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ONE SINGS, THE OTHER DOESN'T

You waiting for me?

Sometimes people give up.

Just put in a bell.

I've never seen pictures like these.
Are they yours?

Yes.

Such sad women!
- Sad? No.

They're all unwed moms, widows,
women beaten or abandoned.

No, they're neighbors
willing to pose.

I'm willing to wait.
- For what?

For them to tire of posing.

Then they let themselves go,
and they're just there.

They're beautiful pictures,
but they bother me too.

This one with the kids —
I used to know her.

We were neighbors five years ago
on rue du Maine.

But she got into some trouble
and disappeared.

I always wanted to find her again,
but my parents bad-mouthed her.

She was nice...

but not sad like that.

Maybe it's my fault.

You weren't very flattering
to poor Suzanne!

I wonder where she is now.
- She lives with me.

The kids are ours.

Damn! I really put my foot in it!
I'm sorry.

- You still live on rue du Maine?
- Yes. And you?

15 rue Fermat.

15 rue Fermat?

I'll go see her.
Tell her Pauline from the third floor.

Good-bye.

Men, don't come in so abruptly.

Concentrate.
That goes for everyone.

Try harder.

If only it meant a school credit.

I just wish it meant money.

Hi, Mom.

Hi, Dad.
- Hi, sweetheart.

You'll ruin your appetite.

An apple a day...

- How did choir go?
- Hallelujah!

- School?
- Same old stuff.

Philosophy's a drag.
So is getting a diploma.

Drop out and be a salesgirl
on your feet all day.

You know I want to be a singer.

Sure, but finish school first.

With no education,
it's marriage or prostitution.

- Not much difference.
- She's crazy!

Go wash up. It's time to eat.

Remember Suzanne,
the shoemaker's niece?

Yes, she got into some sort of trouble.

- I saw her.
- You did?

Her picture. She looks 30!

I'm not surprised.
She started at it too young.

You see...

JérObme doesn't get it.

He's in his lab...

making print after print all day
till he's satisfied.

And the women he likes to shoot
are usually broke.

No one buys his pictures...

so he gives them away.

He earns very little.

Why don't you work?

With these two?

And do what?
I have no skills.

And the neighborhood daycare is full.

They're sweet.

Mathieu is.

But Marie's withdrawn.

Probably my fault.

I lost the —

I often feel like crying.

You have to do something.
Talk to Jérbme.

Talk to Jérbme?

It's hard.

He's tired.

He smiles in that way of his,
and I just stop talking.

I don't even dare tell him
I'm pregnant again.

You're pregnant?

Can't your folks help?
Where are they?

In Soisson.
They refuse to see me.

- Your aunt?
- Same.

What a mess.

How far along are you?

About two months.

Don't cry.
You have to get an abortion.

How? It's not that simple!

We'll find a way.

I can't tell Jérbme.

They're his kids too!

Want me to talk to him?

You?

How old are you?
- Just over 17.

I feel like I'm 100.

How old are you really?

Twenty-two.

- Go on.
- I will.

Mrs. Carlier?

In class you said free will is not just
a philosophical or moral concept,

but a reality demonstrated in concrete
situations, even political ones.

So free will
is philosophy in action.

Can you help me?
I have a friend who's pregnant...

but can't keep it.
- Is it you?

No. She has two kids.

But I'm not a doctor.

Maybe you know
a name or an address...?

No, I'm really sorry.

Good-bye.

It didn't work.

You thought she'd point you
to an abortionist?

Some girls in choir might know.

Tell me... would you know
a good “address”?

- You're pregnant?
- A friend is.

I's not simple.

There's a woman,
the concierge at 24 rue Saint-Séverin.

I've heard that address often.

- You know her?
- No.

- She does it all?
- Right! She inserts a probe.

The rest is up to you.
- I said it's not for me.

Fine! She charges 20,000 francs.

Or there's Switzerland.
- I know.

But you have to take a test
and give 'em a hard-luck story.

If they agree, it's cheap.

If not, a doc who'll do it
is expensive, plus the trip.

See you.
- Thanks.

He was stupid.
He bought his car on credit.

I got a 13 in English,
but no math grade yet.

You're late as usual.

Just eat without me.

A family has rules and hours...

or it's just chaos.

Cheese, please.

Clean off the table a bit.

You and your cleanliness.

Be sweet and put the coffee on.

I'll do it.

I'm “sweet”...

if I follow your “rules and hours.”

Long live the family!

All we ask is some respect
for those who gave you birth.

I didn't ask to be born.

You didn't even know
how to prevent it!

You asked for that!

Studying philosophy
gives you no right to insult us.

Go on! You won't be boss
over me much longer.

- Stop it.
- She's full of hot air!

The parent system is no good.

Dad grumbles
while Mom's sweet and silent.

Or else Dad passes the peace pipe
while Mom hollers.

Parents are no fun.

- Being an orphan is?
- I didn't say that.

Wait till you have your own Kids.

I have other plans.

By the way, the choir
has organized a weekend trip

to sing in an abbey near Avignon.

It's 20,000 francs. Can I go?

I got this.
But a Swiss abortion costs more.

You're really kind.

Can Jérébme get some more?

From whom? His wife?
She hates him.

Understandably.

Yes, of course.

Why don't they divorce?

She refuses just to get at him,

so he can't legally
be father to our kids.

Hi, gang.

How you doing?

Listen, that woman
on rue Saint-Séverin...

will 20,000 be enough?
- That's too risky.

Tell Jérbme to find the money.
I'll watch the kids.

- You will?
- School's out from the 22nd to 24th.

Then it's Switzerland.

You have to look sad
and cry for the medical board.

There are four of them,
like judges.

Looking sad won't be hard.

But Jérébme's in a bad way.

I could never have left
the kids with him.

He can't do a thing for them
except love them.

Listen...

he asked me if you'd pose for him.

He couldn't ask you in person

because you knew
about my situation before he did.

So what? We're friends.

So you will?

Yes...

but I've never posed.

It's not working.
They're no good.

What? I've been here two hours,

and you've taken tons.

