's doing?
- Leaving as fast as he can. - Why?
Look.
Because he's had enough. He was glad to see Leonov turn up.
Someone to talk to at last! He'd been all alone for an eternity.
But Leonov tried to brainwash him with the complete works of Lenin.
So when White landed, he sought refuge in his camp.
But he'd barely had time to say "hello", when White emptied a Coke down him,
and even expected thanks.
So he's fed up. He'll leave them to shoot it out and go.
- Where will he go? - He'll come here.
Because he thinks you're beautiful. He admires you.
I find your legs and your breasts very moving.
Be quiet.
Chapter seven.
- A poet named revolver. - Robert Browning.
- Get away. - Never.
- As long as I'm here. - And you're you.
As long as the universe will hold us.
- I, who love you. - And you, who reject me.
- As long as one of us wants to run. - It's too much like fate.
I HAVE DECIDED TO KEEP A JOURNAL.
WE LIVE BY HUNTING AND FISHING. TUESDAY: NOTHING.
EYES: LANDSCAPES.
MOUTH: ONOMATOPOEIA THAT BECOME LANGUAGE.
THE WRITER CHOOSES TO APPEAL... FREEDOM OF OTHERS...
- Did you get my books? - No, but I found this.
- The author shares your name. - Ferdinand.
You've heard of him?
"I am fire, I am light, I am a miracle.
I can no longer hear. I rise.
I fly through the air.
It's too much.
I've seen happiness before me.
Supernatural emotion!
And now... I know nothing.
I reach out my hand,
and dare, moving right,
to touch, to caress,
the hair of my dear fairy, of my beloved marvel,
Virginia.
Guignol's Band.Are you coming?
"Perfect happiness!
My ecstasy was so intense that I dared not move.
Happy till I could cry, filled with happiness, I quiver, quiver.
My heart is bursting, burning me, and I, too, have become flame.
I am part of space, I cling to Virginia."
Let me take your book.
"You promised me China, Tibet, Mr Sosthéne,
the Sunda Islands and wonderful, magical plants."
Where are all these places?
"Cham-cham-cham... ratatam... I knew that he was lying."
- What day is it? - Friday.
- You'll never leave me? - Of course not.
- Of course? - Yes.
Of course.
Yes, of course.
THURSDAY: POETRY, THE LOSER WINS.
What can I do? I don't know what to do.
Quiet! I'm trying to write.
"This is the issue. You wait for me, and I'm not there.
I come into the room and only then do I begin to exist for you.
And yet I existed before that, I thought, maybe I even suffered.
This is the issue: to show you, alive, thinking of me,
and to see myself alive, by that very fact."
I'll underline this.
Are you thinking of your brother and the whole arms business?
No.
Then why do you look sad?
Because you speak to me with words, and I look at you with feelings.
It's impossible to have a conversation with you.
You never have any ideas, just feelings.
That's not true. Feelings contain ideas.
Let's try to have a serious conversation.
You'll tell me what you like, what you want, and I'll do the same.
Go on, you start.
Flowers, animals...
Blue skies, the sound of music...
I don't know. Everything. And you?
Ambition...
Hope...
Movement, accidents.
What else? I don't know. Everything.
You see? I was right five years ago.
We don't understand each other.
What can I do? I don't know what to do.
SUNDAY: SHE OPENED THE... THEN...
MONDAY...
- How's the old man? - Not bad.
I've found an idea for a novel.
I won't describe people's lives,
but life itself, just life.
Everything that takes place between people: space, sounds and colours.
It should be possible.
Joyce tried to do it,
but I should be able to improve on him.
Here are your books.
These aren't the ones.
- One of them is missing. I said five. - I bought myself a record.
I said a record for every 50 books. Music comes after literature.
If you don't like it...
My little one, it's all as one.
- What's wrong with you? - I can make rhymes, too, stupid.
- What's up, Marianne? - I've had enough!
I'm sick of the sea, the sun, the sand, tins - everything!
I'm sick of wearing the same dress! I want to leave.
I want to live a full life.
- What do you want me to do? - I don't know. I'll leave.
I threw away the rest of our money.
- Where? - In the sea, you fool.
Here.
You're mad, Marianne.
If we're to leave, we'll need money.
