All language subtitles for Regime sans pain (Raoul Ruiz 1985)

NO BREAD DIET

It was in May 1982.

Yes I know, that's the future.

But I like to think I am in the future.

And truly, I live in the future.

I still remember

that distant spring in 1982

and these amazing flying bicycles,

only relics of the war.

That day I left my office

at the cultural centre of Grenoble.

Grenoble was then the capital.

What an era!

Our rock principality,

was named "Sodome and Gomore"

of social democracy,

and was the only EU country

to impose a Catholic-Laic coexistence,

and allow tobacco consumption.

We were free and happy.

And proud of our prince Jason III,

the most popular and democratic being.

That's why I was in a hurry.

It was a Thursday.

And Jason as usual

was going to host the late TV show.

I knew I wouldn't make it home.

Grenoble was infamous for its traffic.

Fairy tales only appeal to astronauts.

How to ignore them

when they erupt frantically

into your life?

Here he was! Jason!

Walking in the rain.

He looked sad and lost.

But what on earth was he doing?

Escorted by that bunch of thugs?

I was probably wrong.

It couldn't be him.

For years, alliances were unpopular

in our country.

The Prince would talk only on TV.

Yet I was convinced this young dropout

was indeed our ruler,

the same who would address us

on TV tonight.

Yes.

I am the one who reads your letters.

And who anwers them personally.

Don't laugh, it's not always funny.

Actually,

it's a big job.

But it's also enjoyable.

It relieves us.

We feel better.

Our mind wanders,

and we want to... you know what.

Minus 10%? Why?

Did I say something offensive?

That's my voice.

It's my voice, isn't it?

In fact, my old songs repulse you.

They turn you off.

You don't understand English.

It reminds you the Hundred Years War.

In fact that war wasn't really ours.

20% for that?

Let's talk hygiene.

80% against it.

What about sport?

No success.

Sex?

OK! Sex.

Well, you may know it,

I like to undress in front of you all.

Only 43% for it?

I wasn't expecting that.

And I should get cross.

But you are the masters,

and I am only your Prince.

So let's talk about...

... about dead people?

97% for it.

I'll have to show you these pictures,

quite unbearable,

of children diced up

by car accidents.

99%.

Well.

I'm going to accept.

But on one condition.

You're going away this weekend,

aren't you?

All of you.

And you're going to rush!

Well, let's close our eyes together.

Why not now?

I am going to count,

and we'll close our eyes.

100% for it. Yes.

It's marvelous.

I think I'm going to cry.

I'm counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

I can feel

collisions vibrating

faraway.

Yes.

Vibrations of faraway car crashes.

I feel them.

Vibrations of faraway car crashes.

I feel them, yes.

Yes.

Vibrations of distant car crashes.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeees.

That night one counted 100 car crashes.

It went beyond all expectations.

The next day the Prince attended

a Te Deum in Notre Dame de la Salette.

It was grand.

The choir of the road's orphans

sang a few rock motets

composed by the Prince himself.

... Pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Hail Mary full of Grace,

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb,

Jesus.

Holy Mary Mother of God,

Holy Mary Mother of God,

Pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Like most girls from Vercors,

I was in love with Jason III.

Like all the girls my age,

I was waiting restlessly

for the fated death of Jason III

in a few weeks.

So I'd fall in love with Jason IV.

When I exited the cathedral,

I decided to follow him.

I thought he'd be different.

He's like everyone.

Not true.

Or he wouldn't have made it.

No point going through

all this trouble for nothing.

It's stunning!

For me this is total bullshit.

It can happen to anyone.

Precisely.

He's not allowed to be like everyone.

Too unfair!

It's his fault. Let him die.

You're hard with people.

Maybe mademoiselle.

Yet I'm harder with myself.

A few hours later, everyone knew it.

Jason III had given up.

The imminence of his death

in a ritual car crash

had led him to quit power.

A first time in our country.

The beginning of the end.

One said he was fleeing

in the Catholic Migrants zone.

I went to meet him.

I couldn't help it.

I had to do it.

The Catholic suburb

was outside the city's glass wall.

Hence uninhabitable.

