What matters most to a writer?
I write a lot. I also cross out a lot.
Only by wasting time can a writer discover his own sense of time.
And how to compress and distil his thoughts.
Then things start to happen.
Personally, I've wasted time. I've wasted meaning.
You have to reduce your options, settle for a course of action.
It's a tough decision.
Then you find it doesn't work.
Nothing I do seems to work.
How many writers say what they intended to ?
Mr Prokosch understands French. He's sorry he invaded your place.
He's no trouble at all !
Anyone who is still interested in Paul's work...
And Pierre's, of course!
He says they were forgotten too soon.
What magazine brings you to our shores ?
He misunderstood.
"The Long Silence" is the title of his article.
It's about writers who haven't written in a long time.
But they write all day long!
It's not published.
We're just discussing that.
And the real agony is: Nothing to say !
It's not easy to be unproductive.
That's what I'm trying to be: useless, superfluous.
Here: from a productive person.
To live better.
You live like pigs!
Friday morning.
Six years of question.
I'm no longer myself.
Do people notice it?
Camille?
And Pierre? My friend Pierre?
Listen you...
Those hands aren't touching my cock!
I'll go.
What a menu!
A 20 franc menu.
Camille, I'm thankful for small blessings.
Let's eat.
Wait...
You bought it!
Listen, it's fabulous.
I'm listening.
You're only hearing it.
How can you listen and work?
Don't bother me, I'm busy.
-What's the point? -Give me a chance.
Look at those dummies.
One is uglier, isn't she ?
Get lost.
Having lunch out?
I have to stay in.
How can you stand him all day long?
Fridays my aunt makes gefulte fish.
A Jewish dish.
You girls talk a lot.
Only about work, uncle.
The American journalist must have seen us as
wordy intellectuals who don't even try to get published.
We flaunt our impotence.
"Outside, street hounds, shadowy shapes.
"Now, he vanishes."
I'll deliver it when it's ready.
I need it in a hurry.
Wednesday:
Hopeless apathy.
I don't even feel like talking.
People only talk to prove they're alive.
Silence is a more effective escape.
Pity.
I wanted to talk to you.
Too late. I'm leaving.
Let me buy you a drink.
No, I have a class.
About Nietzche?
How did you know?
"Where you see ideals, I see human frailty."
"All too human frailty".
I'm off.
When will I see you?
I come here on Wednesdays.
I can't get things down on paper as fast as they occur in my mind.
Maybe I shouldn't think. Just write.
Not working?
I can't.
Here comes the fun couple.
Gus is coming.
We'll spend all evening talking about travels.
And champagne!
"A writer travels without leaving his desk"
"He suffers, nagged by his pen."
More of that champagne.
"The desert imposes its emptiness, helps us.
"To understand that it is better to have less than more."
"The visible leads us to what is hidden."
"Everything is a reflection of ourselves."
You're not through?
I can't write. I can't make love to you.
I can't do anything.
It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out.
What?
I'll have to rewrite all this. It's always a first draft.
"With quiet haste, greedily watched by his family,
"Elie learned to be helpless.
"His self-imposed silence was taken to be enigmatic.
"Now he couldn't name things, they became useless."
"He spent his afternoons at a desk, a blanket over his legs,
"reinventing objects.
"Until Anne arrived.
"Her resonant voice ended his peace.
"She invaded his privacy.
"She watched him scribbling.
"Then facing him, she said:
'You make what is impossible inevitable'.
"Taking his left hand she kissed it, then bit it hard."
"Thus her heart and her brain joined forces
"to bring him back to reality."
It's still not right.
It's not bad. Some things bother me.
Like what?
It's a bit precious. Not incisive enough.
It needs conflict. It's claustrophobic.
I want that! You always miss the point.
What kind of conflict? Social conflict?
I don't want to analyse society. I'm a writer.
I care about language.
Then don't feel guilty about it!
