All language subtitles for 2000 Les glaneurs et la glaneuse Agnes Varda

THE GLEANERS AND I

G as in “gleaming.”

To glean is to gather
after the harvest.

A gleaner is one who gleans.

In days past, only women gleaned,

and Millet's famous gleaners
were reproduced in dictionaries.

The original painting is at the Orsay.

Gleaning is the spirit of years past.

My mother would say...

“Pick up what's left
so nothings wasted.”

But sadly we no longer do,

because machines
are so efficient nowadays.

But I used to glean before,

together with my neighbors,

for wheat and rice.

I would put on my big apron...

and we'd glean
beautiful ears of wheat.

A whole day in the sun,
with gnats and mosquitoes,

can be unpleasant.

But we enjoyed it.

At night we were exhausted.

Once home
with our bags and aprons,

we 'o' have a good time laughing
together over coffee.

I was born in that farmhouse,
and I'll die there too.

But not quite yet!
We'll let you go. Thanks.

Thank you too.

I've forgotten what I was doing...

Yes, I've always gleaned.

I remember going with my grandmother
and my brothers and sisters.

People gleaned during the war
because there was no food.

They'd pound the grain
to make flour for bread.

We no longer glean for food.

There are still a few gleaners,
like for corn.

Gleaning may belong to another era,

but the posture hasn't vanished
from our sated society.

Urban and rural gleaners
bend down to gather up.

There's no shame, just worries.

Yeah, food, grub

It's bad, sad, man

To bend down is not to beg

But when I see them that way,
my heart hurts!

Eating that scrap-crap

Forced to live on shit-bits

They've got to frisk for tidbits

Left on the street, leftovers

Rough stuff with no owners

Picking up trash
like the street cleaner

Zero for us, for them much better

They've got to roam around
to kill the hunger

It's always been the same pain,
will always be the same game

In town and country today,
just like in yesteryear,

gleaners still humbly stoop down.

But it's not just women anymore.

It's men too.

What struck me is how each person
gleans on their own.

In old paintings...

they were always in clusters,
rarely alone.

But there is
one famous solitary gleaner

in a painting by Jules Breton,
now in the museum in Arras.

We set out north on the highway.

There were lots of big trucks,
but I'll come back to that.

Arriving in Arras...

we saw the square, the museum,

and Breton's La Glaneuse.

Included among the gleaners
in the title of this film... is me.

I'm happy to drop
the ears of wheat

and pick up my camera.

These new little digital cameras
are fantastic.

Their effects are stroboscopic...

narcissistic...

even hyperrealistic.

No, it's not “Oh, rage!”

It's not “Oh, despair!”

It's not “Old age, my enemy!”

It might even be
“Old age, my friend.”

Still, my hair and my hands

keep telling me the end is near.

Anyway, for now
we're headed for Beauce.

It's renowned for its wheat,
but the harvest is over.

So we'll focus
on potato gleaning instead.

Destalking the potato fields
leaves furrows and mounds

ready for the harvesting machine.

Once the harvest is over,

we can glean the whole field.

Since this morning, I've collected
a full 250 pounds by myself.

And these are the good ones
you eat with herring.

Lots of restaurants buy them.

Some people are quite pleased
when the machine malfunctions.

There are lots left here.

The tractor plows too deep
and gets stuck.

So they lift the machine up,
leaving the potatoes below.

So gleaners have a field day?

Definitely.

The owners don't give a damn,

as long as there's nothing left.

Less work for them.
- But they have to be sorted.

In supermarkets,
firm potatoes are sold

in containers of 5 1/2 to 11 pounds.

Those have to be
of a specific dimension,

a specific size.

We dump anything larger.

The potato harvest averages
4,500 tons per season.

About 25 tons...

are rejected and thrown away.

We followed the path
of those rejects back to the fields.

We dump all those
that are oversized, green,

cut or damaged.

They can't be sold.

To the trade, we sell potatoes

within a range
of two to three inches.

Anything bigger
is automatically thrown away.

Potatoes are
a staple for lots of people,

and because large quantities
of potatoes are dumped,

the practice of gleaning
has reappeared.

People follow the trucks
and wait nearby.

We followed the trucks
but didn't see anyone,

except one man
who may have been tipped off.

But we never saw signs
in villages saying...

“We'll be dumping here next week.”

People know that potatoes
left in the fields

quickly turn green
and are dangerous to eat.

Sometimes it's children
who give the signal.

We found a big one here!

Monday, potatoes

Tuesday, potatoes

Wednesday, potatoes again

Thursday, potatoes

Friday, potatoes

Saturday, potatoes again

Sunday, it's potatoes au gratin

I've gathered...

200 or 300 pounds.

You find really large ones
among the discards.

We leave the damaged ones.

