All language subtitles for Adieu les cons (2020) 1080p BluRay-k7.en

Bronchi inflamed
with intraparenchymal nodes,

to be compared
with histological data. Period.

Incapacitating respiratory failure,
3/5

with hypertension and tachycardia.
Period.

90% oximetry,
left ventricular dilation. Period.

So, Mrs. Trappin, Mrs. Trappi,
Mrs. Trapoo.

- Mrs. Trappo...
- Trappet.

Mrs. Trappet.

What do these images mean to you?

Oddly enough, I find them pretty.

I don't know if "pretty" is the word.

I thought you'd say that.

All those colors
remind me of flowers.

Like forget-me-nots.

You're getting closer.

What it is?

Something rare.

Less so now.
Work-related auto-immune disease.

Auto-immune?

Your antibodies turn against you.

Why do they do that?

You're a hairdresser, right?

Sprays you use at work
damaged your bronchial cells.

- Your antibodies reject them.
- My antibodies?

Antibodies are cells that perform
constant ID checks in your body.

They see the damaged cells
and find them suspicious.

"Are they foreign bodies?"

Like cops, they say: "Your papers!"

"But we're bronchial cells."

"Your ID says otherwise.
Scram!"

That's why you're in pain.

When cops screw up, there's harm.

They start attacking themselves.

I have dumb antibodies.

No, but my police metaphor
wasn't entirely innocent.

And the treatment?

Does it work?

"Work" is relative.

Anti-inflammatory drugs
reduce damage.

They protect the cells
from repression.

But what about me?

Do I have any time?

Same thing. "Time" is relative.

It's very personal.
For you, having time

isn't the same as for me.

I don't know how you spend your time
and vice versa.

Objective answers to subjective
questions aren't simple.

BYE-BYE, MORONS

As IT director of DE SS-North,
my aim is simple:

a total rehaul of the IT system,

prioritizing security,
which is my field,

as well as development
and IT strategy.

My algorithms
for ministerial interconnectivity

link all individuals

to all governmental files
concerning them.

I'll give the Council the specs.

The tech file and legal tips...

Mr. Cuchas?
Tele-surveillance ready.

- Security level too weak.
- Weak?

- I see him.
- You do?

I can activate face recognition.

Is that legal?

No, but it's doable.

Karim Bella, born in Pontoise
6/23/1987.

Karim Bella, born in Pontoise
6/23/1987.

It's me.

Okay, we're on it.

The tech file and legal tips
are attached.

Security. Elevator network ready.

You're in the elevator?

Okay, here we go.

Meaning?

It's moving by itself.

Your encryption codes
are easy to hack.

It stopped
and the door is going berserk.

Your codes are weak.

Yes?

Yes, Mr. Kurtzman.

Good to hear you, Mr. Kurtzman.

On the double.

I'm coming.

Right away, Mr. Kurtzman.

Hello? Sir, excuse me.

Hello? Can you please send me
back to the ground floor?

Sir, please?

So, Mr. Cuchor... Cuchas.

How's our network security doing?

Very well.

It's not too hard.
Basic office automation.

I progressed
on the north-zone program.

For DESS-N, we must rehaul
all inter-departmental activity.

Inter-ministerial.

My system will connect
everything to everything.

The Legal Department finds it iffy,

but I'm meeting a lawmaker
to define the specs...

Take it easy, Mr. Cuchus...

Listen.

The Ministry wants
departmental reorganization

handled by someone who's more...

How can I put it?

- More competent?
- No!

No, more...

Younger?

No!

Actually, yes.
On paper.

Kids graduating
from big-name schools:

Centrale, Les Mines, and the whatnot.

But you can share with them
your vision

of the rehaul.

A lot... a lot younger?

Young.

You promised me the north zone, sir.

Yes!

But in fact...

No.

Between a clever old lion
and an influx of new blood,

management chose the old lion
to tame the cubs.

To reorganize the north zone.

I've worked 18 months on it.

I know, I know all this...

And what's more,
we're counting on you, to...

instill, integrate, impart

your method
into the heads of these kids

who may one day
grow up to become like you.