You're too guarded.

Yes, you are.

I just don't have
that overwhelmed look you like.

I won't be a victim,
even for a picture.

You're being nasty.

You just refuse to be real.

What I'm after is Woman...
in her naked truth.

You want me to pose nude?

Even that may not help.

- Where?
- Over there.

It's that sense of surrender,

the secret of life
you women have within you.

It's a weighty secret.

That'll never work.

It's my fault.

I apologize. I can't do it.

I don't know what to think.
It's as if I weren't a real girl.

No, it's not that.

You just baffle me.
I don't understand.

You'll never grow up, sweetie.
You have aspirin?

I'm not going on a desert trek.

Want me to come along?

I'm so unhappy that you —
- I'll be okay.

Everyone tells me
they do a good job.

I'd never let you go anywhere else.

No matter the cost.

Go inside.

Hello.

I'm looking for postcards
of Avignon abbeys.

I'll see.

Hello, crab apple.

How are you?

Then go get your bear.

Good morning.

You've been awake a while.

Sit down there.

We'll all sleep together.

You're very sweet.

- You're up?
- André, you promised!

- Let him blow his top.
- That won't help.

You and your lies.

We traveled 1,000 miles
to hear you sing at Avignon.

You'll pay for this.

Why would you lie like that?

- To get money.
- You could have talked to us.

For an abortion.
You'd never understand.

What?

Suzanne needed an abortion
and had no money.

This is disgraceful!

I've had enough!
- Me too. I'm moving out.

Calm down, honey.

No, I don't want to.

- You're a minor.
- I'll send word.

Your finals are in three months.
You gonna study in the street?

Get your diploma like normal people.

No more school for me.

I'd rather sing in the streets
than be “normal.”

No one's going to say
you left home broke.

Here's 40,000.
Your whole class can have abortions.

You obviously don't know the rates,
but thanks.

You disgust me!

How could this happen?

What did we ever do to her?

- Sure he won't mind?
- We'll manage.

Gabriel will be delighted.
Two girls at the same time!

That's his dream!
- It's not mine. He'll be disappointed.

It's all just talk.

Nice place.

Gabriel did it.

Ill make paella.
Our maid taught me how.

And I have a little money for food.

And we'll earn some.

I went by the studio.
We're hired!

- When?
- We record Thursday.

You think I should
finish school or drop out?

School's no use in music.

Drop out!

They're getting into everything!

They're not here often.

Are you all right?
You're not too tired?

No, not very.
I just really wanted to see you.

I feel lost.

Fight. You have to fight.

- If you can.
- You can.

You have strength enough
for the kids, for me,

even for the other one —

I mean, if only
I provided for us properly.

I work but I make no money.

Pauline left home.
Another unsold photo.

It was no good anyway.

She was too stubborn,
or I was too weak.

She's nice and all...

but I can't make concessions.
No more kindness, no smiles.

Her smile has helped me a lot.

But it's you I want to be with.

Come for a walk with us?

No, the sadness
in people's eyes is too much.

Don't say that.

I'm tired too. I feel so alone.

Don't you trust in me?

I feel like a poor and lonely mute girl.
I've cried too much.

I'll try again.

I found a job, knitting at home
for a children's shop.

You're brave.

I have to take them out.

And I have to develop

a customer's lousy shots by 6:00.

See you later.

- You have to forgive me.
- For what? Whose fault is it?

I don't understand any of it.

That's enough.

Are we ready? Let's go.

Stop clinging to me
like chewing gum, baby

Rock and roll is for a man to play

So step aside, baby

And let me sing with my buddies

And clap to the beat

No, the backup's all wrong.

I see we have new voices.
Hello, ladies.

Gabriel, say hello
in your deep voice.

Very funny.
Let's take it from the top.

Marie!

I just got paid
for my first doo-wop session.

I made some money.

- Great!
- We'll celebrate. My treat.

Cookies, ice cream, or candy?

No, I don't want any.

I'm surprised!

Listen, I went past the shop.
It was closed.

I'd better go by.

We'll go in the back way.

It's locked.

We need the key.

Don't worry.
Maybe he's asleep.

Could you try the back window?

The window's closed.

Break it.

- Really?
- Yeah, go ahead.

What's going on?

I don't have a key.

Me neither.

He's in there.

Well?

He hanged himself.

Did you say he hanged himself?

We have to call the police.

Quick!

That's him.

Tell them to get him down.

This story's about a cat
named Purtykat...

and a blue teddy bear.

Those two pals met on the street...

and decided to go
on the merry-go-round.

He was miserable to the very end.

He wanted to be cremated.

He didn't even get that.

It makes me sick.

What'll I do?

Stop it. Let's go.

You poor thing.

He was such a nice man.

Thanks for coming.

What will you do now?

Go back to my parents' farm.

Then we'll see.

The tragedy that had made
the girls close friends

now abruptly separated them.

Suzanne sold her belongings ana,
with her children,

fled Paris and Jerome's legal widow,

who was trying to saddle her

with all the bills from the studio.

She arrived at her parents' home,

who gave a cold welcome
fo their ‘lost child,” an unwed mother.

With nowhere else to go,
she stayed.

Then she had time for her tears.

Shocked by Jerome's death,
Pauline cried foo...

seeing in Suzanne's tragedy

the same anguish Pauline saw
on faces all around her.

She sang.
She began to change.

Her parents finally gave her
money to rent a room.

She put up a map,

hoping to find the village
Suzanne had mentioned.

Time passed.

Ten years later...

Suzanne and Pauline
were both following the trial

of a girl of 16
who'd had an abortion.

Many of those
fighting the abortion laws

gathered outside
the Bobigny courthouse

where the closed trial was held

in October of 1972.

The girl was acquitteda,
beginning a series of reforms.

LET US HAVE KIDS
WHEN WE WANT TO

Free Marie-Claire!

We've all had abortions.
Put us on trial!

I'm with Family Planning.

It's a closed trial, ma'am.

A closed trial!

You can't go inside, ma'am.