And we take the bigger ones
over the smaller ones.

Some are misshapen.
Heart-shaped.

I want the heart!

I was pleased.

I immediately filmed them up close.

With one hand I shakily filmed

my other hand
gleaning heart-shaped potatoes.

I brought some home with me.

I had another look
and filmed them again.

Then it came to me:
the Good Heart Charity Meals.

Why not organize an expedition

on the day
potatoes are to be dumped?

When I think
of all the food gone bad

It makes me mad

If you've been kicked out
and you're down and out

Then you need food for nought

I come gather a few
for me and my kids.

We gather them together.

I joined Charity Meals
because I was unemployed,

though I expect to start
a training position soon.

Meanwhile,
instead of doing nothing,

I'd rather come help people
in dire straits.

I'm a single mother.

I get food from the Red Cross
and Charity Meals.

When I see all this go to waste

while some people
have nothing to eat,

it's really disgraceful.

They collected
almost 700 pounds that day.

That's something at least.

A while later,
in almost the same spot,

we saw a man approach.

I went over to him and asked

how much he thought there was.

Almost a ton,
adding all the mounds together.

A ton of potatoes wasted.

Same thing with cauliflowers,

and fruit and vegetables
in other regions.

But this is potato country,
so we take what we find.

We're better off gathering
in the fields than shoplifting.

It's the same for other people.
I'm not alone.

You get by as best you can.

We gather potatoes.
We rummage in trash cans.

That keeps me going for now.

But it's a hard life.

And the year 2000 is coming.
Great, huh?

I'm off with my 70 pounds.

There are several tons left
that people could gather,

but they don't know about it.

That's how it is.

They're hoboes living in trailers.

We're always moving.
They're different from us.

It has to be cut up
for the scrap dealer.

But we have no tools or electricity.

Just candles.

What do you do for water?

Water is all we have here.
It's over there.

That's our tap.

- What if it freezes?
- If it freezes...

we wrap the pipe in padding
or let it drip slightly

so it doesn't freeze
when it gets really cold.

Like last year,
when it got to 10 below.

But you get used to it.

You seem to like beer.

I drink anything.

How many beers is that?

I drink a pack a day.

- What?
- A pack of 24 a day.

Or even 32.

Tell me what happened to you.

Did you have a house before?

Yeah, I had a job.

I worked impossible hours,

21 or 22 hours a day.

- Were you a trucker?
- Yeah.

I drove big oversized loads.

Then one day the cops stopped me
and tested my breath.

I lost my job.

Then my wife left
and took the three kids.

It all went downhill from there.

Divorce, everything?

Yes. I haven't seen my kids
in almost two years.

They're 500 miles away.

I can't go see them.

I have no car and no license.

- That's terrible.
- Yeah, it is.

I think of them every single day.

Here comes Guilène.

She'll tell you everything.

Did you know that once
they've harvested the potatoes,

you're allowed to take the discards?
- No.

You didn't know?

- It's not allowed.
- Yes, iris.

I want you to listen to this:

Why did the mayor put us here —
I've been here four years —

and now he wants us to leave?

He says he's fed up
with itinerants,

but I want to stay here.

I had an apartment,
but it cost too much.

Her first trailer
cost her 2,000 francs.

And the most recent,

where I'm living at the moment,
200 francs.

We met when I was working
in a cafe' as a cleaning woman.

That's how we met.

While the welfare money lasts, fine.

After that
you have to get by somehow.

We have to panhandle...

and rummage through the trash.

We find food in the garbage.

Decent food?

Yes, we find good food...

that could still be sold in stores.

But they have to keep
turning over their inventory.

That's to our advantage.
It's lucky for us.

But we have to comb
through garbage cans all over

to salvage stuff.

For soup.

My bouquet of flowers!

- Another cucumber.
- There's plenty.

This came from the trash.

The expiration date is 11/29,
two days ago.

One day ago.

It's still good
for another week or so.

There's some fish up there
that I salvaged.

It's good till 12/24.

We found it in the trash.

We're not afraid
to get our hands dirty.

You can always wash your hands.

Guys, the new appetizer

is lamb kidney
in a chicory root sauce

with a potato fritter...

and nut soup with anise...

and mushroom puree with truffle oil.

As I watched all this cooking,

I asked the chef
if there were lots of leftovers

and what he did with them.

We try not to waste anything.

With the leftover lentils
we make soup.

We mince the greens
into a gratin.

We use the meat bones for stock
and the fish bones for sauce.

We don't usually throw
anything away.

You have to be economical.

If I had to buy all the herbs
I pick daily in the hills —

A small bunch of savory
costs eight francs,

and we use 20 per day.

We'd be spending
a fortune on herbs.

And I love picking them.

This nice, inventive,
and thrifty chef

offers a tasting menu
for 600 francs.