ANONYMOUS BIRTH WAIVER

The letters said it all.
There was no need to come.

The child can request contact,
but didn't.

I have health issues.

Finding a child born
to an anonymous mother isn't easy.

And you're not digitized!

You realize you're not digitized?

Sorry.

Besides public records, if they still
exist at the birthplace,

this child is untraceable.

Really?

Giving is giving.
Taking back is stealing.

So there's nothing to do?

We can fill out a form
for Internal Affairs.

Internal Affairs?

One level up. "The deciders".

They can access Anonymous files
and contact you.

I tried contacting them.
Repeatedly.

They're swamped.
It takes time.

I don't have much.

Ma'am...

being in a rush gets us nowhere.

You're not alone.

I'm sorry.

Sorry, but I find it so unfair.

I don't understand.

I'm also sorry

for the damage I'll be doing

and the mess for the cleaning staff.

The envelope on the desk is for them.

There's money inside.

No need telling my wife and children.

I don't have any.

This manifestation of anger
may seem a bit excessive,

but I find it so unfair.

I'm very good.

Sorry to be so vulgar.

Bye-bye, morons.

Bye-bye, morons.

Bye-bye, morons.

Internal Affairs - IT Support

Mr. Cuchuse...

Mr. Cuchose! Let's talk this out!

We must talk this out.

Violence is not the answer,
Mr. Cuchor.

Mr. Cuchard!

Let's talk this out.

Bye-bye, morons.

Don't shoot, don't shoot!
Come.

Mr. Cuchor!

Put your weapon down. Don't shoot!

- Health Department employee...
- ...automatic or rifle!

- Ballistics...
- One person badly wounded, but...

- In critical condition!
- Holed up!

- Armed and dangerous!
- Radicalized?

Sorry to bother you.
It's urgent, Mr. Minister.

Call Interior.

This must remain strictly
between us and them, understand?

Hello.

Who are you?

Suze... Suze Trappet.

Why am I here?

I was
at the Health Department office.

And I permitted myself
to bring you along.

- To bring me along?
- Yes.

I need the file of a child
I had to give up.

I thought you might help me.

Help you?

I saw you were important.
Internal Affairs.

I was told you could...

I'm in Tech Support.

Internal Affairs, but nothing
concerning anonymous births.

Sorry to say it, ma'am,
but this is no way to behave.

You can't kidnap
for administrative help.

- Can't open fire at work either.
- What?

You shot at Mr. Dupuis.

No, at myself!

Really?
They say you shot him on purpose.

- How is Mr. Dupuis?
- Fair.

- Fair dead or fair alive?
- Fair.

But you... did you see what happened?

- It depends.
- How so?

Help me and I saw it all.

Otherwise, I saw nothing.

You're sick!

Yes.

I filmed myself with my computer.

They must have seen my set-up.

What set-up?

The computer, the rifle.

You removed it all?

How could you?

By what right?
What did I do to you?

Nothing! That's why.

You did nothing for me!

I want something done for me!

For years I've requested a lead,

anything to help me find my kid.

Calm down.

Where did you give birth?

There.

How so, "there"?

There was a maternity hospital here.

Should I start digging?

Mr. Dupuis said "the birthplace".

The city hall,
not the actual spot itself.

I know all that.

I just had to come here.

Will you come to City Hall with me?

Then I'll testify for you.

Please, sir.

This is absurd.
It's not how it works.

I'll explain to my superiors.

They'll be thrilled.

Just tell me
where you put my computer.

- Good chance.
- Please, ma'am!

I'll tell them about you.
You'll have to come clean!

Ms... Ms... Trappu.

Trappi... Trappo.

You hear me? Ma'am?

Ma'am, please!

He was rejected.

The Other becomes his enemy.

The Other can be anyone.

Whoever cuts his wings.

The Ego dies or, if alive,
it feeds on rage and acts out.

Awful stuff. Rape.

He had no gripes with Mr. Dupuis?

Mr. Cuchard hates young people.

I felt that during our meeting.