It's Gisele Halimi,
Marie-Claire's lawyer.

You have no right
to keep them out.

The verdict is public by law.
Let them pass.

Neither Pop nor pope

Nor doc nor judge

Will lay down the law for me

Biology isn't fate
Pop's laws are out of date

My boadly is mine

And I know

When I want to have

My young

To have any young

In this old world

To be round or flat

The choice is mine

My boadly is mine

Be you a whoring Mary
or a virgin Mary

Weeping mother or easy lay

Damned or not

No matter what they say
Be you praised

Or tossed in the hay

Halil, sisters! Hail, Marie!

What are you doing here, Suzanne?

Marie, how you've grown!

In my songs
I talk about you as a baby.

That was 10 years ago.
She's 13 now.

And already on the streets!

I brought her
to our Family Planning congress.

Mathieu is on a school trip.

How old is he now?

Eleven... and very handsome.

He's okay.

- You look the same.
- You look better than ever.

Come meet Darius.

Darius, this is Suzanne.
I told you about her.

I remember. Hello.

- He's Iranian.
- This is Marie.

Whenever anything special happened,
it was always you I wanted to see.

Me too.
I even spoke to you in my mind.

Let's not split up again.

But I live down south.
And you?

Paris... for the past six months.

And three months with me.

So it's good-bye already.
Our train leaves tonight.

Mathieu is due back.
We can't leave him alone.

We haven't even had time to talk.

I must get back
to our Family Planning meeting.

Sitting in a park once,
Apple told me about you.

It felt so real and detailed

that I thought you'd pop out
from behind a tree.

But you've told me nothing so far.
How did you meet? Where?

I was getting an abortion.

We met in Amsterdam.

And then again in Paris.

Are you married, or single, or what?

Unmarried.

The kids and I get along fine.

I had an affair,
but it didn't work out.

I know what you mean.

What else are you up to?

So much to ask, so much to tell.

I thought I'd never find you,
and now that I have —

The crowd is pushing you aside.

- Let's write, okay?
- Yes, long letters.

Let's meet soon.

I'll write you at Family Planning.

Suzanne thought of Pauline —
now “Apple” —

and wanted to tell her
about her life

because of what
they'd been through years earlier.

Seeing you moved me so deeply,
[ couldn't talk.

The past 10 years
all came back to me,

wintry years of silence and spite.

But how can I describe frozen time?

The kids didn't sense a thing.

They loved the country
and the animals.

Marie grew up cheerful
and Mathieu strong.

That was good.

I tried not to feel or see a thing.

I just wanted to hang on,
fo survive...

me and my kids.

Soup's on.
Call your little bastards.

Time to eat, darlings.

Look how nicely Marie eats.

Apple thought about Suzanne too.

I got overexcited
at the demonstration.

I talked too much.

So I know nothing
of what's going on with you.

I wish you were with me
in this lousy truck

with these girls I met in ‘68.

They were singing in the street.
They're great.

We have plans.

We're driving fo a gala
in a northern suburb.

A ‘gala'!
You should see it.

Not a nanny

Nor a granny

Nor a fanny

I'm Woman

I'm me

Not fast and loose

Nor a house mouse

Nor a namby-pamby

I'm Woman

I'm me

I'm “Apple”

That's it.
We earned our bread.

Now the long drive home
to my honey's bed.

- Not sleepy?
- Not really.

- Wasn't it good?
- Yes, very.

But you're not sleepy. I am.

I'm thinking about Suzanne.

Sleep... and you'll dream about her.

We have ten years
to catch up on.

Will you tell her all about us too?

It's not that.

With her it's like love,
but without the headaches.

Of course.
You never see each other.

Sure, we've been out of touch,

but we don't have
to start all over from scratch.

I's so easy between us.

Should I be jealous?
Or can I sleep?

Go to sleep.

How can I tell about 10 years
in a few words?

I told you, ‘Darius... meeting...

Amsterdam... abortion.”

But it's not enough.

I want to really tell you
how we met in Amsterdam.

It'd be nice to see something
besides this dining hall.

You know Amsterdam?
- A bit.

Is there a boat ride on the canals?

Yes, I've taken it.

- Is it expensive?
- No, three florins.

That's about five francs.

We could afford that.
What do you say?

If anyone wants to take
a boat ride on the canals...

tell me and we'll get a group rate.

They say it's nice.

- Have they done you yet?
- I'm scheduled for 2:30.

You scared?

Not really.
I'm just mad I got in this fix.

In this fix?

I got indigestion a half hour
after taking the pill.

And it came up with the feast.

I wish it had been a feast...

That was the aay
I officially fell in love with Darius.

But what really mattered

was the tenderness I felt
for the women there with me...

like me.

I can still see their eyes.

I thought of Jerome's photos

and of you all alone
in those difficult times.

Sure, I put up a good front,

but I was so relieved
to be with a group.

That's when I wrote my first song.

I decided to sing in my own way

about my family of women there,

all in the same dorm,
the same fix, the same boat.

Gliding under the bridges
of Amsterdam

On a Dutch sightseeing boat

Go the knocked-up, fucked-up ladies

The damsels and mam'selles afloat

The awkward and foolish madams

Sadly abused by their Adams

We're taking, if you please

A cruise for abortion-ees

The boat's not romantic

After the clinic

Amsterdam-on-the-sea
[ll remember

Tulips and bikes, you see

Watching the bikes go by

We talked about the pill

About our current loves

Our children and our ovules

We laughed and carried on

Unafraid of ridicule

On a boat decked out with flags

Loaded with abortion-ees

In her teens or in her 40s

It's the same disease

Amsterdam-on-the-sea
[ll remember

Tulips and bikes, you see

It can't be!

It's great. Buy it.

- You have some nerve!
- May 1?

- Why?
- For fun. For the abortus.

- The abortus?
- It's Dutch for “abortion.”

You don't look Dutch one bit!

No, I'm Iranian.

Then I'll autograph it for you.

“For an Iranian
in memory of an abortus — Apple”

Back then I thought often
of your energy and resourcefulness...

and I decided to get me
and the kids out of that mess.