Edouard Loubet
is the youngest French chef

to earn two stars
in the Michelin guide,

now called the Red Guide.

I Surprisingly enough,
Edouard is also a born gleaner,

or rather a born picker.

With his hat and shirt and basket,

he looks like a Provençal figurine.

Don't step on the apples!

We take what
the farmers leave behind,

or we pick the ripe fruit
off the trees.

That's the best stuff around

for making good spirits
or good fruit jelly.

I don't let anything get past me.

How come you pick leftovers?
You're a chef.

First, because
my grandparents taught me to

along fields and roads.

And this way I know what I'm getting

and where it came from.

I don't want three-week-old
refrigerated produce

picked green and trucked from Italy

and sold when someone
feels like saying it's ripe.

Since we're talking
grapes and wine...

we might as well visit
a wine region.

We're off to Burgundy.

On the highway
there are lots of trucks,

the kind we loved
when we were kids.

We pass by them, gaze at them.

This big rig
hauling cars passes us.

As does a second.

Now it's our turn
to pass the second one,

but we have trouble
overtaking the first.

It's like a child's game.

We're arriving in Burgundy.

For me,
Beaune is the old almshouse

and the magnificent painting
by Van der Weyden,

The Last Judgment.

The archangel Michael weighs
and judges the deeds of the dead.

Those to be resurrected
weigh lightly on the scale.

Those who are to suffer in hell
weigh heavily.

The grape harvest is over,
yet there's no one in sight.

Why?

If you want your wine
to be ranked as vintage,

your yearly production is limited,

meaning you can only produce

a certain quota per plot.

I didn't hear much
about “pickers” growing up.

Wine growers have always
fended off all that,

because if you let people
come pick grapes from your vines,

how can you be sure

they won't do so on a large scale?

So these vintage vines
have been completely harvested,

but due to quotas,

the surplus has been
deliberately left on the ground.

There it just dries up,
a loss for everyone.

It's a way to protect
our profession and capital.

What you see here
are second-generation grapes,

called “verjuice” or “conscripts,”

depending on the area.

- Conscripts.
- Like soldiers?

Exactly.

Some people pick them.

Being a second harvest,
it yields a lesser-quality wine,

called “pickers' wine.”

- Will it taste like Pommard?
- No, not at all

It's a cheap table wine.

The vintage wine region
isn't a good one for grape picking.

Grape picking
is against the law in Burgundy

as of three or four years ago.

It's sad, but that's the way it is.

Gleaning was a lovely activity.

“Just as one sees
the gleaner walking along,

gathering what
the harvesters left behind...”

You know those lines?
- Du Bellay, right?

Yes.

Impressive!
You know it by heart!

I took over my father's estate.

From grape to bottle...

I'm the only master on board.

I have no cellarman.

Nadine and I choose the best blends
for our vintage output.

- You choose together?
- We do.

Jean Laplanche, avid winegrower,

has another profession too:
psychoanalysis.

I'm a practicing analyst,
but above all I'm a theoretician,

or rather a philosopher of therapy.

In what particular school?

What distinguishes me
is that I have tried to integrate

into man's psyche

the Other above the Ego.

I developed an anti-ego philosophy,

a philosophy that shows
how man first originates

in the Other.

How does he manage
his double life?

Very well.

He's an intelligent man.
And modest too.

It keeps me going.

Isn't it a bit daunting?

The fact he's a psychoanalyst
and a winegrower?

No, I underwent analysis
to help me understand.

- Not with him!
- No, with Lacan.

- A long time ago.
- I was very young.

In the year 2000
we'll have been married 50 years.

Tell me how you met.

Like most people:
at a local dance.

Your first kiss!

No one's interested in that!

I have to explain something

the whole world should know about.

When I met him,
it was like a flash of lightning.

The way he was dressed,
I couldn't possibly miss him!

He had a red cap on — honest!

He was just back from the Riviera.

He was wearing a red cotton cap...

a green shirt...

mustard-yellow pants...

rope espadrilles —

Yellow espadrilles.

And a multicolored belt.

I couldn't possibly miss him!

And how was she dressed?

I can't remember.
Same old story, huh?

But it wasn't
a lightning bolt for me.

That came later.

I know — bad man!

Is that true, Huguette?

- I can't speak for him.
- It's true.

This is Laurent, my son.

I'm not sure he's a gleaner.

I thought she said “Glanum.”

That's why I mentioned Saint-Rémy,
where Glanum is.

I've never gleaned.

“Gleaning” is very different
from “picking.”

I've done picking.

Explain the difference.

You “pick” what hangs down,

but you “glean”
what grows up out of the earth.

Like grain. It's different.

Olives and grains are different.

And almonds.

Figs too. People make fig jam.

You pick figs.