Fear of youth.
Bitterness about life.

The young one isn't him.
Self-hatred!

He wants to kill him.

Nothing else?

Once in the cafeteria,
Mr. Dupuis took the last coffee.

There you have it.

Mr. Dupuis is no longer Mr. Dupuis,
but a castrator.

The one who stops Mr. Cuchas.

After professional rejection,
what does Mr. Cuchas hear?

A voice. That of Mr. Dupuis.

A young voice!

What about the rifle?

Phallic expression
of damaged virility, repressed,

existing only
to ejaculate unbridled rage.

But...

they barely ever met.

They met as Others!

The Other permeates our lives.

We each define the other as Other.

The voice behind the wall is Other.
A familiar voice.

"He took the last coffee."

In your work world, this is crucial.

Think desert:
"He drank my last glass of water."

"He took the last camel."

See?

Can he attack again?

I'd like to say no.

But now he's on the run.

Furious.
And perhaps armed again.

And the world...

is filled with Others.

Mr. Cuchosse!

Finally!

Where are you?

I don't know.

Come now, Mr. Cuchosse.

Spatiotemporal disarray.
Bad sign.

I was kidnapped, I swear.

Kidnapped?

Mr. Cuchosse, come now.

We're one big family.

You overreacted,
but everything will be fine.

Not at all!

I wanted to harm myself.

And you know why, Mr. Kurtzman.

Mr. Cuchar, we must meet immediately.

We'll keep this amongst ourselves.
No media.

The Interior Minister gave orders.

The Interior Minister? The police?

The police want me?

The police were notified,
but it's a sort of...

tradition.

No more, for now.

Gently, gently!

Don't overdo it.

We got in touch informally.

Establish contact, discuss, exchange.

It's just between us.

Between ministries.

I'm sorry. Really sorry.

These things happen.

Colleagues sometimes squabble.

How is Mr. Dupuis?

A bit shaken.

A few years of physical therapy
and his fingers may work.

I have a witness to the events.

Perfect!
So everything will work out.

"Where are you?"

Where are you?

Where are you?

Excuse me, the Public Records Office?

Public Records?

I know we have one.

Pascal! Excuse me...

Where's the Public Records Office?

Can you spell that?

Public Records.

I know we have one.

But...

Internal Affairs.

Give the manager my name.

Yes, on the double.

The police will be here soon.

If I find your file,
you'll help?

Sorry.
I had no idea Headquarters sent you.

I hope everything's in order.
Well, I'm sure we are.

We rarely go to Public Records.

You must know if we made mistakes.

I'm sure it's all fine.

This isn't an inspection.

If I were you, I'd say that too.

You're not me.

Yes, of course. I didn't mean that.

124. We walked past it.

123. Not that one.

121... 120! It's here.

Oh yes, our archivist is OETH.

- Our quota of people...
- With disabilities.

Mr. Blin. Electric Company accident,
transferred here.

Only post we had was archivist.

What accident?

Activists.

They made a Tesla coil
to cause a blackout in a precinct.

He was dismantling the coil.

Cops mistook him
for an activist.

We're the Electric Company!

They flash-balled him.

He ended up with the blackout.

He's blind?

No one comes here anyway.

Saving on lights, okay,
but a blind man in Records?

No one ever comes.

Well, we're here.

The documents were put in braille,
as was his computer.

His tasks are basic.

He's doing very well.
He's even received 2 promotions.

This way, please.

He was obviously traumatized
by the police.

It's a real phobia.
We must announce our presence.

Mr. Blin!

Mr. Blin!

What's going on?

- It's me.
- Who?

Mr. Tuttle, managing director.

- Who else?
- Nothing serious.

We need a file.

- Really?
- This is Public Records.

- Really?
- Yes...

Hello, my name is Suze.

Suze Trappet.

It concerns an anonymous birth
on May 16, 1989.

- Really?
- Yes, May 16, 1989.

Can you find it?

All right.

Thank you.

I'm on it.

Suze?

Suze Trappet.

He's rusty.
No one ever comes.

- Suze what?
- May I?