There are loads of tourists. We can rob them.
- Come on, Pierrot! - My name is Ferdinand.
Let's stop pretending to be in a book by Jules Verne.
Let's go back to our thriller - full of cars, guns and nightclubs.
Come on!
Wait for me, Marianne!
- Does your brother really exist? - You never believe me.
Say, if we find Fred and he gives us some money,
can't we go to Miami?
- Deep down, you're a coward. - No.
"Courage consists in staying home, close to nature,
who is oblivious to our disasters."
Hurry, the tourist boat is about to leave.
Wait, I have an idea.
Give me your lipstick.
"After all, the only interesting thing
is the road that people follow.
The tragic part is that once we know
where they are going, who they are, everything else is still a mystery."
- Like the scent of eucalyptus. - Eucalyptus, that's it.
- Too right! - "And life is an unresolved mystery."
- Hurry up, Paul. - Shut up, Virginie.
WE ARE DEAD PEOPLE ON LEAVE. AND THE TREES?
TO EARN MONEY, WE DREW FOR THE TOURISTS.
MODERN SLAVES.
Damn these Americans.
It doesn't matter. We'll hit on a different plan.
- All we need to do is... - What?
We can put on a play. Maybe they'll give us some dollars.
- What play? - Something they'll like.
I know. The Vietnam war.
THE NEPHEW OF UNCLE SAM VERSUS THE NIECE OF UNCLE HO.
A bit of dosh for the actors.
Don't worry, Pierrot.
We've shaken them off. Let's go home.
No, listen, I'm going dancing.
No, come on. You can go tomorrow.
Following chapter. Despair.
- I'm staying here. - I'll go back alone.
- Hope. - Yes, you do that.
- Remembrance of things past. - They told me there was a nightclub.
I'm going dancing. Who cares if we get killed?
Who cares if they find us? I wanted to buy a record player.
I couldn't, because he keeps buying books.
I don't particularly mind, but he doesn't even understand that.
I don't care about books, about records.
I don't care about anything, even money. I just want to live a bit.
But he'll never understand that.
To live.
I have a very short fate line.
I have a very short fate line
So little fate in my hand
That it scares me for the future
My fate line, my fate line
Tell me, darling, what do you think?
What I think of it? What does it matter?
I love your hip line, your hip line
- My fate line! - I love to caress it
- Your hip line - My fate line!
Is a flower in my garden
Look at my little fate line
Look at this tiny fate
So tiny in the palm of my hand
My fate line, my fate line
Tell me, dear, what you think of it
What I think of it? What does it matter?
Be quiet and give me your hand
- Your hip line - My fate line!
Is a like a morning bird
- Your hip line - My fate line!
Is the frivolous bird determining our fates
But still, such a tiny fate line
A line so tiny it barely shows
No more than a dimple in my hand
My fate line, my fate line
Tell me, dear, what you think of it
What I think of it? What does it matter?
I'm crazy about you every morning
- Your hip line - My fate line!
A bird sings in my hands
- Your line... - My hip line
- My line... - Of fate!
I may be daydreaming.
She makes me think of music.
Her face...
We have reached the age of double men.
We no longer need mirrors to talk to ourselves.
When Marianne says, "It's a nice day", what is she thinking about?
All I have is an image of her saying, "It's a nice day".
Nothing more.
What's the point of figuring it out?
We are made of dreams and dreams are made of us.
It's a nice day, my love,
in dreams, words and death.
It's a nice day, my love, it's a nice day, in life.
- Do you know what I'm thinking? - I don't care.
Let's not start that again!
I told you to leave me alone.
Besides, I'm not starting again, I'm carrying on.
- Oh, shit! - What?
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
What's wrong?
- Do you want the plot for a novel? - Tell me.
Someone is walking round Paris and suddenly he sees Death.
So he immediately goes south to avoid him,
because he thinks his time hasn't come yet.
- So? - So he drives all night, at speed,
and when he reaches the sea, he gets hit by a truck and dies,
just when he thought Death had lost his trail.
- Come on, let's hurry up. - We've got plenty of time.
No, I'm scared.
Stay there.
- Small world, isn't it? - What do you want?
- I'll be back in five minutes. - Shall I beat him up?
No, I'll make something up and get rid of him.