Look at these marvels of nature.

What plump beauties!

Fruit from heaven!

I half feel like saying
something to the owners.

But it's none of our business.
It's their fruit.

This one's almost pure alcohol.
I'm gonna be tipsy.

Anyway, lots of people are stingy.

They don't allow gleaning.

They just don't feel
like being nice.

There's a lot left here.

The harvest is over.

They're no good for eating?

For eating, yes,
but not for candied fruit.

Do you allow people
to come gather them?

No. I'm not the owner,

but so far it's never been allowed.

The cabbage harvest is over.

Only a few cabbages
are left here and there.

Those can be gleaned

with absolute impunity

by gleaners from the Avignon area.

Beautiful tomatoes.

The machine couldn't pick
what lay too low.

All these tomatoes —

as red as my bible,
the Penal Code —

can be gleaned.

It's not me who says so.

It's Penal Code article R-26.10.

“Gleaning is allowed
from sunup till sundown.”

First condition.

The second condition

is that gleaning take place
after the regular harvest.

Here the harvest is clearly over.

Perusing some old law texts,

I came across a decree,
or rather an edict,

dated November 2, 1554,

which said exactly
the same as today's laws.

It authorized the poor, the wretched,
and the underprivileged

to go into the fields
once the harvest is over.

The old texts spoke
of the poor and destitute.

But what to make of those
who want for nothing

and glean for pleasure?

They lack a type of sustenance too.

If they glean for pleasure,
they lack a certain pleasure.

So if the conditions
and hours are respected,

they can glean
like the poor once did.

- Thank you, Counselor.
- I'll just stroll among the cabbages.

And I'll stroll with my little camera
among the colored cabbages

and film other vegetables
that catch my eye.

There's no law governing
this type of gleaning —

of images, impressions, emotions.

And “gleaning” in the dictionary
has a figurative meaning as well:

to glean facts, actions,
and information.

And for forgetful me,

what I've gleaned
tells me where I've been.

From Japan I brought back
souvenirs I'd gleaned.

I'm back home.
The cats are here.

There's mail.

One plant died.
The others didn't.

I look at the leak
in the ceiling and the mold.

I got used to it.

I actually like it.

It's like a landscape
or an abstract painting...

a Tàpies...

a Guo-Qiang...

a Borderie.

There's water dripping.

I open my suitcase.

This was amazing.

In a department store in Tokyo,

on the top floor,

there were actual Rembrandt originals.

Saskia up close.

Then there's my hand up close.

This is what this project is about:

filming one hand with the other.

To enter into the horror of it.
I find it extraordinary.

I feel like some kind of animal.

Even worse,
an animal I don't know.

Here's Rembrandt's self-portrait.

But it's really the same thing.

It's always a self-portrait.

Maurice Utrillo's self-portrait

we saw in a crowded little museum

in the former town hall in Sannois.

We were headed nearby
to film Hervè, alias VR99.

In the year 2000
his alias will be VR2000.

“Loading up”

means going out
to scavenge bulky items

that people are getting rid of.

Town councils
and city halls give out

little maps like this one.

It shows all the streets
and neighborhoods

and lists the days
you can go out and scavenge.

I think the map is more
for those with things to dump.

True.

I read the map my own way,

because it's how I find
my raw material.

I am, among other things,
a painter and a scavenger.

I prefer nighttime.

And because I go by bike,

I can only carry small things home.

It'll be simpler just to show you.

I make images
from salvaged material.

Wood for the frame,

packaging materials, slate.

I also recycle

my own packets
from cigarette papers.

The good thing
about these recycled items

is that they've already had a life.

They're unwanted
but still very much alive.

You just have to give them
a second chance.

You just have to make the rounds,
find the piles,

and simply help yourself.

It's like a department store
the size of a town.

When a site has lots of stuff,

it's best to get there quickly,

because there's competition.

Things go quickly-

It's like presents left on the street.
It's like Christmas.

My grandfather used
to salvage things when I was a kid.

He had stuff everywhere.

I've always liked the world
of dumps and salvaging...

anything that's been
discarded by society.

It's like a cavern here.

Yes, my own little cavern.

Where I combine objects
in different combinations.

You have to stock up for that.

Is it a shelter as well?

From what?

From emptiness.
It's full in here, overflowing.

Personally I'm moving
toward emptiness now.

Or at least toward less.

As much “less” as possible.

- You have a ways to go.
- I do.

Right now I'm accumulating,

because I know I'll need
these recycled materials.

The encounter happens
on the street.

The object beckons to me,
because in some way it belongs here.

And sometimes the encounter
happens on the highway.

That's what happened to us.

On our left, an abandoned factory.

To the right we see a sign: “Finds.”

“Curios” is common,
but “finds” is more inviting.

How are you?

Hello.