Who are you?

Don't worry.
He's a friend, not the police.

- What are you doing?
- Computing.

5% of our office equipment budget.
It's a new model.

That comes to a total of...
5% of the budget.

If it doesn't work, I'll raise hell!

Ms. Trappet, can I count on you?

Yes.

Wow what?

Like I said, 5% of the budget!

Well-managed, right?

I said it would be hard.

We just look under T for Trappet.

Those are the T's.

- All those T's gave up babies?
- All those T's are undigitized.

- Got what you need?
- You can go.

Tell me when you're done.

If you're still here in 6 months.

Listen, Ms. Trappet,

I can file a request
for research aid.

We'll get an answer within months.

I don't have months.

Why wait so long to start looking?

None of your business.

It is now.

Did I question your suicide attempt?

So you admit it was an accident.

A few dozen files won't stop us.

A few dozen...

Let's get to work!

Ma'am... Serge.

Serge Blin.
Can I help you, ma'am?

Cuchas. Jean-Baptiste.

She's to the left.

Serge. Serge Blin. Can I help you?

How kind, but I don't see how.

Thank you.

No.

No.

ANONYMOUS BIRTH WAIVER

That's me.

The adoption parents' address.

32 rue Floquet.

It was 28 years ago.

Drop the weapon
and let's talk calmly!

No gun!

Hands up!

I have no gun.

It's a mistake. Don't shoot.

I'm unarmed.

Hands behind your head!

You're mistaken!

Relax, ma'am!
Your ordeal is over!

Don't move. They'll shoot.

You'll laugh: I was aiming at myself.

Personal blunder.

- The police?
- Yes!

- Why?
- He's wanted.

- Everyone is!
- Any other exit?

Yes, the service stairway.

Mrs. Trappet!

Can I come? Please!

Rue Floquet has changed names.

You'll never find it with GPS.

If you describe it, I can help.

Come.

Keep on driving.

Describe and I'll help you.

Along avenue, an intersection,
traffic lights, parking lot.

We're in the city.

- Yes...
- See?

Rue Maurice Berteaux.

Maurice Berteaux! It's been ages
but I know it by heart.

After the light on the right,

a typical neighborhood grocery shop.
I went there as a kid.

- I don't see one.
- It closed?

I get the feeling it did, yes.

On the left, Jean Jaures Square.
Lots of boules players.

They must still be there.

Not many boules players.

Then they're at the café.

Chez Georges. Across the street.

Gold letters,
red awning, old-fashioned.

Small marble tables

on the terrace.

Yes, right.

And there, the Palace Cinema.
3 screens, first shows at 10.

And further down, on the right,

an old, red-brick building.

The Municipal Music Conservatory.

That's it!

A small church!

Of course! Saint Francis!

Gothic, 13th century.
With a small shaded square.

And a stairway to the bell tower!

Yes, exactly.

Across from Saint Francis...
rue Floquet.

It starts on the right.

Old homes lined with plane trees.

For once, you're right.

- For once? Meaning?
- That you're right!

Oh, excellent.
I was scared things had changed.

He gave himself up.

No violence, no gunfire.
It went well.

No handcuffs!

We're one big family.

32!

- 32?
- And there's someone!

There's someone?

Yes, there is.

- There's someone?
- Yes!

Excuse me.

No, it's not you.

What do you mean?

No...

You're...

I'm...

Your mother's son.

Yep.

Yeah, yeah.

Sorry.

Thank you.

Mrs. Trappet?

Mrs. Trappet!

Someone here?

I don't believe it!

What's wrong?

You parked
in the middle of the street!

- You didn't see?
- No, no. I can't...

You drive in your state?

- What about my state?
- Seriously?

Don't you realize?

It's dangerous.

How will my insurance react
when I say a blind man hit me?

I'm calling the police.

No!

No jail for the disabled.

No driving either.

- Where you going?
- No jail for the disabled!

What you doing?

Sir, get out!

No, sir!

- Don't!
- No jail for the disabled!

Don't drive!

No jail for the disabled!