I had to make some money

and learn some skills
any way I could.

FOR SOCIAL WORKER
INQUIRE WITHIN

Miss?

Thanks for bringing it!

I need it back in three weeks.

You think you'll manage?
- Yes.

I want to get work at the factory,
but I'd need help with Mathieu.

He's too young for school.

Show me your kids.
Good morning.

But listen,
you have no work history!

I never paid much attention to that.

Will you come in?

No, let's go see the kids.

I turned to you
because there was no one else to ask.

Ya shoulda learned at 16,
instead of cattin' around.

That's enough.

You takin' her side?

Stop bangin' on that machine!

Next it was the women
at the toy factory who helped me...

with their discreet friendship
and laughter.

I felt better.

I was accepted
into the family of women.

I need the rest.

What for?

Clothes and other things.

- For foolishness.
- That's just how it is.

Mathieu, Marie, look!

I'm so happy! See the money?

I was so proud of my first pay.

Things started improving.

At night I studied so I could be
a medical secretary down south.

The kids would have the sun
and free medical care.

An ad in the paper
led us here to Hyeres,

into the sun
and a job with a gynecologist.

But he was shaay,

so after May 68 I started
a Family Planning Center.

I work here part-time.

In the picture I'm sending...

my office is squeezed
between the winter and summer pools.

I wish I could talk to you
and show you where I live

I have no time to write.

Just a few words on a postcard.

It was true. Though she longed
to tell Apple everything,

she never wrote the long letters
they'd spoken of.

But she and Apple built
a bridge in the arr...

a dialogue in their imaginations,
punctuated by postcards.

And Apple too,
busy with rehearsals for her tour

and immersed in the odd group
she worked with,

wrote only postcards,
which was her style anyway.

From Apple to Suzanne,
Suzanne to Apple...

the postal traffic was the sign
of a deep friendship...

rather inexplicable for two women
of such different tastes, character,

and social backgrounds.

Hi, Edith.

We're late.

Yes, we are.

- How are things at home?
- Fine. And you?

Fine. How's Thierry?

He's fine.

Hello.

- I'd like to talk to you.
- Right away.

Is this when you open now?

I'm coming!

Hi. Are you due soon?

- Three weeks.
- Have you chosen a name?

Fabrice or Francoise.

Very nice.

Will it be a boy or a girl?

A diamond in the rough
or a little pearl?

A plum or a plume?

Nectar or nectarine?

What will be his fortune?
What will be her fate?

A prince consort or a princess?

A commoner or commoness?

A little monkey or a donkey?

Will he or she have

Limpid pools like me

Or a subtle gaze like yours?

A boy with sex appeal?

A girl with sex appeal?

Oh, how I wish I knew

- We can't have two pregnant women!
- Stop being bossy.

They're my songs.
I won't have just any old backup.

We're not any old backup.

- You don't understand dance.
- I say what I think.

You talk too much.
We live without talking.

I live as best I can.
Put me down.

Okay, I talk too much.
I'm tired.

Let's break to eat
and continue later.

- I get it. Hi, Darius.
- Hi, everyone.

- When do we rehearse tonight?
- I can't tonight.

- Me neither, actually.
- There goes the whole thing!

Why?
We just have to keep at it.

Look, we rehearse for no pay.

We're tired, and we're not
even sure we'll get funding.

I want a rest.
- Well, so do I.

With Darius, if you must know.

But we have to make
this project work.

I's your project,
So you're responsible.

The Cultural Department told me
it's in your name.

So follow through.

Fine, I'll call them.
No rehearsal tonight. I get it.

No money, no enthusiasm.

- You exaggerate!
- Never mind.

No one noticed my costumes?

Yes, they're beautiful.

They sparkle.

They're nice.

Good evening.

A glass of apple juice.

Cinzano for me.

This is for Suzanne.

“My fictitious pregnancy...

is going well.

We'll give birth...

to a fantastic show.

Just wait and see.

All my love.”

I'm hungry,
and I want to be alone with you.

So we eat at my place?
But I have nothing.

We could buy some stuff.

Let's make a real dinner.

How can I help?

Unwrap the chicken.

Darn! My call to Favier!

Go on. I'll do this.

Mr. Favier, please.

I'll wait.

He's with the Cultural Department.

- Use all the stuffing?
- Yes.

Think it'll work?

Sure. Don't worry.

How do I close it up?
- I'll do it.

Mr. Favier, please.

This is Apple.

Then I'll wait.

8:00? I'll call back then.

They always keep you dangling
when you need them most.

Marie, see if the chicken's done, huh?

“Please, Marie.”

Please, Marie.

It's not done yet.

I'm hungry.

Then you'll wait like us.

Three more minutes.

- For the chicken?
- The phone call.

- It smells good.
- I have to make that call.

I hope our goose isn't cooked.

Maybe that Favier's a hypocrite.

He said we had an interesting idea.
But to whom?

They say whatever they feel like.

Mr. Favier's office, please.

This is Apple.
Is Mr. Favier there?

Yes, I'll wait.

He's on another line.

I like Darius. He's great.

Even I'm amazed
I fell for an economist.

I hate economy of any kind.

But we're in love.

We touch and we're hypnotized.

We want to hold on forever.

Yes, I'll hold on.

Once our show is on,
life will be fantastic.

He'll work for a French company.

We'll meet daily...
or at least nightly.

He'll be there. Love. Present.

Yes, I'm still here.

Hello, it's Apple. Any news?

It can't be! What will we do?

I know you're not
some wealthy patron,

but you're leaving us
in the lurch!

You liked the idea! Why this?

Can't we appeal
or do a run-through for someone?

You're sorry?
Not as sorry as I am!

No, I don't understand!
Good-bye!

Bastards!

We were practically ready.

The whole thing's ruined!

Apple...

crying won't help.

You know what?

In Iran, the word for Persian
is “farcee.”

There's farcee cinema...
farcee theater.

Everything's farcee.

Your dinner's not at all a farce.

Yes, I can cook,
but I want to sing and move too,

and I can't with no money.