Look at me when I speak to you!

I spotted some wheat
behind this fellow here...

and behind this robot,
a painting of gleaners.

It combined the humble stooping
of Millet's gleaners

with the proud bearing
of Breton's Woman Gleaning.

The painter clearly had
the old Larousse dictionary handy.

Honest, this is no movie trick.

We really did find
those gleaners purely by chance.

The painting had beckoned to us

because it belonged in this film.

On the road again,

off to the Ideal Palace
of Bodan Litnianski,

a much visited,
much publicized place.

This retired bricklayer from Russia

began constructing totem towers

from whatever he found in dumps

end Io wed beck home
in a trailer hooked to his moped.

It's very solid.

I'm a bricklayer.

I really like dolls.

They're my system.
Dolls are characters.

What do you think of all this?

He's passionate about it.

There's no stopping him.

Your husband is an artist.

Well, maybe...

Why not?

There's much better around.

Louis Pans, for instance,

who uses salvaged items
in his paintings.

He designs using objects and lets
chance shape his compositions.

Everything you see around here...

is my dictionary.

Useless stuff.

Others might call it a heap of junk.

For me its a wondrous heap
of possibilities.

Each object is a pointer,
a flourish,

that I've picked up here and there,

that I've gleaned.

And they become

my paintings,

The highest art is to bring order
to one's inner and outer worlds.

These are just children's crayons.

Here we have cans and spools...

the clapper from a small bell.

I turn objects into sentences.

A cricket on a junk pile.

Cages are interesting too.

They're like boats and violins
and similar objects

whose shapes seem at first
very simple and uniform.

But the possible variations
are infinite.

These are baseboards and frames.

This is one
of those things on a car...

a windshield wiper.

But for me they're flourishes.

I have to balance
the lines on a work.

They're horizontal statements,
nothing else.

Again one hand filming the other,
and more trucks.

I'd like to capture them.

To hold on to what's passing by?
No, just for fun.

The island of Noirmoutier is renowned

for the causeway leading to it
and for its oysters.

People glean there

after rough storms
and at very low tide.

Storms dislodge oysters
from the beds

and carry them close to shore.

But people know
that around Christmas time

we're so busy
that we can't gather them back up.

So we leave them for gleaners.

They're out there
the day after a storm.

A high sea over the beds
is a pretty sight.

But to profit from the low tide,

gleaners need a copy
of the tide tables.

We come every year at low tide.

They follow the water
as it recedes

and gather anything they find.

People collect the oysters
loosed from the beds.

In theory, they should respect
the wooden posts

around the beds.

Those people are too close.

If the oyster farmers
are in a good mood, fine.

But sometimes it turns nasty.

We don't touch their beds.

I guess those posts are the limit.

We might cross over a bit
sometimes.

We're not stupid.
We watch others and do the same.

If they say anything, we leave.

It's tolerated
but not really allowed.

It's not outright illegal.

The right to glean still exists,

provided you glean
10-15 yards from the beds.

- No, 25 yards.
- Is it 25 now?

What are people allowed to do?

To collect
seven pounds per person.

Ten yards away minimum.

Eleven pounds per person.

Seven pounds of clams
and 11 pounds of oysters,

something like that.

Eleven pounds
of oysters per person, I think.

Three dozen per person,
but they take more than that.

They gather inedible little oysters

that were churned in the waves,
so they're full of sand.

They come from the mainland.

They eat them and get sick.

The Jura region saw heavy flooding.

The river Dard blocked our route.

Elsewhere I had enjoyed it
when animals blocked our way.

Or I'd just stop to look at them.

The Nenon family,
in the hills near Apt,

present a special case
of grape picking.

It wasn't a few grapes they found
but a whole vineyard.

That's a real harvest!

Yes, the entire vineyard
was left unpruned last year.

It's an entire harvest
going to waste.

I spotted this place
and was astonished.

Could anyone say anything?

Don't the owners care?
- No. After November 1...

we're allowed
to pick grapes in any vineyard.

They'd just be eaten
by wild boar or birds anyway.

- Wild boars like grapes?
- They love them.

That day...

I filmed dancing pruning shears.

I forgot to turn my camera off...

thus the dance of the lens cap.

The lens cap has stopped
its crazy jig.

We're off to see
the only winegrower

who cares about gleaners.

I warn kids of the terrible effects
of eating too much,

but I figure the adults know,

so I leave them alone.

Jérôme Noël-Bouton shows us
an old photo of the vines here,

which once belonged
to Étienne-Jules Marey.

A mini-museum in the cellar
is dedicated to him.

Engineer, physiologist, and scientist,

Marey invented chronophotography.

He was a visionary.

He deconstructed movement
before Muybridge and the Lumieres.

He's the ancestor of all filmmakers.