To create a new world we need a new language.
If you're this angry, you must have doubts.
One should only write about one's immediate surroundings.
Camille is becoming the subject of my book.
She knows it. For the time being, she watches me in silence.
Mr Neveux?
I'm delivering your chair.
Put it there.
The bill.
My husband will drop by and pay you.
No hurry.
Do you know any dirty songs?
I love them. They break me up.
"The whole family got screwed:
"Dad in the ass, Mom in the cunt, Sis between the tits!
It's my first time with an older guy.
I mean a guy older than me.
Don't get upset.
My girlfriend only screws older guys. She says young guys...
..are too nervous and have sweaty bodies.
They're so anxious to please, they just pump away.
You're a good partner.
Gentleness and technique.
I bet women get attached to you.
Your cigarette.
Anyway, getting it together physically isn't easy.
Don't move.
You did the shopping.
Sylvie invited us for dinner Monday.
Sylvie?
The girl I work with.
You don't want to go?
Can't you get a glass?
Why did she invite me?
I don't know... Give them your book.
Her husband loves books.
I bet he's a Book-of-the-Month type.
Got to start somewhere.
I tag along the family pet.
You're a drag. The one time I ask you to something.
Ask me to do something that makes sense.
You might sell a copy of your book. Doesn't happen every day.
How many?
It's OK... If you start handing them out, I'll break your arm.
You're helping me?
If it helps, I'll help you.
It does.
I'll get the rest.
Put that there.
What's on your mind?
I've thought it over.
I can't satisfy you because...
It really bugs you!
Of course it does.
Listen.
Either I use my energy to write or to make love to you.
So I've decided to write.
It's temporary, until the book...
Why feel guilty about it?
So let's not screw until you've finished your book.
-May take years! -Think how good it'll be.
What if I want to...
On Mondays Pierre wastes a lot of paper, too.
Words don't come easy.
He never mentions his wife. I suspect he has "problems" too.
I'm off.
Bye, drop me a line.
"Pierre, my friend. I'm worried. I've started...
to spy on my own life for my book.
I'm consuming myself.
No time to write more. But I need an answer.
What do you want?
I was following you.
Don't bother me. You're a fool.
A fool who thinks you're beautiful.
You're not bad either.
But it means nothing. I bet you're an idiot.
You got the paper, too?
How dumb of me.
What did you do? Go to the movies?
So what were you doing?
Nothing. Wandering about.
You aren't doing any work?
A cross-examination?
I'm just trying to find out.
What's for dinner?
Rabbit stew.
Move over! Don't pick from the dishes.
What's got into you?
Me? Nothing.
Is it to do with your work?
My work? Why are you nagging me about my work?
I'm just asking. I'm interested.
Situation stable with prospects of improvement. OK?
You can't work because of me.
Shit, Camille. Who says I can't work?
No one did. It's obvious, that's all.
Dinner's ready.
I'm not hungry.
You think I'm some kind of an idiot?
All I have to do is look at you.
You do?
I'm nobody's fool.
Nobody's fool? What does it mean?
You're looking for excuses. One day, it's your chair.
The next, I'm a castrator.
Then, you won't screw me.
Can't screw you!
Look at us.
You don't understand the first thing.
I do. And you won't even discuss it.
That's not it.
Then what?
What? Stop bugging me.
You've become a caricature of a nagging wife... And it suits you.
Don't you say hello to celebrities?
I hadn't recognized you.
I will when you've won some awards.
I get the idea.
I have to go. Bye.
Going?
Alone, at last. Let's have a drink.
I know a cosy place.
I'm here.
We must get out of this rut.
I've come to a decision.
One minute you're too nice, the next you're a bastard.
I'm not a bastard. I've got problems, that's all.
I shouldn't discuss them with you.
Same old crap!
Let's not start that again.
Listen to me. Don't interrupt till I'm through.
I've been selfish. I didn't mean to be.