Attempted suicide, not homicide.
Ask my witness.

Between us, I never liked Mr. Dupuis.

No jail for the disabled.

No jail for the disabled.

Mr. Blin?

No jail for the disabled.

You won't go to jail.

No one will.

No jail.

Mr. Kurtzman!

I'll be back.

I'm not running away.
I'll be back with my witness.

Mr. Cuchnas...

I said I'll be back.

Mr. Cucha...

Mr. Cushta...

Forgive me.

Forgive me...

After the baby, I was so scared,
I tried to fit in.

What's worse, I succeeded.

I was such a success,
it's killing me.

But I looked for him!

Even when I was healthy.
But he disappeared.

I tried to recreate him.
Two marriages!

Nothing worked.

Aerosols ruined my ovaries
before my lungs.

But who knows? Maybe he's happy.

Yes, why not? Maybe...

he's loved, supported...

Maybe he's doing well.

He's not necessarily a loser.

Unhappy, lost and abandoned.

Maybe even...

Tell me what to do.

If I'm screwing up again.

You all right?

They let you go?

Almost.

You escaped?

Temporarily.

Mr. Blin crashed into us
with your car.

I said I'd look for you.

How's Mr. Blin?

A bit in shock.

But your car...

32 wasn't it?

No.

You knew chances were slim.

Ms. Trappet,

you said if I helped you,
you'd help me.

Can you come with me
to tell them what really happened?

Here.

Your career awaits you.

I'll clear my name.
Then I'll help you. I promise!

Do me a favor.

Forget me.

You know...

coming undone
doesn't mean you're crazy.

I'm your average guy. Levelheaded.

Maybe overly emotive.

Hurry up.

Too-loo-loot is firetruck.

The police is too-hoo...

I saw a number in your file.

I can find the obstetrician.

His name in Dr. Lint.
Jacques Lint.

Born May 26, 1943 in Limoges.
Medical school '63 to '70.

Moved to the suburbs where you met.

How do you know?

His medical license number
was in the dossier.

So?

It lets us access everything,
especially his files.

His files?

All files:
medical, census, police, taxes.

In 3 or 4 clicks.

3 or 4 clicks?

I'm very good.

For example, Dr. Lint
was married twice and divorced once.

Oddly, for ladies' man
he chose gynecology.

Why "oddly"?

Gynecology can turn you off to women.

Undertakers have children.

Two marriages doesn't make him
a ladies' man.

Come now...

Lint can be found

here in the service of Dr. Grabba.

Long-term geriatrics.
Second floor.

To be exact...

room 422.

He's grown a lot younger.

It must be him. I clicked.

Dr. Lint?

Hello, can I help you?

Dr. Lint in Dr. Grabba's service.

9th floor, stairwell B.

Ask at reception.

Who updates your data?
There's a problem.

Dr. Lint?

Hello.

Sorry to bother you. Suze Trappet.

We met 30 years ago.

You delivered my baby
when I was 15.

No.

Excuse me?

Ebixa.
Memantine chlorohydrate.

Advanced Alzheimer's.

It wasn't in his file.

So you don't remember me?

I remember
only that I remember nothing.

I'm was 15.
That was rare for back then.

I was more like this,
with dreadlocks.

Red stockings, a nose ring.

Please.

Please, Doctor.

Doctor? Was I one?

Yes! You were a doctor
and you delivered children!

- Did I screw up?
- No, but I had a baby with you.

We had a child together?

We'll straighten up. Sorry.

What's this?

Yes, what's that?

A kind of handwriting.

Is this your handwriting?

This... Is this your handwriting?

That's my handwriting?

Look... there are numbers.

Here.

- I'll get a doctor.
- To treat him.

No, to read him.

Looks like the handwriting
of a doctor, for sure.

What is it?

A kind of diary?

It's entirely possible
that it's a diary.

What about this? Are they numbers?

Numbers...

That's possible.

Doesn't that say "1989"?

I can make out the "8"... "".9

"1989", yes it's possible.
While awaiting a full diagnostic.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

There's an emergency contact.