- I must find Fred, Pierrot. - My name's Ferdinand. OK.
OK, mambo.
- Two beers. - Two?
That way, when I've finished one, I'll have the other.
Don't you remember me?
You stayed at my place last year, in Fontainebleau.
I lent you 100,000 francs.
- You slept with my wife. - That's right.
- So now you're in the South of France? - Yes.
- How are things? - Fine. See you.
They're completely mad, you know. Of course I'm not joking.
If you don't tell me where you stashed the money, you'll be sorry.
We'll give you electric shocks, same as during the war.
Or else, like in Vietnam
we'll take all your clothes off
and put you in a bathtub full of napalm...
...and we'll set fire to it.
No, right away, please.
You can do anything you want to me. I'll be nice to you.
Then hurry.
A glorious, noble death for a small man.
- What are you doing here? - I heard some noise. I live below.
Beat him up.
We'll use that trick of yours.
You see? We're stronger than you.
What did you do with the money that was in the car?
That's it, take him into the bathroom.
- Let's not forget to go see the yacht. - There aren't any towels.
Use the little whore's dress.
Just press it to his face so the water cuts off the air.
I'll simplify your life and tell you all I know.
Then I'll ask you a question and I'll expect an honest answer.
I know who you are. You're Ferdinand Griffon.
You were with Marianne when she stabbed Donovan,
and you got away with 50,000 dollar which belong to me.
I've nothing against you, personally.
I'm sure Marianne dragged you into this, but that's your business.
As I was saying...
I'm not interested in you - but I need to get hold of her.
Tell me where I can find her- and the money.
It's your last chance. Tell us, or we'll kill you.
- The "Marquise" nightclub. - That's either true or it's a lie.
Anyway, he looks so stupid he won't add anything. We'll go and see.
- The "Marquise" nightclub. - We'll go and see.
What a dreadful five o'clock.
I don't want to look at blood.
What a dreadful five o'clock.
I don't want to look at blood.
What a dreadful five o'clock.
Ferdinand turns up in the station of...
- Toulon. - He's staying at...
The Little Palace Hotel.
He's looking for Marianne. He cannot find her. Days go by.
Some afternoons, he sleeps in all-day movies.
He still keeps a diary.
For words have a strange power to illuminate the darkness...
Surrounding the named object...
Even if it is degraded by everyday life.
Language often retains only what is pure.
SEA
SOUL
BITTER
WEAPON
I am Princess Aicha Abadie, and in spite of my fragile appearance,
I am very strong-willed and I want to be obeyed.
- What are your orders? - I'm Lebanese by adoption.
In 1960, I married EmirAbadie.
I am the exiled queen of Lebanon, since it is now a socialist republic.
Sol am in Nice incognito,
because my husband and I have terrible enemies
and there is a price on our heads in Lebanon.
I am often the target of machine-gun fire, which always misses me,
no doubt because I'm protected by Allah.
To marry Emir Abadie, I had to convert to Islam.
I have flown to Beirut twice in my husband's space machine.
And the witch doctor of Atlas. Alexis, stop me from flying away.
The boat is pitching, and you know how light I am.
Ferdinand, help me.
- Ferdinand, we weigh anchor in an hour. - Yes, Princess.
Alexis, we're going into town.
Pierrot!
- It's me. - My name is Ferdinand.
Hi.
You don't look surprised to see me.
- What are you doing here? - I'm happy.
I've finally found you.
- Where do you live now? - With you, you fool.
I'll be living with you. I've been looking for you everywhere.
- Why didn't you wait for me? - I wanted to.
I managed to get away before they arrived.
I ran to the nightclub to warn you not to come over,
but I didn't find you.
So I went back and saw those men getting into the blue Ford.
I thought they'd killed you.
So I went away. I don't even know where I went.
But I was afraid of going back to the seaside.
And then one day, I ran into Fred, in Toulon, in a bar,
the Las Vegas bar, in Toulon.
- How did you find out I was here? - By accident.
It's true, you know.
I believe you, you liar.
Why won't you ever believe I love you? I love you in my own way.
Yes, that's true.
I'll prove it.
Look. Yesterday, I went to our beach and picked up your journal.
Thank you.
Look at the last page.
I wrote a little poem about you.