You've made too many sacrifices.
I'm also lousy...
You're not getting enough sex.
I get no sex at all!
If you say so... Anyway, I've decided to stop writing.
How clever!
I'm getting nowhere. It's no great loss.
I'll stop writing and get a job, so you can quit the dumb work
you do to pay our rent. Don't thank me. I owe it to you.
You go back to your studies. We'll be much better off.
In our new-found domestic bliss,
we'll live out our devouring passions.
I kiss your mouth...
Don't try to blackmail me.
Blackmail?
You're blaming your failure on me.
Who spoke of blame?
You can't even cope with minor problems.
A 6 year block! You call that a minor problem?
You disappoint me. I can't take it.
It's my turn to make sacrifices.
What a pathetic solution.
Anyway, you won't go through with it.
It's a chore and it's got to be done.
You're a bastard! I know what you're up to.
I've made up my mind.
Tomorrow, I'm calling a publisher who needs ghost-writers.
You hear me?
Why wait until tomorrow? Do it now.
It's too late.
It's only 6.30. Call him now.
The cord is stuck.
Mr Gautrin? Sorry I'm calling so late.
It's Paul Neveux.
Done. I'm ghosting a book on the Foreign Legion.
You're really doing it?
The memoirs of General de Merlebourg.
You're putting me on?
It was either the Foreign Legion or religious history.
The Foreign Legion seemed more degrading.
You're really doing it?
My one condition was not meeting that creep.
If you do it, you're a creep.
Don't worry, I'll use a pen-name.
I've already found one.
Paul Camille. Like it?
You mustn't give up your own work.
Let's not go over that again.
Yes, let's go over that again.
Holy shit!
Presents?
No. Research.
Changing sides, eh?
Problems with Camille. How much?
Camille?
Come over here.
Hold the chair.
Friend, you on whom the heavy task has fallen...
to put my memoirs into literary French.
I know neither your name nor your face.
I extend you my greetings and wish you good luck!
I speak to you not as a soldier, but as a man.
Hail, friend... Best foot forward.
First, let me say something.
I have used only few Arab expressions,
realizing how strange they sound to an untrained ear.
Many have already passed into French.
Since our conquest of Algeria,
we all know words like babouche or couscous.
Let me now mention my fondness for North African sunsets.
They're the finest in the world.
Climb any rocky path, armed with...
a sturdy olive-wood stick.
They all lead up to Mount Harishma El Bezzour.
Observe the steamy slopes, bathed in the sun's dying rays.
The mountain is called:
"The Mountain".
By the way, the correct spelling is...
It would be too pedantic to use the Arab spelling.
We can discuss that at a later date.
I'll le you work.
Tea's ready.
My diary when I was at boarding school.
This is great.
"I discarded my own ideas and only wrote
what the teacher wanted to hear. I got an A plus.
I get the feeling it was dishonest.
Even then, you were a guilty shit.
Have some tea while it's hot.
No luck. They won't buy me trousers.
The other boys make fun of my short pants.
At 16 I still had to wear short pants.
Little boy not happy.
But now Paulie is happy.
It was tough to take.
Maybe that's why I'm so mean now.
I'm glad you're quitting work.
When you've finished your thesis, we'll both fell better.
I'll make some money off the "Legion",
and get back to my own stuff later.
What a bastard!
Sure this is the right move?
They stormed up the hill.
-Here, a lyrical approach. -Shut up, you old fart!
Already home?
My uncle's been nicer since I told him I'm quitting.
That's good.
How's it going?
This morning was really tough. How about you?
A good worker takes pride in his work.
What did you say?
Work is work.
What's wrong?
Listen. We made this decision together.
You've got to help me.
Read this crap.
End of chapter.
"The Walls of the Citadel."
Tomorrow!
I said tomorrow. I've got to study.
Turn it down.
It has to be loud!
Be nice!
It's Pierre.