Anti-radioactive smoke

allowed its inhabitants to survive

for decades with a throat cancer.

I found him easily.

I wasn't the only one looking for him.

Jason!

Shut up!

Remember!

Shut up!

What a mess!

What does he want?

Do you know them?

No.

Shut up!

Remember!

Fuck your mom!

Shut up! Fuck your mom!

Remember!

Shut up!

I had no idea I was witnessing

Jason III's clinical death.

I still believed in his recovery.

In his return to the throne.

In his imminent transfiguration

through the most glorious, injust,

and cruel road accidents.

How naive was I!

With his portable hypnoscope,

Professor Pi was erasing

Jason III's deep-rooted identity.

His motto and his secret code.

And all his credit cards

recorded inside his teeth.

The next day I found in my office

a message from the Professor

wanting to meet me urgently.

What was left of Jason

was at his place.

Professor...

I like... I don't like.

Still nothing?

I've finished my study.

On a strictly scientific level,

nothing is left of Jason III.

He's now like anyone else,

like you and me.

Are you sure?

Doubt is part of science mademoiselle.

But...

But?

I should have found traces

of himself in his dreams.

Nothing is more secret than a dream.

And then?

Nothing.

His dreams are awfully mundane.

I can't believe that.

Something uniquely 'Jasonian'

should still subsist in his brain.

I can feel it.

Even now.

Professor, I beg you.

Make sure he becomes

our Master again.

It's too late for that.

We've already issued a contest notice.

How do you know that?

We had a census last night.

What was the percentage?

97.34% for it.

What ungratfulness!

I can't blame them, I understand them.

I'm an orphan without him.

In 7 days, you'll have a new leader.

That'll take forever!

That'll take time.

Even for me.

I love walking so much.

You'll get many requests.

No. This is over. I've had it.

But you are the greatest.

You've been coaching all the Princes.

All of them.

But one.

No big deal. It was a woman.

I love women, mademoiselle.

For this position, that'd be grotesque!

Our Prince shoud be neither man

nor woman.

He must be...

Say it.

An angel.

Believe me, that's not the case.

He's got personality.

The devil himself was an angel.

Do something!

No. It's over.

No one will boast of becoming a Prince

through me.

I'm sure you'll do it.

He will fail anyway.

I already told you.

I erased his motto.

Without it, he's no longer himself.

Can he apply for the contest?

He could become Jason IV.

Yes.

The one looking the most like Jason III.

He's Jason III.

Half the job's done.

Nothing is less certain.

Things have changed here.

What counts is not a physical likeness.

The country is full of clones of Jason

that resemble him more than himself.

They have no inner light.

The light has gone out.

I've cut the power off.

I'll never believe this.

I must see it with my own eyes.

As you wish.

I'm warning you.

It's not a pretty sight.

And not an horrible one either.

It's dull, fuzzy,

and stupid.

Show me.

I could see displayed in front of me

the real face of Jason III.

His spirituality,

his intelligence, his nastiness

had vanished behind this sickening mask.

His eyes expressed

the endless desert of human idiocy.

His orphan smile exhibited

the immutable white of his teeth,

cleared of all documents

essential for survival.

His grimaces mimicked the victim praying

when thrown to the mercy

of giant ants in the toxic suburbs.

Jason III was dead.

Worse than dead.

The Professor had not wasted his time,

having made the death mask

that will add to the other masks

in the atrium of our rock Pantheon.

That's what is left of his prior life.

We could try the mimic test.

What's that?

We burn a few spots in the hypothalamus.

He may mime his dreams.

It is a bit risky.

Do it.

I thought you loved him.

I love Jason III and my country.

I love rock.

Not this liveless meat!

You're tough.

It's my way to reach total bliss.

The Professor set himself at work,

trying everything.

Toxic shock.

Tobacco therapy.

Anti-rock tunes.

Radioactive insulin.

Semantic therapy.

Something's happening to him.

He is shedding his skin.

Again?

How old is he?

More than 20 years old. It's surprising.

He'll always remain a child.

He's Jason III for sure.

Make a better Jason IV out of him!

I'll answer you tomorrow.

Thanks Professor. You're a good patriot.