I'm proud to be family.

Marey was my father's grandfather,
hence my great-grandfather.

To be more specific...

my grandfather
was Marey's son-in-law.

His wife, my grandmother,
was Marey's daughter.

She married a man named Bouton,

and this estate,
previously owned by the Bouton family,

was bought by Marey.

It was returned to the Bouton family
when his daughter married a Bouton.

Well done!

The tower you see over there...

he built with his own two hands

to house his still camera equipment.

He'd set his cameras up
with wires and leave them.

Animals or birds going past
would trigger the camera.

That's the famous hut in which,

using his chronophotographic rifle,

he broke down the flight of birds.

This is Demenÿ,
Marey's assistant,

with rifle and film reel.

I wonder who
the boy in the bowler hat is.

Marey's experimental pictures

and film strips

are a pure visual delight.

Our train leaving Paris

just happens to slow down

near the waste collection center in Ivry,
very relevant to our subject.

We're headed for Prades,
where our composer Joanna lives.

She'd encountered some youths
who'd had a brush with the law

for wreaking havoc
with a supermarket's trash bins.

The bins' contents
had been doused in bleach.

I thought I could create
a sort of filmed account

if I met all the protagonists —

the youngsters gathered
on the square,

the store manager...

and the court magistrate,

who was very concerned
and very polite.

I wanted to know more

About these homeless youths'
encounter with the law.

Should squatting be legalized?

I could champion that cause
if not for this robe.

It's a very nice robe!

It was a simple case of young people
committing vandalism.

I found them guilty of violence.

This was before the bleach?

They'd knock over the bins
and rummage through them.

My staff had to clean it up
every morning.

That led me to apply the law

and bleach the trash,
which they didn't appreciate.

- We got mad.
- It was nothing!

Defaced?
We knocked over a few bins,

scrawled a bit of graffiti,
threw a few tomatoes.

They broke the camera.

It was locked.
We had to climb a bit.

They climbed over the fence,

so they were trespassing.

Having to appear in court
was itself a penalty

for these youths
who live outside of all rules.

All we took was trash.

The point isn't to fine them
but to remind them of the law.

Each party played its part,
applying its own blinkered logic.

The kids said what you'd expect.

We filmed them with their dogs.
It was picturesque.

I'm not that I'm antisocial.

- May I ask your age?
- Twenty-two.

Their beauty is poignant
when you realize that,

for whatever reason,

they get most of their food
from trash bins.

In court it was apparently
“a dialogue of the deaf” —

but not the mute.

The kids made some noise!

I said she was crazy.
She cited me for contempt of court.

We said she was bonkers,
and she'd go, “Write that down!”

“Clerk, write that down!
'She's bonkers!”

We could tell
it was a foregone conclusion.

I got disgusted.
She opted for a closed court.

I yelled and slammed the door.

They're still talking
about the whole episode,

and I continue thinking
about it in my hotel room.

We continue to film people
who spend time around trash cans...

yet they all have different reasons,

and ifs a different experience
for each.

Hi! How are you?

Sit down.
I ordered you a coffee.

We were told...

“He wears rubber boots
and salvages everything.”

I live almost 100%
on stuff I've salvaged.

Rich, poor, or middle-class,
everyone throws food away.

Why? Because we have
such idiotic ideas.

People see a certain
expiration date on a yogurt.

“My God, I can't eat this!
It'll kill me!”

That's so stupid!

It's easy to tell from the smell
and other signs if ifs okay.

I've gotten 100% of my food
from the trash...

for 10 or 15 years now.

And I've never gotten sick.

- You don't have a job?
- Sure I do.

I have a job, a salary,
a social security number.

So it's not due to poverty?

Absolutely not.

I salvage out of ethical concerns.

Seeing all the waste
in the streets is disgraceful.

It all proves we're heading
for disasters like the Erika oil spill.

OIL SLICK

Turn its head to the right.

Loosen"

Sea birds, guillemots, razorbills,

all the creatures royally screwed
by Total Fina Oil,

all those who will be
royally screwed

by this over-consuming society —

Because even if they're cleaned up,
they can still get caught in our nets.

I'm an activist for their sake.

People can croak
in their apartments amid their trash.

Fine by me. Birds first.

Do you always wear boots?

Yes. Rubber boots
have two advantages.

They're just the thing
on all this hostile terrain.

There's a psychological aspect too.

In my boots,
I'm like the lord of the town.

All these idiots dump away.

I come along after them
and rake in the chips.

TRASH IS BEAUTIFUL!

An exhibition featuring
pretend trash cans

was organized to teach children

how to sort the trash.

At “Trash is Beautiful,”
they like colors...

and children play
with bits of salvaged junk.

This is plastic found in the street.

Gino Rizzi is in charge
of the kids' workshop.