I don't think he wants to talk to you.
My tutor says OK.
But I should give my thesis a sociological slant.
That suits me fine.
Really?
He's got the hots for me.
That bearded creep? Makes me want to piss.
Waiter, please!
Black coffee, please.
My wife... Nathalie.
She was with the American journalist.
Sorry, hi!
You forgot to phone me.
And you stood me up. Thanks!
They're young, but very demanding.
We must go or we'll be late.
She's got some nerve.
That was 5 days after our pact.
The genius can't write and make love.
Now I know who you are.
You're a cheap Romeo.
I'd say I've been reasonable.
You want to get away with everything.
That chick! You made me look like a fool.
It's got nothing to do with us.
You disgust me.
The flesh is weak.
Weak? My ass!
You know what?
I didn't even screw her. And she was willing.
Some I did screw. But not her. Guess again.
Anyway, it's just a roll in the hay.
All that counts is making love to the woman I love.
But you wouldn't understand!
What about the poor girls?
Female solidarity! That's all I need.
For a man, impotence is the end of the world.
So you test the equipment.
Test? What are you saying?
To see if it works.
And does "it" work with other women?
Fine, thanks.
Camille, open up!
Open up. Don't be a fool!
Get lost.
How can you be so petty?
I'm fed up, Paul. I can't take it anymore.
I'm leaving.
Let's talk when you've calmed down.
You have a call.
Nathalie? Did I wake you? It's Paul.
Let me get a word in...
She wasn't there.
Wake up.
Got any books?
That's all?
What is this?
It's become a soap opera.
Camille, it's not that simple.
When two people live together,
if one slips, the other must lend a hand.
That's the whole point.
Wouldn't you say?
Listen.
I love you and I know you love me.
So let's not split up over nothing.
It's over. You're a swine. I don't love you.
You're lying. Anyone can see you don't mean it.
I despise you for crawling back to me.
I came back to pick up the pieces.
If you've kept a copy of my book, then you still...
Get out!
I'll never forgive you.
You're out of your skull.
We just lost our tempers, that's all.
I love you and I know you do, too.
You always know everything.
She doesn't want to see you anymore.
Drive slowly.
Turn and stop on the crossing.
Get in!
We've got to talk.
Drive on.
Forget it, mister.
Back to your old girlfriends?
She's such a nothing.
What were you doing with her?
Before I hang up, listen to this:
I don't want to live with you. I understand your selfishness.
But 6 years is enough. I've got to think of myself.
What do you mean?
Here we go again.
-What? -Nothing.
Same as ever.
Need one really move?
The dreamer's view is all-embracing.
I'd just turned 35. A milestone.
I'm a medium blind.
My head is filled with other people's ideas.
I'm trying to be a writer.
Sometimes my experiences remind me of my favorite books.
Goodbye, Beatrice. My best to your husband.
You know Paul Neveux?
Author of "Portraits"?
You read everything...
I'm sure you know Beatrice Beuve.
The Book Fair.
6 years ago.
What are you doing now?
Working for me.
Ghosting.
What a shame!
When a writer I like stops writing, it's as if he'd left me.
My husband built it for their bicentennial.
Culture is his whole life.
Mine, too.
It's the one subject we agree on.
We're very involved in the Arts.
Perhaps we can help you through this difficult period.
We only use our country house on weekends.
It's the perfect spot...
..for you to get back to your true calling.
Don't thank me. First, I must ask my husband.
I'll let you know in 2 days.
Now leave.
What's the password?
Cut it out!
I asked Pierre to come.
Something's about to happen.
I won't be seeing anyone for a long time.
At a loss for words, I asked him to lend me some money.
Too bad.
Call Camille.
She's at her aunt's, in the South.
Working on her thesis.
It doesn't matter.
It's me, Paul.
My husband has agreed. You can pick up the keys.
That's Madame's room.
You're in the guest-room.