Yes. But I hate rock.

I only like Italian songs.

After a few weeks,

Jason was almost a normal being.

He was like a northern immigrant

in search of a residence card.

He was spending his time watching TV

and biting his nails avidly.

What's this bullshit?

He's a Prince.

Prince of what?

A Prince or a worker?

I can't remember.

He's a blue-collar Prince.

Or a car maker.

Well. Ready?

Wait. He's going to kill himself.

Yes?

He doesn't look like it.

Although in Germany...

I love German TV.

It's so much more visceral.

Yeah?

What is that idiot telling us?

I have no idea.

But I love the sound of German.

Do you want to eat something?

OK.

A quarter of a half of a whole slice.

Thank you.

Well I'm fucking hungry.

I'm not hungry.

One Kraut less!

Let's celebrate it!

I'm no longer hungry or thirsty.

I'm not surprised.

Given that crap you're watching on TV.

Yuck!

That's disgusting!

Yes. It's a bit slow.

But still very powerful.

I hate these time-outs.

The Professor applied

for the competition.

A few days later,

we saw a new Jason on TV.

A week after his first reappearance,

Jason was among the 1200 candidates

voted in by the 10 000 electors.

That's when he decided to run away.

Hey Ja-Ja.

Who calls me like that?

You don't know me but I do know you.

I'm one of the 10 000.

Ah!

I'm one of the 10 000.

I 'm watching you and following you.

When I saw you passing by my place,

I also saw a chance to meet you.

You see?

After all,

I have control over your destiny.

I had to make a delivery anyway.

What delivery?

Not much today.

Have a look.

You're doing child trafficking.

Well, some people like them.

That's how people are.

They don't make children, they buy them.

Don't tell me you like that.

You'd lose points.

They look happy.

It's dismal to be happy these days.

May I tell you something Ja-Ja?

You're too sentimental.

You need a woman.

Not to marry.

I'm against it.

Neither to live with.

But..

For a one-night stand?

Just one.

Maybe not even a night.

Some time.

Some lovely time.

You may be right.

Of course I am.

Why not the tall one?

She is near us and loves you.

Come.

Good night.

Good night.

Is that all you can say?

What do you want me to say?

For example, could you say

'Good night darling'.

In the old days, I could.

Right now...

I'm only the reflection of who I was.

Let's go.

Wait a little bit.

She's still here.

Is it her?

Yes.

My husband made that.

With what?

With crosswords.

That's the old method.

Still working, you know.

You'll see.

Shall we go?

Nice place.

It's not my place.

It's my workshop.

It's a place to work.

Do you like to work?

Don't be wrong about me.

I'm a literary person.

It's quite obvious.

You're fast.

No. That's not me.

That's my husband.

It's horrible.

I quite prefer dolls.

Your old clients, do they like it?

Sometimes.

When they are literary ones.

I'm turned on.

Me too, I'm on fire.

In what way?

You're too fast.

I'm a mover.

Me too.

Do you want me to turn around?

Which direction?

Do you have a preference?

I like everything.

OK.

Sit down.

Do you want to see?

Show me.

I love pretenses.

You mean double talk?

You know,

they're able to turn.

Not like you.

My husband set them up.

Hello darlings.

Good night.

Do you want a striptease?

Striptease?

That must be a lot of work.

My husband is a handyman.

My name's Lola.

My name's Lily.

My name's Laini.

My name's Lyla.

My name's Lavo.

You should have picked names...

more literary.

Yes.

As you wish darling.

Have a try.

Who's named "Madame Bovary"?

That's me!

Do you still want another mean thing?

Why still?

Because I'm a very literary one.

I'm not following you here.

When it comes, I bite.

I feel like I have fallen into a trap.

Adorable.

A trap...

...is always...

...adorable.

My name's Lola.

My name's Lily.

My name's Lali.

My name's Lina.

Who's named "Madame Bovary"?

That's me.

Again!

Back to work!

I'm sick of following you around.

You're at your lowest on TV.

Where is that girl now?

She was only a reflection.

I understand.

She couldn't rotate like earth then.

Come on.

Where am I?

Somewhere.