He himself transforms
yogurt containers into flowers...

and plastic bottles into mobiles.

Where does play end and art begin?

CARTIER FOUNDATION
FOR CONTEMPORARY ART

American artist Sarah Sze

exhibits huge mobiles
made of lots of bits and pieces.

Kitchen trash has made it
into the art world,

where junk is highly prized...
and highly priced.

But trash in museums

is small, cute, clean, and colorful.

Have these kids ever seen
what a broom really sweeps up...

or shaken hands
with a garbage collector?

How you doing?

Everything okay?
- Yeah.

This is neighborhood life.

I live here

at Mr. Charlie Plusquellec's,
because he's a friend.

More than a friend.

He's a protector, a godfather.
He's everything to me.

I'm very, very happy-

I'm surrounded by nature here.

You can see: It's like paradise.

Salomon is
a bit like a migrating bird.

He arrives, he moves in.

Then one day he disappears.

Then he comes back again.
Then he leaves again.

This is his third time here.

Every day I leave here...

I wander around...

looking here and there for discards.

I said don't touch anything!

You hear me?
- Yes, ma'am.

Don't you understand?

Early every morning
we come salvage a little something.

It's like the lottery.

There's plenty for everyone.

It's good.

There's lots.

You need any?

He might want some.
Want some bread?

I always come and help myself.

Sometimes you find
good cold meats,

sometimes poultry,
a bit of everything.

Salomon found...

some chicken legs.

I'm cooking them
before they go bad.

You'll be eating chicken
and rabbit for a month!

Don't worry.

We always find someone
to share with.

We give it to the neighbors.
Especially the woman next door.

Not bad.

Right now we have 1, 2, 3...

four refrigerators and two freezers

that we picked up and fixed.

I patch them up and fix them.

When they're working,
I sell them...

or I give them away to neighbors.

The streets are full of refrigerators.

Some work, some don't.

The “Empty Lot” collective
in Villeneuve-sur-Lot

reimagines salvaged refrigerators

and furnishes them
with all modern amenities.

DEMONSTRATION FRIDGE

Free our comrades!

My neighbor the Lion of Denfert

is made of bronze.

My friend the Lion of Aries
is made of stone.

We got there early one morning.

The carnies were still asleep.

I saw a man
Watching the river flow by.

Part of me felt like approaching.
Part of me didn't.

Further on along the Rhône,

in an almost heavenly orchard,

the gleaners arrive.

You can tell them

by their baskets, crates,
plastic bags, and other containers

that look nothing like those
used by the workers here.

My name's David.
I'm the foreman here.

We frequently allow
gleaners to come in

after our harvesters,

provided they remain
10 yards behind.

There are lots of apples
left on the trees.

We take advantage of that.

I collect them
so they don't go to waste.

I share them with others.

We make applesauce.

Seeing so many left
just makes you want to pick them.

I don't take damaged ones,

because my children
are very particular.

They're used to the best.

This one's damaged, so I toss it.

Even gleaners are selective.

Here's an apple
with nothing going for it.

It's like an ugly and stupid person.

It's small and has burn marks too.

Commercial value: zero.

We can't tell people

not to help themselves to apples

once we've finished harvesting.

So we define
a very specific gleaning period.

We take down
license plate numbers.

For mopeds we ask
for a copy of the owners' ID.

And we give them precise dates
when they can come pick apples.

Isn't that a bit over-regulated?

It's either that or nothing at all.

Once people are registered,

I don't care
if they take 400 pounds,

a whole season's worth.

Good for them.

In this seven-acre field,

at least 10 tons
won't be harvested.

That gives the gleaners
quite a bit of exercise.

You have to look behind branches,
among the leaves.

It takes a while
to fill up a basket.

It's no piece of cake.
It's hard work.

Quite a few fell down.

You just have to pick them up.

Robert a gleaner of many crops,
invited us to follow him.

He knows where to find quince

and what to look for
in greenhouses.

I'm looking for pine nuts.

You don't miss a trick!

Nothing gets by me.

They've harvested the tomatoes
in this greenhouse.

I'll gather what's left
before they clean the place.

There are some tomatoes.

This is nature.
It shouldn't be wasted.

They're left behind.
Once the harvest is over,

it's not worth hiring people
just for those.

They'd rather let us do it.

Can anyone go in the greenhouses?

I don't know what the law says
about greenhouses.

A greenhouse is a facility
for growing vegetables.

Once the harvest is done,

a few tomatoes, grapes,
carrots, or celery are left behind.

If gleaners adhere to the law,

growers can't say anything

or press charges.

Even on their own property?

Precisely. Gleaning is always
on private property.

Mr. Dessaud, our lawyer in the fields,
explained gleaning rights.

Mrs. Espié, our lawyer in the streets,
tells us about salvaging rights.