When do I get something to eat?
Madame phoned to say you must work.
I should never have accepted this offer.
I can only write under pressure.
I'm expecting a cheque.
If you're broke, you don't get nothing.
I have to sleep somewhere.
Why pick on me?
I don't owe anybody anything.
Give me credit for one week.
What do you do in life?
Writer. Man of letters.
An artist!
No girls or drugs. This is a respectable place.
She's yours if you want her. She's everyone's.
Look!
She's a trollop.
Jean-Louis, what do you want?
Will you buy some T.B. stamps?
You still hear from your father?
A postcard from Argentina. 6 months ago.
How are the neighbours?
They're nice to me. The twins call me "grandma".
I've started sewing again. For them.
How is your work?
I'm writing another book. It's coming along.
Does it pay?
It's OK.
Are you still with that young woman?
Sure... Give me a drop more.
You're thinner.
I feel fine.
You should come more often.
It's a long way. And I don't have much time.
Really I don't need it.
I came because I wanted to see you. Honest.
Going to Paris?
What's doing, Paulie?
How's the hitching?
Do I know you?
Why?
You called me "Paulie".
What?
You called me "Paulie".
Is your name "Paulie"?
Well, it's Paul.
And your friends call you Paulie.
You big ox.
It was just luck.
Now you try to guess my name.
Cut out the crap!
Look. The odds are one in a thousand.
Come on.
Pick a name. Any name.
Come on.
How about... Jean-Louis?
Bullseye!
You're really called Jean-Louis?
Sure thing, fella. You want to see his I.D.?
You don't like it?
It's an OK name.
You're a real sport, Paulie.
You like chopped liver?
"In a society based on compromise...
They'd taken my notebook.
Suddenly, my writings sounded childish.
Will they kill me?
You've got three days to pay us back.
We'll hold on to your ID.
Or else...
We know where to find you.
Where are you going at this hour?
Just walking.
Let's see your I.D.
It's just been stolen.
Get in.
Let's see the cash.
I don't have any.
No money, but he's got a hard-on.
Feeling better today?
I'd feel even better if you gave me a cuddle.
Be serious.
He sees a skirt, he's gotta be a wise guy!
She's got no time for your crap.
I want to write. Can I have paper and a pen?
Get into bed. I'll bring you some.
You only write to complain.
You've been dumped and you can't take it.
Mom, he's back!
Where you been in that get-up?
To a costume ball.
You should look for work, not go to parties.
A guy at the party owe me money.
Good... Get me his bill.
But he wasn't here.
Who?
The guy who owed me money.
Think I'm an idiot? You've been gone for 2 days!
I rented your room.
So where do I sleep?
Talk to the new occupant.
Try it, it's good.
I was back at work. My book was progressing.
I don't trust my weird room-mate.
The only way to keep an eye on him
is to stay in my room and write.
Sleep!
Where you going? To work?
Get a move on.
A real champ. Sabine, a kiss for the winner.
I bet he stinks.
Leave me alone.
"Anne's arrival tamed them.
"She opened the curtains.
Her shrill laughter made walls crumble.
The household didn't protest. The mother smiled:
"You make the impossible, inevitable".
"Elie responded fitfully...
"..as his surroundings took on color.
"Objects didn't have names yet, but they had texture and meaning.
You used "joy" twice.
Leave me alone.
My heart!
Let's go. He'll croak.
Now I knew: If I could write
when I was tired, I could also get too tired to write.
The publisher's advance got me a phonograph.
My book is coming along well. I enjoy writing it.
I've made coffee. Want some?
Yes. Sugar.
I still needed an ending. But I knew what it would be.
A handsome manuscript. It's a pleasure to hold.
This novel is about the forces within man
that make him terrified of himself. Edmund Wilson.
Instantly, I fell into a dreamless sleep.
So I'm back to my dreary existence, so quiet and so predictable,
in which sentences are the only adventures.