Here.

What's happening here?

There? It is only a reflection.

I see.

That's why I'm unable to get tired.

That's normal.

You have no gravity.

Shit! Where am I?

Somewhere.

Mostly?

Well, you're there.

Hit by all these girls.

Farewell to you,

reflection!

You won't believe me.

This fugue had a positive effect

on the 10 000 electors.

They loved it.

He joined the list of favorites.

He was among the first 500 candidates.

I naively thought

nothing would stop his rise to power.

But a cruel deception awaited me.

One weekend, the Professor called me.

It's a failure.

And I'm delighted.

Is there nothing left to do?

No, as far as I'm concerned.

He refuses to become Jason IV.

You won't dump him just like that?

He gave up.

So we should use other means.

What do you mean?

Unscientific methods.

Are you religious?

Yes, but I'm not a Catholic.

Jason is religious too.

I saw him at the church yesterday.

I know, I was there too.

It shows he has a spiritual life.

He could still become an angel.

I know a way.

Really?

Yes, Professor. I do.

Me, a bare librarian!

May we know by which mean?

You must know it.

This method is illegal.

A method neither Catholic nor Laic?

Neither Capilalist nor Marxist.

It is a method that doesn't exist then.

Or out of the world.

Yes, in a way.

I found it in a half-burned book.

An esoteric book.

I thought you were Laic.

I am a non-smoker Laic.

To a certain extent.

What is that book?

An Eastern esoteric book.

The title is "Building a Character".

From a certain Stanislavski.

Here it is.

I found out later that the Professor

had spent sleepless nights trying

to decipher the enigmatic verses

of the Eastern text.

He gave up the book and reopened it

a thousand times.

A week after, he was the only man

to have captured the very meaning

of Stanislavski's thoughts.

He understood

that this book was the only one

to help Jason's mutation.

It was possible to restore the soul

of the late Jason III.

It had to be done in phases.

Firstly,

he needed a Prince's costume.

They spent a week in the wardrobe

of the American hospital.

How did those people die?

Mostly of flu or cancer.

No leprosy?

In your dreams! None of that here.

This place sucks.

Come here. There's a mirror.

Madrid is a city

which is delightful.

Seville

is a city

which is delightful.

New York is a city,

its shape is delightful.

If we live

in Paris,

its flavour is very subtle.

There's nothing but junk here.

Nothing here.

This fucking country is falling apart.

You're right.

Whose fault is it?

Have a guess.

We can't go on like this.

Nothing left to wear.

More people have to die.

It smells like rotting flesh.

It's all in your head.

Don't you smell anything?

Yes. Curry maybe.

My arse!

Shit!

Not that word, it's bad luck!

That's this detergent!

I got an idea. Let's go to the morgue.

Will it make a difference?

Costumes on corpses

will inspire us.

It may be more lively!

More powerful!

You got a chance to become Jason IV.

What?

The real Jason IV.

The one looking the most like Jason III.

I know this one. He's an idiot.

With a tie that makes you dream.

Watch your words.

Could Jason have said that?

He just did.

Don't use paradox.

I never do.

As you say.

You've lost me.

It's not about following me.

But following yourself. Shit!

Don't say "shit".

I didn't say "shit".

Hit!

Shit!

Pay for that!

I'll deduct it from my expenses.

Have you chosen?

Not yet.

Should I choose for you?

No, thank you.

I have something to show you.

We've seen everything.

We may have seen it all,

but this thing is outstanding.

Look!

I know.

It's a pair of trousers.

More than that, sir.

I challenge you to find

such a maceration of spots

where the gooey doesn't prevail

over stacked bones.

Where else could we find

a trouser's fabric suggesting so well

the total crushing of its legs?

Take a look.

And please, yell!

Not sure where

the trousers start and the legs end.

Take a look.

Look! I beg you.

His pair of protective glasses

are wrapped in a tissue

filled with endless snots

and loaded with magma.

This massive sputum

is still bubbling with scum.

Look at these pleats!

You like the full-lenght type.

I have a feel for cadaver.

But you suck at costumes.

Sir.

Since I was in diapers

I've had a keen sense of

the cutting technique.