I'm going to give up!
I've had it!

Calm down.

I have an idea.

I'll pay for a charter flight.

Come to Iran with me.

It's beautiful and far away.

A change will do you good.

And I have to go back.

Come with me.

The desert's magnificent.

We'll be together.

- It's an idea.
- Will you come?

Yes.

Eat.

So my departure
was decided that aay,

thanks to a Mr. Favier
at the Cultural Department.

I chewed my chewy chestnuts...

and thought...

“Suzanne will never find me now.”

Once in Iran,
I felt I had become a postcard myself,

or an extra in an artsy short film.

ALSO SHOWING:

THE PLEASURE
OF LOVE IN IRAN

AN EXOTIC, ARTISTIC,
AND (VERBALLY) EROTIC SHORT

IF ALL THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD...

I don't know.

Meaning what?

That's how it is.

That's idiotic!

We explained it all to you
six months ago.

A doctor prescribed
the pill for you.

Did you buy it?
- Yes.

- But you didn't take it?
- No.

So you want a baby?

Not at all.

Why didn't you take it?
Are you Catholic?

I'm no longer a believer.

Still, it kept you
from taking the pill.

Maybe.

Either you believe or you don't.

You're shouting?

Yes, I know I'm being unpleasant.

These should be group discussions.

I'm yelling at a woman
who wants the pill but won't take it.

- We don't yell at people.
- We should!

I hate having to yell and push
to make things happen.

Then don't!

You know about women's alienation.

Piling on more orders
and restrictions won't help them.

True. But some days I get mad.
I've been at it for years.

Then stop or change your approach.

What are you?
An activist or a bureaucrat?

Change...
and women will change too.

You're right.
You're absolutely right.

I'm glad you set me straight.

- And you, Mathieu?
- I'm doing better.

“I'm far away.
Darius has kidnapped me and I love it...

but I haven't forgotten you.”

I'm far away, it's wonderful here,
and I'm in love.

I've been gone six months.

Time flies with Darius.

We've found a place.
I'm busy fixing it up.

We're in the south now.
Darius is here on business.

We're near the desert,
with no postcards around,

so I'm writing a short note.

I relate differently to my body here.

Because of Darius, of course,

but also because being far away,
you feel sort of different.

Among these veiled women
I feel more nude than ever...

closer to my body.

I'm me.

I mean... more than before.

I feel new desires within me
that are a bit mysterious.

I'm crazy about the sun here.

Give me a child.

Hey, give me a child.

I've gotten used to being alone.

Sometimes it's hard...

especially since —

Well, I had an affair
with a naval officer.

I liked him at first. A sailor.

He didn't take care
of me or the kids,

but he shook things up.

He just jumped on me,
and he did it well.

Hed sail off.
He'd come and go.

Then I realized
that navy men are military men.

No, he wasn't the man for me.

And it's not easy having a lover
with two kids in the next room.

But he awoke me from a long sleep

in which I wasn't
a woman or anything.

After our short affair,
I became a woman.

A woman on her own.

Such a yearning to be a couple.

It happened. I'm married.

Darius is so pleaseq,

especially since I'm pregnant.

And I love parties.

Yet the exchange of rings
IS quite poetic.

The scent of the sacred
mingling with sperm isn't bad.

I liked it

Hello there.

That's for me!

- It's not a card.
- No, it's a letter.

Any news from my son?

- A postcard.
- Thanks.

“Dear Suzanne, what a trip!

I'm high. I'm flying.

It's love, it's the Orient, etc.

To be continued.
No postcards in the desert.

Apple, your flying carpet...”

- Doing some writing?
- Hello, Mrs. Armick.

Apple, you're so far away.

I can't even picture you.
It's too exotic.

I'm a bit down.

Mathieu fractured his leg.
It really scared me.

The angel leap.

I panicked.

Mathieu was in pain,
and so was I.

Luckily a doctor was on board.

He and his wife took charge
and drove us to a hospital.

I'd noticed him on the boat.

A nice man, the striped-shirt type,
always taking pictures.

When he put Mathieu in his car
and spoke to me...

- Your leg okay?
- It hurts. I feel like vomiting.

...something happened.
I don't know what.

Suzanne Galibier,
with Family Planning.

Ah, I often send women to you.
I'm a pediatrician.

His smile made me want
fo love him at once.

But he's not free.
It's over already.

A sentimental letdown.

I must seem so provincial to you
with your Arabian Nights love story.

But I'm writing anyway.

My heart's being put through the mill,
but I'll manage.

Love...

Suzanne.

He came by often
fo see to Mathieu's cast.

He saw to Marie's tonsillitis too...

and he'd have gladly seen
fo my solitude.

Change subjects...

and get a shot of the victim
hounded by the ladies.

Don't worry. I'll get my revenge.

If we pull your leg,
you'll get a second cast.

I think he's sexy like this.

Poor darling.

Not since Jerome
has anyone looked at me

like Pierre Aubanel does.

The kids adore him.
But it's no good.

I don't want to love him.
I want to be comforted.

Dearest Suzanne...

it's silly to be sad.

Forget your married doctor.

Find another man you like, fast.

And if you do,
send me a telegram.

A thousand Persian kisses
to the three of you.

I walk along the streets.

The women's world
IS In the markets and bathhouses.

Then there's the men's world
in the streets and cafes.

It's like two separate worlds.

The “couple” takes it on the chin.

It has me asking questions.

['ve started writing songs again.

Here it's hard not to become
a mystic or a doddering fool.

On the bridges of Isfahan —
Julfa, Khajou, and Joubi —

She said what?
He said yes.

She said,
“Do that to me on Julfa”

He said,
“Do it all to me on Khajou.

I'll forget about Joubi.”

- Is that you, darling?
- Yes.

You okay?

Want some watermelon?

Is dinner ready?

Not yet.
I haven't finished my work.

You could have fixed something.

I haven't finished this yet.

You can write your songs
while I'm at work.

You have the time.

I write when I'm inspired.

I think I fell right in the trap,

in my doll's house with my melon-belly
and lover-husband.