His wife, Mrs. Rose Lint.

I'll find her address.

Potato chips.

Fascinating. "I hope", "I hop".
Hard to tell.

Mrs Rose Lint.

30 Avenue Charles Premier
in Meaux.

I can't bend my arm!

You're hurting me!

The police officers.

No jail for the disabled!

This isn't a precinct?

We told you.
We're a hospital, not the police.

You're not police?
So why are you hurting me?

You banged your head.
You need stitches.

I banged my head. I'm in pain,
bleeding, and you're not police?

Odd, isn't it?

Right, Captain?

- I'm not a captain.
- Sure.

Yeah, right.

We can't leave him.

Things are hard enough!

I can't abandon twice.

Not everyone is your child.

The elevator! Move it!

You're not police?

Smells like bullies, not ether.

Stitch him up. Enough already.

Why get angry

when I mention the police,

if you're not the police?

Well, well. Very strange.

Mr. Blin!

Mrs. Trappet?

12 o'clock. 5 steps.
1,2,3!

Black!

Stay put!

Mr. Blin! 11 o'clock! 5 steps!

No, 12:05... 12:10!

12:20!

12:25! 12:30!

Straight ahead!

Police! Open up!

Open this door!

May I?

- Pick my nose?
- No.

See your face.

Go on.

You don't look your age.

Thanks.

Can we drop you off?

Excuse me?

I'm here now. There's no problem.

It's kind of him to help too.

I can describe the way, Mrs. Trappet.

We found it last time.

I have the address.

Maybe we shouldn't arrive as a posse
at Mrs. Lint's.

We won't scare her.

We won't scare her?

We very well may.

I don't know your age,
but you look it.

What are you doing?

Looking for a hot spot.

Always clicking away.

You are unwell.
Know what they say?

"Click-click makes you sick."

It's how I found Dr. Lint.

No.

You clicked
and found someone with no memory.

Come now.

Mrs. Trappet, like all fiery
brunettes, wants energy, enthusiasm.

Positive vibes!

She wants her son!

That too, yes.

A quest for love as well.

Why tell me this?

Because it's a subject
you've yet to grasp.

Go get treatment.

I told you, I'm here now.

I'll tend to her.

Goodbye.

Yes?

For a translation!

Jacques' handwriting is something.

It took me months to understand

that the notes he sent with flowers

said "I love you".

It was about time.
I was getting bored.

Let's see this notebook.

May 16th.

May 16th... January...

April...

May...

So...

"May 16th.

"10 o'clock.

"Total failure with...

"my tomato plants."

- That's what it says there?
- Yes...

It was at night.
I gave birth at 9:39 pm.

All right.

It's not this. This is noon to 2 pm.

11:34 pm.

So, 11:34 pm...

"Delivered baby

"of a girl

"aged 15.

"Boy.

"7 and a half pounds.

"The girl was in great pain.

"Anonymous birth

"requested by the parents

"via Child Services.

"Out of the question.

"This boy

"is entitled

"to a chance.

"I Will find a way

"of proposing him

"to...

"...No Fallopes.

"This misfortune will

"make someone happy."

He spared him Child Services?

He gave him to someone.

Yes, to...

No Fallopes.

- Who's No Fallopes?
- Who?

Who's No Fallopes?

"No Fallopes" means

a patient without fallopian tubes,
a barren woman.

He gave his patients nicknames.

He never mentioned No Fallopes?
Odd name!

- No Fallopes!
- Ring a bell?

He never mentioned No Fallopes?

No "No Fallopes"?

I understand, but I can't help.
I don't know any more.

No Fallopes is hard to forget.

Isabelle something...

"I'm seeing No Fallopes."

"No Fallopes,
who lives over there..."

"No Fallope called."

I'm trying.

Maybe he saw her for follow-up,
to see if...

I'm trying, but...

I'll look through his notebooks
from back then.

Sorry.

Excuse me, I stained your rug.

You're really sick.

That explains finding your kid.

What do the doctors say?

I'm a hairdresser
and I breathed in too much spray.

The perms I gave are killing me.