Provided it is a fleshy one.

Do you know that your pedantry

is as flat as a pancake?

Choose your weapon.

Your citizens are idiots.

As if we could choose our weapon.

Choose you weapon, I said.

Let's joust.

Bravo.

Almost.

Don't worry, you'll get him.

You're saying this to cheer me up.

It's more exciting

than two turtles colliding.

Really?

And what else?

More exciting

than frogmen dancing.

That's not funny.

Less funny than cows galloping

while having a crap.

That's heavy.

Heavy like a lentil sorbet?

That's nauseating.

Yuckier than a decapitated fly.

You're a weirdo.

A weirdo good at fencing.

Hit!

I've been wounded

as high as my forehead.

Blood is running,

excluding a new confrontation.

Pay!

Can I make you a cheque?

We do not accept cheques.

I mortgaged my car

to pay for my dentist fees.

Look.

I had an incisor removed.

Who cares. Pay!

Can I pay you another way?

If you like fine cuisine,

I have a unique collection of pasta,

some from a newborn baby.

I can also touch you if you like it.

That's all?

I could also expose myself,

in front of you.

That's mad. He doesn't want to pay.

When you lose, you pay.

I'm sorry, that's all I have.

I know a few who'd have enjoyed

my generosity.

Pay now or I'll smash your face.

That is not an option.

You always hit the cheekbone.

Can't you hit elsewhere?

My honour is at stake,

I must hit the left cheekbone,

and nowhere else.

Wherever you want.

Whenever you want.

That feels nice to go for a walk,

just as before.

Don't worry, it's allright.

You should practice boxing a bit more.

Look. An accident.

Here it is.

It's done.

The costume.

You really like it?

I find it ridiculous.

The costume.

Now we'd have to reinvent

a Jasonian way of talking and singing.

It's amazing.

It makes me want to smoke again.

The Professor remembered

a childhood friend.

An astronaut.

He became a monk after watching

Virgin Mary orbiting.

I'm looking for actors.

I mean human beings.

They're no more part of our school.

We also have expelled

most of the animals.

That's better.

We understand each other Father.

The purpose for our visit is special.

You're coming for elocution lessons.

No.

We'd like to see you operating.

You're the only ones to use the method.

Who told you that?

Truth will always out, Father.

Well, that's false.

Since a few years

we've stopped practising the method.

I'd add that

one must deny the method

to find the true path.

We only believe in automatic methods.

Yes I know.

The Gildas Methods.

I see you are aware of everything.

Science and Religion

have many things in common, Father.

Now,

what led you to visit us

may be more than a scientific interest?

I must confess we are looking for

a method to be successful.

One must be loved

to become a Prince.

For that a Prince needs two things.

A heart-warming motto

and a talent to sing.

But he has already been a Prince.

Yes.

But he has lost his motto and his voice.

So he can no longer sing?

Don't you have a Method

to teach singing?

Yes. The Dog and the Parrot.

You have the power to give a musical ear

to all human beings.

I fear our Father Superior won't accept

a student of the human race.

Father, my disciple is not just anyone.

Keep in mind you're in the Laic zone

and still have problems

with the Authorities.

Is this a threat?

Just an observation.

Please wait.

These priests may be stupid.

But they are the last ones

to concentrate on rhythm.

They are performing Swing.

Here's Father Superior.

My son.

Come here.

Don't move.

Yes.

There is still music here.

Let's make a chain.

The bedroom and the bed...

Tuesday is my day...

She's the most sensible whore...

The rhythm is good,

but is separated from the body.

It is here...

....and it is not here.

It hasn't got a tongue.

But it does exist!

What are they saying?

It looks like a motto.

The fire will protect me.

It makes no sense.

I found this costume in the fire.

It will protect me.

You're going too fast.

I have to.

It's for my own...

...pleasure.

That's good.

It's for my own

pleasure.

Yes.

It's for my own pleasure.

That's right.

It's for my own

PLEA-.

-SURE.

Good evening.

Are you sure you know what you want?

I'm sorry.

I didn't expect you to look like this.

Really?

Are you sure

we haven't seen each other before?

You seem familiar.