I'm acting starry-eyedq,
but it's not me.

And the Iranian liberal
I knew in France,

the open-minded guy,
feminist in his own way,

back in Iran, on his home turf,

once he knew I was hooked,

became what he wanted
to be all along:

a traditional husband.

I know I didn't marry a cook,

but still.

It was downhill from there.

It was either fights or long silences.

As I cook up a local dish,
I'm fuming.

I bitch and moan,

feeling tricked, dazed,
and a bit happy...

and totally baffled
by this devil kicking inside me

whom we await with love.

It's better if I have
the baby in France.

We have very good doctors here.

I know.

It's for the surroundings,

and for my mother.

- Have you been here long?
- I didn't want to interrupt.

Just a second.

Come see me anytime.
- Good-bye, ma'am.

Call me Suzanne.

A doctor's daughter
afraid to ask him for the pill.

Classic.
- You going home?

- Once I've straightened up.
- We could go for a walk...

before you go home.

No married men for me.

Never again.

- Ah, so that's it.
- Yes.

My kids' papers say “father unknown.”
I've paid a high price.

- I's not a question of children.
- I know.

I'm free.

But I'm fed up with married men.

- Do they fit?
- Great.

Too bad we don't see
Pierre anymore.

We had a bet
on my first pair of shoes.

After my cast came off,

whoever said
“new shoes” first would win.

Too bad.
You'd have won for sure.

Mom, why doesn't Pierre
come by anymore?

You're both well now,
and he's busy with work.

For Suzanne things were clear,
if difficult.

Apple finally opened her eyes.

In Iran she'd only seen
what she wanted fo see:

a love story in an exotic setting.

Now she had to flee
that impossible land

on the only carpet flying for her,
a return flight,

and go back to an active,
fousled life of music.

The problem was Darius,

whom she loved so much.

I'm not blaming you.

I just won't be back. That's all.

We'll talk when I get to France.

It's due around the 20th?

Let me know of any change.
I leave here the 18th.

What an unusual shape!
It's pretty!

Looks good on you.
They wear it like this.

Caviar by the spoonful!
Want some?

Too salty.

Kids, come taste this.

They look great.

Very nice!

I don't like that.
Let me see that.

Mom, can I borrow this?
- For camping?

Stop kidding.

We'll show it
to the Tourneau kids.

I'm not giving it back.

Don't be out too late.

It's like I have nothing to tell you...
or everything.

I'll tell you something.

First, though you don't like caviar,
it's a treat for me.

You look really good.

I'm glad we'll be together
for your first baby.

We'll have fun.

You know what I think about often?

The look in their eyes
outside Jérdbme's studio

while that cop talked to you.

I'll never forget that cop's face.

I will.

That cop, the details —
I've sort of forgotten.

You talk to the kids about Jérbme?

Not much.
He was so unreal in a way.

But I wish you'd tell them
how good he was with them.

Marie blames him,
and Mathieu's confused.

They can't understand his suicide.
- You told them?

I didn't go into detail.

After the shock passed,
I blocked it all out.

His gentleness and anguish
and fatalism. The silence.

I thought,
“Careful, don't lose your grip.”

It's different for me.

I loved him.

We were happy in our own way.

The hard part came later,
when I was alone, without him.

It took me years to pull out of it.

I had a hard time with men.
I'd freeze up.

So things weren't great, you know.

- For a long time?
- Yes.

What about your married doctor?

Pierre? I said no.

I'll wait for a man who's free.

You'd like him.

And you'll meet,
since he's our best pediatrician.

- Let's have him over.
- Sure, I'll just go out.

No way to avoid Mom.
She wants to be here for my first kid.

Now that she's alone,
she's a bit —

Know what I mean?
- Yes.

When does Darius get in?
- Tomorrow.

- So you're happy?
- Yes...

but there'll be a scene,
and I hate scenes.

Maybe not.
Does your Mom know him?

Not yet.

She'll tell him all about my childhood,
the trumped-up choir trip.

I was really a bitch with them.

But I wanted the money
for you for Switzerland.

I never told you or anyone else...

but I never went to Switzerland.

Jérdbme had sold a camera...

plus I had your money.

I thought of the rent
and all our debts.

I paid them instead.

I saw the woman on Saint-Séverin.
She used a probe on me.

And that Tuesday you pretended
you'd been in Switzerland.

I had to.
But that wasn't the end of it.

There were complications.

I had to go to the hospital.

I'd lock the kids in and go mornings.

There were complications.

I can't have any more children.

Did Pierre know that?

I told him. Why do you ask?

No reason.

What a mess.

We needed money so badly.

I don't even remember the rest!

I shouldn't have told you all that.

Just think about your kid.

I was just being selfish.

I wanted to talk to you
and cry with you.

It's good to share things.

Don't worry.
We'll have this one together...

and have fun.

As for so many women,

giving birth was
a big moment for Apple.

Eyes shining and heart pounding,

she gave birth to a boy
in the blaze of day.

Let me have him a while.
Go lie down.

You've given me a wonderful son.

Yes, darling.

Parviz is a nice name.

It's my father's.

And Guillaume, to please Apple.

That's a good middle name, right?

He's too adorable!

He really is.

Come in.

Hello, Doctor.

Congratulations to all of you.

I'm a little early.
- Good.

We'll know that much sooner
if we have a winner.

Everyone here thinks
he's pretty wonderful.

- How are you, Suzanne?
- Fine.

With Apple's visit,
my life has changed.

Mine too. I got divorced.

- When?
- Yesterday.

I don't know what one says...

There's nothing to say.

- What about my baby?
- I'll give him a thorough examination.

I'll be going.
Tell me everything later. Bye.

Very convenient.

The lady sees a foreigner she likes
and off they go on a grand, exotic trip!

A baby's born. She keeps it
and sends the father home!

Your French is impressive.

And you didn't learn
20 words of Persian!

You'll wake Guillaume!

Where could I go to learn?
I understood nothing!

My sister speaks French.
Not great, but still.

You could have come with me.

I did. For months.
To watch you work.