"Tender and cruel,
real and surreal,
terrifying and funny,
nocturnal and diurnal,
usual and unusual, as handsome as anything..."
- Pierrot is mad! - My name is Ferdinand.
- Stop bugging me, damn it! - If you think saying that suits you...
- God, too, can go to... - Don't talk like that.
Listen to her! We're wanted for murder. Do you know what that is?
Of course I do. So what? Does it scare you?
Answer me.
I look at you, I listen to you, but that's not what matters.
- Thanks. - No, I mean, at this very moment.
Well, it has already passed.
Our relationship is a bit like the blue of the sky.
I don't understand.
I'd like time to stand still.
When I put my hand on your knee, that, in itself, is wonderful.
That's what life is about: space, feelings.
Instead, I'm going to follow you back to our tale of sound and fury.
- Actually, I don't care. - Come on, Fred's waiting for us.
All right, never mind. Let's go.
What are the police up to? We should have been in jail long ago.
They're clever. They let people destroy themselves.
- Why do you do things like that? - I keep telling you I didn't kill him.
It's funny to be alive, when so many have died.
Oh, yes, it's funny.
- This is like the set of Pépé le Moko. - Who?
- Pépe' le Moko. - Who is he?
You really don't know anything.
- Do you know what you are? - A sexual man.
As if. I know who you are, but you don't.
It's true. I'm just a big question mark overlooking the Mediterranean.
- Are your parents still alive? - Yes, and they've never been separated.
They were almost parted, once.
Dad was going on a trip, I don't know where. A small trip.
They didn't have enough money for two tickets.
Mum accompanied him to the bus.
And then they looked at each other: she was below, he was at the window.
And just as the bus started, dad quickly got off.
He didn't want to leave my mother.
And while he was getting off, she was getting on through the other door.
She didn't want to leave my father. In the end, he didn't go on the trip.
What did you do when you worked in that lift?
Nothing much. I looked at people's faces.
- Where was that? - At the Galeries Lafayette.
- Why so many questions? - I'm trying to figure you out.
I never could, even five years ago.
I'm a very sentimental person, that's all.
One has to be pretty stupid to find that mysterious.
What does your brother do, exactly? I never know if you're making stuff up.
- Oh, my brother... - What was he doing in Tel Aviv?
At the moment, there's a war going on in Yemen.
You really don't know anything.
He gets money from the royalist government.
Do the others work for the Arab League?
- I don't know. Probably. - Is there really a dancing troupe?
What's it to you?
Why does he need a front? Arms dealing is almost legal these days.
- What's it to you? - Just answer.
I'll tell you something.
There are 3,600 seconds in an hour.
That's about 100,000 seconds per day.
In an average lifetime, that makes...
250 billion seconds.
Since we've known each other, we've spent a month together.
If we add it all together, I've only been with you for a few million seconds
out of the 250 billion that go to make up your life.
It's not much.
So it's hardly surprising I barely know who he is either.
- Is he willing to do it? - He'll do anything I want.
Oh, what a mess!
- You know... - Six, seven, eight.
- You're doing well! - One, two, three, four, five...
- Hi. - Hi.
- Here you go. - What am I supposed to do?
- You'll do what you're told. - Just keep your eyes and ears open.
Remember the scent of eucalyptus?
- Nothing's simple with you. - Everything is.
Too much happens at once.
- A small harbour, as in Conrad. - A boat, as in Robert Louis Stevenson.
- An old brothel, as in Faulkner. - A rich steward, as in Jack London.
- Nothing's simple with you. - Everything is.
Too much happens at once.
Here are two men who beat me up, as in Raymond Chandler.
And you, and me, and him. See how simple it is?
- No. - They want to buy the yacht.
The old man isn't French. My brother collects the money.
The others will be furious. We must get rid of them.
- And then? - You'll do as you're told.
A woman can kill lots of people.
There's no reason why soft breasts and thighs
should keep her from killing everybody to stay free or defend herself.
Consider Cuba, Vietnam, Israel...
- I love you. - Me too.
Following chapter: despair.
Following chapter: hope, bitterness.
So tell me...
Have you seen a young woman who looks like a film star?
That's none of your business.
- Is it all there? - Yes.
- We all meet tonight as planned? - Yes.