You're French, aren't you?

Not at all.

Uh, that could be a problem.

We only serve French customers.

Are you sure you want this table

and not another one?

Why another one?

Because there is a young Italian girl

at the next table

who can say cuore...

beautifully.

Listen.

I chose this table,

I sat down,

and I'm staying here.

Well, that's annoying.

You see, here we are carrying out...

research.

Why not?

After all, I'm not in any rush.

But I'm telling you.

Once it starts, it won't stop.

Let's start.

Listen, that's annoying.

You're certain you're not French?

I'm sure I'm not.

You're not English either?

I hate them.

No, I'm from Vercors.

So you're French.

No.

Well.

Let's go then.

We are in 1882.

Paris.

During the post Napoleon III era.

Let's follow our friend Charles.

Charles is meeting

a marvellous woman

named Odette de Crecy

whom he meets

in Madame and Monsieur Verdurin's salon.

Both brilliant representatives

of a France having fun,

getting entertained and pondering,

while a crowd is revolving around her.

A crowd of artists.

Painters.

Musicians.

Like this famous musician

who is a real master

when it comes to interpreting

Vinteuil sonata.

Charles Swann

is first of all seduced

by Odette de Crecy

whom he meets unexpectedly

at Mr and Mrs Verturin,

while listening to this music.

At first there is no evidence that

both of these individuals would meet.

Then crazy weeks of intense love

will take hold of Charles Swann

and also Odette.

Yet as every flower ceases one day

to release its perfumes,

this love will darken suddenly.

Weeks are going by.

Nonetheless, their relation continued.

But Charles becomes distant

and unable to live fully

his emotional relationship with Odette.

Then he gradually returnes

to his aristocratic life.

By meeting with the Princesse Mathilde,

with the Princesse des Laumes,

with Mme de Saint-Euverte,

Charles Swann progressively

re-emerges in the previous life

he had cut himself from.

Little by little he learns

how to move away from Odette.

Unfortunately one more suspicion

arouses Charles's jealousy

who one day receives a letter,

an anonymous letter,

a blackmail note,

disclosing the wicked life

of Odette.

A life of scandals and intrigues,

of lechery and sex.

The most despicable suspicions

start growing inside him

regarding his mistress's

sexual behavior.

Come.

Why did you do that?

Because.

Come.

But I love In Search of Lost Time

People hates it.

You'll lose points.

No one knows I'm here.

You're live on all channels tonight.

Is that so?

It's over for me then.

How do you know?

Come and stop arguing.

It's too bad.

He was about to finish.

How does it end?

I'm not into that crap.

Come on.

Let's work on your character.

This one is long gone.

That's normal.

He feels you've left him out.

What a drag!

It's late.

Like a thousand hours.

In the dark.

Is this your quack-quack?

Or is it the tic-tac of the tale?

In this jungle,

who really knows

who among us monkeys

will speak the best?

It's getting late.

It's 1:00 am.

Still plenty of time

for making a trophy.

At night,

people have been dying.

Unless it's the illusion of the tale.

In this jungle...

We've been looking for you!

You got me.

What're you doing here?

I like to know what's coming.

My destiny.

My future.

It's not that bad.

Actually Jason,

looking for your future

in the lungs of a leper,

it's not very scientific.

Well, I find that beautiful.

I'm getting caught by the shapes.

I like that.

That's not a very good omen.

What's that?

If I were you I'd be careful.

Looks Hebrew to me.

Or Greek.

It's Hebrew, I think.

What's that?

Yes, that's odd.

It's coming back.

Viscous formation on the right.

That's really strange.

What does that mean?

On the left, it seems that

an odd cloud is forming.

It's coming back again.

It's starting from the centre

and takes off like a star.

Well.

I never expected it'd turn out this way.

Nothing we can do.

It's getting late.

Like a thousand hours.

In the dark.

Is this your quack-quack?

Or is it the tic-tac of the tale?

In this jungle,

who really knows

who among us monkeys

will speak the best?

It's getting late.

It's 1:00 am.

There's still time

for making a trophy.

At night,

people have been dying,

unless it's the illusion of the tale.