It's empty.

Is there a drug store nearby?

On the main square.

I left you my card.

All right.

Tell me the way.
I have you, Mrs. Trappet.

12 o'clock.

But I want Mr. Cuchas' help too.

Cuchas.
Sounds a lot like "kiss-ass".

- See?
- Yes, I can.

- Can what?
- See.

- You must carry your name well.
- Perhaps.

30 rue Charles Premier, in Meaux.

Will you remember?

Coughing is normal.

You're breathing in crap,
but still breathing.

Got a handkerchief?

Here.

Thanks.

Jacques.

Am I Jacques?

It's you, dear.

You call me "dear"?

So we've met.

We sure have!

Come in.

Your home?

No. Ours, Jacques.

Excuse me?

Can I get paid?

Yes! I'll be right there.
Just a minute!

Can I get paid?

Snuggle.

Thank you.

Dr. Lint has remembered.

No Fallopes was a woman named

Francine Weber.

She has a son...

named Adrien.

Adrien...

Weber, Adrien.

Adrien.

It's like Serge. Nice name.

Got it.

However...

What?

"Update necessary".

Meaning?

They're tracking me.

Full name:
Adrien Jean Marie Weber.

Born May 16, 1989.
Official mother: Francine, teacher.

Died 3 years ago. Father:
Luc, scientist, also deceased.

They adopted late.

Brilliant student,
graduate of Centrale.

Runs IT in a large company.
28 years old.

Maybe he's not home.

I hear typing.

He's doing some serious typing.

It's like he's next to me.

We don't have much time. Ready?

For what?

To go and introduce yourself.

"Hello, it's Mom."

"It's been a while", whatever.

I show up in his life
to announce my death?

So we just watch from afar?

Yes.

Look don't touch.

He doesn't need me.

He's brilliant, well-adapted.

Not the loser I feared.

Adapting to a world of maniacs
is not a triumph.

- Look who's talking.
- Indeed.

I speak from experience.

I'll stand nearby. On the lookout.

All right.

Just look.

I'm fine!

Just look.

Magnificent.

What's he doing here?

Meaning?

Why is he here?

How so?

Sorry to bring this up.

He's not well.
Or he wouldn't live here.

Why not?

Why would the IT director
of one of France's biggest companies,

who makes
between 16,000 and 20,000 a month,

live in this box?

Not to waste money
on a stupid apartment.

"Not well"...

You're not well!

What are you doing?

Here we go.

"I'll write what your eyes say

"Until my hair goes gray

"Sun of my sleepless night

"Your life is an utter delight."

Dumb poems.

He writes dumb poems.

So what?

I already told you.

He's not well.
He's in love. Poor kid.

Not well, meaning in love?

Exactly.

- Why is that bad?
- You can't understand.

For guys like...

For guys like him,
being in love is awful.

A total block,
something he can never formulate.

You keep a distance, avert your gaze.

If ever you meet: total panic.

You get dizzy.

You stammer, your heart races,
sweat on the brow.

You feel "I,
on the verge of fainting.

You want to...

And you become dumb.
Did you read the poem? Did you?

You're talking nonsense.

- He's my kid.
- I know I'm right.

He lives here for a reason. To hide.

His name isn't on the mailbox.

But hers is on the unsent envelope.

Clara Sibiss.

She lives 500 feet away.

You did this too?

When you were in love
with a colleague,

did you secretly move nearby?

Answer me.

Sound of keys!

- He's going out.
- No, he's going to work.

- So late?
- More relaxing than sleeping.

Maybe he has to work overtime.

Why is he waiting?

Clara Sibiss.

Scooter!

The scooter passed by.

Someone's walking by!

His silence...

how long can it last?

How long?

Forever.

He has to talk to her.

But he knows her.

Not about accounting
and not in an office!

Adrien and Clara
work on floor 13.

So, all elevators

to the 13th floor!

To the 13th.

Oops.

Hold on...
Damn updates.

What's going on now?

The elevators
are going up and down.

Isn't that what elevators do?

There!

All on the 13th.