- Some people saw me. - You fool.
- I don't understand. - That way, Fred will look innocent.
Why are you betraying me?
- What's up? - Nothing. You're making me suffer.
But, Pierrot, 50,000 dollar is worth worrying about.
My name is Ferdinand. Why did you kiss me earlier?
I felt like it.
- Kiss me again. - Not in front of everyone.
Why do you wear such tight trousers?
If you don't like it, you can go back to Paris.
Kiss me.
All right, I get it. Betraying us isn't a good idea.
Be quiet, Cassandra.
- What? - It's the title of this novel.
You poor fool.
Listen!
- What? - TWA.
Nice-Tahiti. 14:45. A flight. We just have to catch it.
- Just the two of us, obviously. - Yes, obviously.
Obviously.
French words say the opposite of what they mean.
We say "obviously" when things aren't obvious.
Yep, I can't say I was expecting to find the old man with a bullet in his head.
- Did you know your brother'd kill him? - It's none of my business.
I don't mind leaving, but Fred will track us down and get even.
- I saw him get even with a girl once. - I'll protect you.
Fine, but I must go alone or he'll be suspicious.
- OK, beautiful. - OK, handsome.
I'm off, since we've nothing further to say to each other.
- Meet up with me in half an hour. - No.
I'll count up to... 137.
You really are mad.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
- ...11,12,13,14,15... - What about the case?
Start the car. Trust me, and I'll trust you. 18, 19, 20, 21, 22,
23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29... 30.
31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40,
41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47...
...49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58...
...71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76...
...78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84,
85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90... 100, 101,
102,103,104,105,106,107,108...
- You all right, old man? - It's... it's that tune.
You can't imagine what it means to me. Can you hear it?
Nope, I can't hear a thing.
You wouldn't understand. That tune's my whole life.
My whole life! When I hear it, it really affects me.
One day, when I was at home, it was playing...
She was next to me... A magnificent woman, she was...
I took her hand and began to caress it. Like that.
I asked her: "Do you love me?"
And she said: "No". She said no.
So I bought the record, because the music had...
It was mass hysteria - though I was on my own.
And then, one day, I put the record on.
It was going round and round and round in my head.
Everything was spinning!
And there was a woman next to me - a different one.
She wasn't as beautiful. She was...
In any case, I took her hand. I stroked her palm for the sake of change,
otherwise it'd have been dull.
I asked her: "Do you love me?"
And she said: "Yeah".
But I didn't love her, so I broke the record and...
One day, I turned on the radio and this was playing.
This! Why couldn't they play something else?
She was next to me - on the other side, because I was at her place.
It was a third woman.
I took her hand and caressed it on both sides, just to get it over with.
The whole thing was beginning to bug me.
I asked her: "Do you love me?"
She replied: "Yes, sir."
I asked her: "May I have your hand?"
She said: "You've been holding it for ten minutes."
I said: "Yes, that's true", and added...
Ten years.
Ten years! Ten years! I can't take that tune any more!
Do you hear it? I can't stand it any more! Hear it?
No.
It was right there. Couldn't you hear it?
No, I couldn't.
Tell me... Well, just come out and say that I'm crazy.
I'd like to hear you say: "You're crazy." Say it!
- You're crazy. - That's better.
- Going to the island? - Yes, sir.
- What's your boat called? - The Wassup?
I'll pay the same fare if it's down.
Are you trying to say the tune I hear doesn't exist?
The tune that has pursued me all my life?
That tenderness? insensitive man!
Can you hear me? You've understood nothing!
Do you love me?
I held her against me and started to cry.
It was our first, our only dream.
I'd like to put in a call to Paris. Balzac 7502.
You've forgotten who Balzac is too?
Yes, I'll hold the line.
It hurts.
You brought it on yourself.
- Please give me some water. - You brought it on yourself.
I'm sorry, Pierrot.
My name is Ferdinand. It's too late.
Yes?
Yes, I'll hold.
Balzac 7502?
Is Mrs Griffon there?
Who is that?
Odile?
How are the children?
No, nobody's calling.
What I wanted to say...
...or why...
What an idiot I'm being. Shit, shit...
- It's ours again. - What?
- Eternity. - It's just the sea.
And the sun.