A different law
applies to these items.

“Res derelictae”
are items with no owner,

since the original owner's intention
has been clearly expressed:

They have deliberately
abandoned them.

Only the penal code
speaks to their status.

It says these items can't be stolen
because they have no owner.

Whoever salvages these items
becomes their legal owner.

Ownership isn't being transferred
between parties.

Once they take these items,
they belong to them...

irrevocably.

Thank you very much.

You're welcome.

Sidelined beds on the sidewalk

Washed-out machines,
tired-out fridges

Just bend down
and grab your furniture

Yeah, cookers,
cushions, club armchairs

Weary wood chairs, TV sets,
worn-out couches

Iron, rattan, stoves, and cushions

Just bend over, you're made over

TV crap and TV rap...

I've seen lots of TVs abandoned,

and within minutes...

someone was salvaging the copper.

Copper from the deflection coils.

I looked at the magic screen,
thinking how I began this film

right after the eclipse shown on TV,

continued it while the countdown
to Y2K was shown on TV,

and ended the film on May 1st.

Other less violent souls
take a TV home,

hoping to repair it.

I found two small chairs
on the street

and took them home.

One night
when bulky items were set out,

I drove around
with François Wertheimer,

who 'o' composed
one of my film scores,

and who also sang.

He has dressed
all in white for 25 years.

François is curious
and enjoys rummaging.

But nothing
caught his eye that night.

He looked at an empty clock

but put it back down.

I picked it up and took it home.

A clock without hands
works fine for me.

You don't see time passing.

I like filming rot...

leftovers, waste...

mold and trash.

But I never forget

those who do their shopping
in the leftovers and trash

when the market is over.

It's past 2:00.

I've done my shopping,
and I linger on

until the market is over.

I notice a man with a big bag
eating on the spot.

I'd see him now and then,
always with his bag,

always eating.

The day he was eating parsley,

I went over to him.

Do you eat a lot of parsley?

Sometimes.
It's full of vitamin C and E,

beta carotene, zinc, magnesium.

It's excellent.

His answer amazed me.

Over the following weeks,
I filmed him repeatedly,

with or Without sound,
as he talked to me in snatches.

I pick up food at the markets.

It's that much less to buy.

I'm mostly vegetarian,

so I find what I need.

I don't earn much,

but I still have to eat.

When you see
what they throw away here...

In the markets I find
mostly fruit and vegetables.

Sometimes cheese, but that's rare.

I eat a lot of fruit.
I love apples.

I find all the apples I want.

- How many apples a day?
- Six or seven.

Is that your staple diet?

I eat bread too.

I get up at 4:00,
I catch the train,

and I arrive in Paris at 5:45.

Between 6:00 and 7:00 a.m.,

they throw away bread
left over from the day before.

If you spot
a trash can near a bakery,

it's likely to contain
sandwiches, bread,

and all that.

I eat lots of bread.

It's a staple food
full of protein and carbohydrates.

It's odd, this concern —

- For a balanced diet?
- Yes.

Well, I studied biology,

so it's natural
to know a thing or two.

I used to be a teaching assistant.

When people find out
I have a master's degree,

they can't understand
why I sell papers to earn a living.

I sell magazines or street papers.

Usually in front of the train station.

I live in migrant housing,
where 50 % of the residents

are illiterate.

Immigrants from Mali
and Senegal, mostly.

I moved here eight years ago...

and I've been teaching them
to read and write for six years.

I'm not part of the school system.
I don't get paid for it.

I teach every evening
from 61-30 or 7:00

until 8:30 or 9:00.

He set up and decorated
the classroom himself

for the students,
who come and go as they please.

Here are a few examples

using those syllables.

And the example is...

That's right.

“A nocturnal activity.”

What does “nocturnal” mean?

What is success?

Isn't it a behavior?

When someone
has succeeded in life.

Someone who has succeeded.

- Like Céline Dion?
- Exactly.

Someone famous?

- It's more the will to...
- Succeed.

When you've achieved something,
that's success.

“A useful insect.”

An example?

A cockroach.

I'm not sure
a cockroach is useful...

but it is an insect.

Meeting this man
is what surprised me the most

in the whole time I was filming.

That and how long
it took me to find out

about his nocturnal activity
as a volunteer in a suburban basement.

The other high point
is quite different in kind.

I talked the museum
in Villefranche-sur-Saône

into bringing out of storage

a painting by Hédouin

that I'd seen reproduced
in black and white in a catalog.

Brigitte, the curator,
and her assistant Julie

had to disturb
several slumbering paintings

before finding the one
I wanted to bring to light:

Gleaners Fleeing Before the Storm.

To see the gleaners
in broad daylight,

with stormy gusts
lashing the canvas,

was a true delight.