Now everyone must evacuate so we can
put the kids in an elevator.

Smart Office lights.

How does that sound?

Yeah, what is it?

You'll see.

What's going on?

Wow what?

The skyscraper's blinking.

Typical Christmas thing.

That won't make them evacuate.

They like strobe lights.

Clicking will make them leave?

I have the fire alarm system.

Trust me, they'll move.

Fire alarms operational.

Jeez!

Now they're evacuating.

Hello, Adrien.

This is Wild.

It's total panic.

It's almost pretty.

Damp, but pretty.

I think we're stuck.

Maybe we should call someone.

Maybe call security.

Elevator security?

Elevator security?

Elevator security?

Elevator security?

This is elevator security.

Hello, we're stuck in...

in elevator 4.

North side.

You've been stuck for a while,
I feel.

No...

Just a few minutes.

No.

28 years, I'd say.

What?

Don't be afraid.

But we're not afraid.

Nope!

"I love you"
are the most important words in life.

Don't be afraid to say it.

Excuse me, but...

who are you?

I'm someone

who's loved you since your birth

and who'll love you until her death.

You can tell the kid you like her.

The kid?

The one in front of you.

Clara.

Don't be scared to say you like her.

That you write her poems.

That you send her flowers.

That you secretly moved nearby her.

Don't be afraid.

I love you, my boy.

And it feels good to say it.

What does this mean?

I don't know. I don't get it.

Is what she said true?

No.

No, really.

I don't get it.

Adrien, I often receive
anonymous poems at home.

I admit, it freaks me out.

I've seen you in my neighborhood.

I get flowers too.

Why never say anything?

It's not me.

Yes, it is.

That lady's right.

Don't be afraid.

I'm not afraid.

Can you please release them?

Ouch.

- Hurt yourself?
- No, it's the police.

Where are they?

12 o'clock, 400 feet.

What are you doing?

Run away, Suze. I'll see to them.

I'm no longer afraid, Suze.

Hurry up!

Run!

Go on!

No jail for the disabled!

No jail for the disabled!

I'm here!

Come for me!

Police! Keep it moving.

No jail for the disabled!

We need to talk a little.

Take him away!

Help!

They'll lock me up!

Help me, everyone!

Who was Adrien's father?

A jockey.

A jockey?

He was more mature
than the teens I knew.

Normal, he lied about his age.

A pedophile jockey.

No.

I was 15 and looked 20.
He was 20 and looked 15.

We were deeply in love.

It's searching.

And?

I got pregnant and it was a disaster.

I didn't want an abortion.
My parents sent me to a home.

The judge sent him to jail.

Jail?

Statutory rape.

And?

He insulted the judge and ran away.

He insulted the judge and ran?

Shows why I loved him so.

But I never saw him again.

I was his worst memory
and he was my best.

They're nearby.

Stop. Cut the lights.

Suze! Suze! They're here!

Run away! They're here!

Suze!

I can't see.
But I hear very well.

Got him, guys. It'll be fine.

Calm down. Keep cool.

I won't keep cool.

Show yourselves!

We're waiting, Mr. Cuchas.

Don't worry. It's me they want.

Drop your weapon and come!

Coming! Immediately!

No funny business!

Coming.

Enough already!

Come towards us.

To start the car...

press these buttons.

Mr. Cuchard, it's Mr. Kurtzman!

I wanted to tell you...

Ms. Trappet...

Suze...

I'm not afraid...

to say I like you.

I'd even say...

it feels good saying it.

Drop the gun! Drop it!

Drop the gun! Get down!

Drop it! Drop it! Get down!

Hands on your head!

Drop it!

Don't be stupid!

- It's not Mr. Cuchas.
- No, not Cuchard.

Put your hands up! Get down!

Last chance! Get down!

Drop the weapon, dammit!

Don't move! Drop the gun!

- That him?
- Yes, it is. Cuchlard.

Can I come with you?

Are you sure?

Hands off her! Step away!

Bye-bye, morons.

Bye-bye, morons.

Subtitles: Andrew Litvack

Subtitling: ECLAIR