Meanwhile, I had no offers
or contacts at all.

I was a singer before we met,
you know.

You were tired of that.

Yes, that day
you asked me to go away.

Don't mix the baby and your career.
They're separate.

You took me for a fool
worth no more than some sperm.

I don't like that.

I won't allow this.

I'm the head of this family.

You wanted marriage and a baby.
He bears my name. I live in Iran.

I'm taking my son.
Come if you want. End of story!

End of story?

I'm not going.

Hungry, my little dumpling?

Coming right up.

Find him a wet-nurse.

Or we can bottle-feed him.

It takes two weeks
to wean a baby.

I can wait two weeks.
My boss is gonna fire me anyway.

Having a baby's
such a tremendous feeling.

Ask Suzanne.

I was there when he was born.

But you were so panicky,
you didn't help much.

Even so,
I was glad you were there.

Birth is so violent and savage.

You feel like the baby's you.

Now you can take him if you want to.
Be the chief.

Make the decisions.

I love this baby
as much as I love you.

I love this baby
as much as I love you.

So what do we do?

I don't know.

I have a great idea.

Give me another child.
That way we'll each have one.

But how?

When?

Are you crazy?

We can't even decide about this one.
I leave in two weeks.

Just stay a while...

until 'm rested up.

Then, nice and easy,
you give me another child.

That's crazy.

It won't work.

I never heard of such a thing.

Another crazy idea.

It's unrealistic.

Think about it.

You should come live in Iran.

No, that's over.

No more phony images
and stereotypes.

That's over.

If you love me...

let's do that,
and we'll each have a child.

You're crazy.

No, I'm being realistic for once.

Maybe you are...

Are you coming?

Let me have him.

He's no problem.
It's all the other stuff.

If you change your mind,
write to me.

Of course.

Now what?

I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't like leaving you
or Suzanne.

I'm staying three months.
It's settled.

You two will be okay alone.
I mean you three.

Right, it'll be our grand finale,
fireworks and all.

Don't get melodramatic.

I do what I can.
I's not much, but I try.

I'm back with the group,
the girls I sang with before.

We're taking up
our battle song again,

but in a new style.

I'm Woman

I'm me

Neither goddess

Nor devil

Nor escapade

When you two have left,

I'll go live in the country
with the group.

My life will be fresh air and music.

You say it all so calmly.

Sure, since you've promised me
another kid.

Not so fast! It's not done yet.

I can feel it.
And it will be a girl.

I love you.

I love you too,
even if we're the flop of the century.

So Darius returned to Iran
with five-month-old Parviz.

From the airport, a tearful Apple
sent Suzanne a postcard.

It's done. Farewell, Sun.

[ve lost a husband and child.

[ll do my best...

We're going on tour.
I'm pregnant.

I'm happy and unhappy... Apple.

Neither goddess

Nor devil

Nor escapade

I'm Woman

I'm me

Neither fetish

Nor trophy

Nor chambermaid

I'm Woman

I'm me

Come hear us...

tonight at 9:00.

I made you a nice little fire.

Granny,
how about pitching in here?

I feel low,
and I know nothing about cars.

You think we're ace mechanics?

I'm getting tired of winter...

cold feet, icy halls...

a heavy heart,
Sick to my stomach.

But at least
no more morning Sickness,

and I'm glad days
are growing longer.

Work's going well.
The Orchids and I get along well.

It's really the good life.

Funny thing when you're alone.

Happy or not,
you behave the same.

Yet I'm very happy.

I've seen Pierre again.
We get along well.

I think of him over my coffee

between my morning swim
and my afternoon at the Center,

alone at noon as usual,
since the kids eat at school.

He stays in Toulon for lunch.

I feel calm and dreamy.

What a lovely month of March.

Hey, can you take me along?

What's your name, kiddo?

Zorro.

That's a great name.

Wanna come along?
- Yes.

So the mom walked out
and left you with the kid?

Yup.

I guess you're an unwed father.

Yeah, you could say that.

Poor little dumpling.

It's okay. We manage.

Little snowball.

When you're almost a mom

You have to think for two

Pregnancy is fleeting

What must one do
for a newborn daughter

So she won't be
at a disadvantage in life?

What must one do
fo educate a son

Before he's born?

When you're almost a mom

You have to think for two

Pregnancy is fleeting

You have to take
the bull by the horns

And the road as it comes,
mile by mile

Make it all up

And don't be afraid

Living in the atomic era

You must educate
the chromosomes

Educate them before they become...

Men!

Pregnancy is fleeting

WHERE ARE YOU?

EXCITING NEWS: PIERRE AND I
ARE GETTING MARRIED.

TENDERLY... SUZANNE

Mom, where are the scissors?

On my dresser.

No, they're by my bed.
For your hair or fingernails?

- I's for Mom's wedding. You'll see.
- Sweetie...

polish your shoes. They need it.

Sailors mean good luck!

Long live the bride!

Look at that beautiful wedding dress.

Let's go.
We look like poor relations.

Like a common-law couple.

- Not common at all.
- And deeply in love.

We look artsy.

- Who cares?
- You don't?

Hardly at all.

I'll get a picture.
Where's my camera?

You have to be in it.

Group pictures look so corny.

You're single?

Yes, with one child
that someone else is raising.

I mustn't have another one.

No need to justify yourself.

I'm a waitress in a restaurant,

so I meet guys from time to time.

Maybe it's time you took the pill.

After I scuttle this one.

- You say “scuttle”?
- Yes.

Mom, I need you
to sign a paper.

I'll be right back.
Elise is right there.

Nice wedding?

Super. Quick and easy.
Sort of incognito.

And Mom had a ball.

- Did you have a party?
- Nothing bourgeois.

We played records and Scrabble.
Real cool.

Anne, come look.

- Why did they get married?
- I don't know.

Maybe for his patients.

To me it seems sort of —

If he's simpatico, okay.

I'd rather just live with a guy.
Anyway, that's still far off.

But no kids before I'm 25.

Where you been?
We've been waiting.

Cool it.
I don't like bossy dames.