In this jungle,

who really knows

who among us monkeys

will speak the best?

Let's stop the killing.

I know the story quite well.

Hunting unicorns

always goes wrong.

He will never make it.

Weeks passed.

Too quickly, too slowly.

Jason was among the last ten candidates.

For sure, he'd win.

We got used to his runaways.

He got chosen because of them.

His non-accountability became famous.

The whole city was talking about him.

Then he commited the fatal act.

You're charming, Sir.

It was nice of you

to walk me here.

Times are getting tough.

I used to have a charming

and powerful smile.

Thanks to my family's wealth,

I got my credit cards transplants,

a double citizenship,

a world pass,

an illimited show pass.

And I fell in love

with a so called deaf-mute

who in reality,

was able to express himself

quite well,

even with style.

Is this your husband?

Why?

Is he here?

You see, he never says hello.

He's lying, I suppose?

No.

At the least, is he looking at us?

No.

Not even.

That's what I was telling you.

Please seat down.

Do you want a drink?

No, thanks.

Are you still here?

Yes.

What are you doing?

I'm looking at your husband.

He looks sad.

He's a bit arrogant but I love him.

He never goes out.

He says that...

...he has nothing to wear.

He looks like me.

Do you think so?

You're nicer.

That's true, I'm very nice.

What's happening?

He wants to come closer.

He wants to look at my costume.

He seems to like it.

I doubt it.

He refuses to wear whatever I buy him.

He seems to really like it.

That's a miracle. How much does it cost?

It's not mine.

I took it off a dead body.

A dead body?

In a road accident.

That explains everything.

Everything?

Let me touch it.

It's the same costume.

His twin brother died tragically.

He had a great taste to dress up.

What a coincidence!

Please Sir!

How much do you want for this costume?

Since it's yours, I'm giving it back.

Tomorrow I'm elected Prince

and I'll make an exact copy of it.

But it won't have belonged

to a dead man.

That's true.

I no more believe

in the erotic virtue

of ill-timed carrion.

I wish I'd known you before I married.

You are my type.

Charity is not always popular.

Giving away your costume

is a nice gesture

when coming from you or me.

Coming from him, it was not acceptable.

How could we trust him?

How to accept

being ruled by a dull Prince

free of malice and partiality?

It was denying the foundations

of any rock-society.

It was Jason's downfall.

Whoa!...

The contest's result complied

with our rock-society.

The winner was the one

who could wear the Prince's suit

with enough class and nonchalance.

I told you.

He's weak.

He's a coward.

We were flabbergasted.

It wasn't Stanislavski

who got Jason elected,

but a costume

found by chance

in a car on fire.

There were no rules

for becoming a Prince.

No knowledge was necessary.

The next day, Professor Pi retired.

He's very kind and loves children.

I am proud of him,

as he wasn't like that before.

Do you know him?

Yes!

For long?

For ever.

I see, you're my rival.

Not really.

You may hate me.

I hate and love no one.

For a long time

I've been feeling tired and sick.

Poor thing, let me guess.

Your credit cards have been cancelled.

My smile still opens all the doors.

That's why he didn't marry you!

He's disinterested.

The day after my husband's crowning

he decided to marry me.

He loves penniless women.

He should be thrilled by now.

Why?

It's today.

Today is the big day.

That's right.

He doesn't remember.

He's no more interested in that.

He's beyond all ambition.

Do inject him the taste of grandeur.

Women must explain to men of genius

what is their destiny.

Listen Madame.

Today your ex-husband will die

in a ritual car accident.

Tomorrow, we'll call candidates

for a Prince's position.

Do you believe what you're saying?

The car will crash in a few minutes.

Pity we don't have TV.

Jason must be a Prince again

and become Jason V.

Here it is.

5 pm.

Jason IV just died in a car crash.

Here comes Jason V.

My God!

What's happening?

He just killed himself.

I hope not with the children!

Alas yes!

Alas.

Alas.

It's only after Jason's suicide

that I understood it all.

He wasn't afraid of death.

By killing himself in tribute

to the Prince dead in the car crash,

Jason was showing

how high he rated the role of a Prince.

What a counterexample to vanity!