Women's Lib rules.

Like it or not, pal.

DOMESTIC HABITS

She works a double shift

Poor Mom

It's exhausting

And underpaid

Friedrich Engels once did say

That in the families of today

The man is the bourgeoisie

And woman is the proletariat

He was right

Papa Engels

He was right

Because at home

Man is the bourgeoisie

And woman is the proletariat

We can think about the problem

And talk with those we love

We can dream about it

And act and make changes

Want something to drink?
I'm thirsty.

No, don't move.

What's wrong?

Marie's not home yet.
She didn't say a word. The nerve!

Let her be.
She needs to have a few secrets.

Why? I've never kept her
from going out.

You're her mom. That's enough.

I'm supposed to let her run wild at 16
and keep my trap shut?

Calm down. Remember what you say
about sexual oppression of the young

and how women must make
their own decisions.

She's taken all that in.
- Sure.

And she's heard tons
about taking the pill.

She might get pregnant out of spite.

She's a smart girl.
Leave her alone.

You think I'm a nag?

No... just a mom.

So you want to be
a Chinese interpreter?

- Maybe.
- What's it depend on?

I never decide in advance.
I want to be sure.

Are you sure right here and now?

Not really.
It's all such a cliché.

Meaning?

A boy, a girl, night, hugs, etc...

- You're a feminist like your mom?
- Yes.

- Seriously?
- Enough not to fall for your schemes.

We're not always scheming.
A lot of times we're for real.

Okay, fine.

- You okay?
- Yeah.

- What are you scared of?
- Okay, I'm scared. Happy now?

Don't be a pain.
You've never slept with a guy?

- Right.
- You want to or not?

- I want to be sure I want to.
- Aren't you free?

When a guy asks a girl that,

it means will she put out
the moment he whistles?

I hate that. Where's the fire?

- Then I'll wait.
- That's right, you will.

If a child

I'm willing to hatch

If one day

We have a hot love-match

[tl] be a child of Love

It be good, it'll be right

We'll reproduce

With passion

But if for reasons
that I hide or show

My love for you
doesn't start a glow

Nor an heir in me

It's because love is sufficient

To both our lives as happy lovers

My body's mine

Bye, Francois. So long, Zorro.

See you soon.

So long, ladies.

Thus the river continued on,
as did their chance acquaintances,

and the tour itself.

Apple wrote new songs

and quietly awaited her second child.

She received
few postcards from Suzanne.

They made her want
fo go see her all the more.

This is Micou and Joélle.

Now we'll sing one called
“The Bubble Woman.”

We put on fake bellies for this,

except this one, which is real.

When you have a big belly,

It always provokes reactions.

Oh, it's good to be a bubble

It's so nice

To be a balloon

A workshop for molecules

A beautiful ovule

A cell factory

A big fat fish

Your song's ambiguous,
you know.

The “right to life” movement
could sing it too.

You even make women
who don't want kids feel guilty.

I'm not saying to have kids.

I say when you're pregnant
you should feel things yourself...

and not listen
to the church or state.

I use various images of woman

to express how I feel in songs.

Oh, it's good to be a fat dream

It's so nice to be a balloon

A green tree filled with sap

A rising loaf of bread

A cookie with a fortune inside

A harvest

It's nice to be a ball

It's beautiful to be a balloon

Like a soft and downy hen

Like flowing milk

Like a pigeon cooing

To her nestling

Oh, it's good to be a woman

It's so nice

To be a balloon

A body of fire and flame

A body and soul

A peaceful body, a deep nest

A song

After the wedding,
Suzanne's life continued at the pool,

the Women's Center, and her home.

- How are you, Mrs. Aubanel?
- Can't one live as she wishes?

Despite the sarcasm
from her leftist daughter,

Suzanne felt comfortable
being married

after so many years
as a social misfit.

She and Pierre opened
a baby swim program.

A marriage too was something
two people made together.

Meanwhile,
Apple gave birth a second time,

in pain and exaltation,
to a girl named Suzanne.

Then she went on tour again
with the Orchids.

They all had fun
raising the baby together.

Apple rolled along, living her life.

When she had
the occasional boyfriend,

she quickly saw if he was
her kind of man... or just a man.

She wasn't about to take up
with some louse.

She lived with the group, yet alone,

alone with little Suzanne,
Darius's gift.

One summer two years later,

for once Suzanne and Apple met

without a tragealy, birth, or panic.

For once it was a vacation
with friends in a big rented house.

They laughed, ate, went walking...

and made music.

And they looked at old photos
they'd brought specially.

They compared pictures
and had discussions.

Apple was proud
of her little Suzanne,

who had lots of aunts
and a few uncles instead of a father.

A true family.

And she dreamed of the day
Darius would also come on vacation,

with Parviz Guillaume
and no doubt a new wife and child.

Apple was still
as optimistic as ever.

- Who's that?
- Papa.

Marie had changed.

She was 17
and had a boyfriend, Theodore,

whom she introduced as
“Theéoduddy, my close buddy.”

Joélle and Micou hadn't changed.

Frangois I, from back in Bobigny,
was now living with Doudou.

He sometimes went along
on their tours.

Zorro, son of Frangois 11,

now “normalized” by school,
still lived with his unwed father.

The were constant companions
auring school vacations.

Marie was a senior
and still wanted to study Chinese.

She also wanted to be
a photographer, like her father.

Apple felt good.

She loved the soft summer twilights
by the lake.

Mathieu had changed.

He was at times very shy,
at times very trusting of Pierre,

who truly suited Suzanne,

a patient and passionate woman.

Pierre was proof she'd made
a success of her life.

All was going well for her... for them.

Suzanne also loved seeing

that Apple was finally happy
and true to herself

after struggling so hard
with herself and others.

Their friendship flowed easily.

True, they were different.

One sang, the other didn't.

But they were alike too.

They d fought to gain
the happiness of being a woman.

Maybe their optimistic struggle
could help others —

like Marie,
who was becoming a woman.

No one thought
it would be easier for her,

but perhaps simpler and clearer...