All language subtitles for The.Workshop.2017.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

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THE WORKSHOP

There's nothing at first.

Take the plunge.

You can say whatever you like.

A murder maybe?

A good start for a thriller.

Bravo!

A murder isn't always at the start.

You're right.

If it starts with a murder,
what happens?

Do we witness it?

No, it's not good to see it.

We mustn't know who did it.

Literature is good that way.

You can keep things back.

You can describe the crime
without showing the killer's face.

Like in a movie.

It's dark
or you see through his eyes.

- A subjective camera.
- Right.

What is this?

Mastermind?
What are these fancy terms?

Subjective camera?

Who can explain?

It's when

the camera replaces the character.
You see what he sees.

Thanks.

So do we see the murder?

I thought...

The corpse could be found
floating in the harbour...

I like that.

Not very corpse-like.

Why not?

He could've drowned.

All right...

So how do we make it clear?

Riddled with bullets.

A bullet-riddled corpse.

No weapon nearby.

It's not suicide,
so it has to be a murder.

A round from an AK-47.

No one suicides by AK-47.

A Kalashnikov is a war weapon.

It slices you in two.

Too gory.

Play with your dolls!

You see sicker stuff on the Net or TV.

- I don't watch.
- Come on!

Any social network you use,

you find it.

The other day, a pal

posted a video of ISIS beheading guys.

Often there's no title.

Know the worst? I saw this video

of two-year old kids twerking...

- What?
- Wiggling their butts.

It's a dance.

There's a link with ISIS?

Stuff like that goes viral.

It's almost porn, that dance.

No one makes you watch.

Not always.

I thought...

the corpse could be found disfigured.

Like someone threw acid over it.

The forehead's run into the eyes
so you can't

recognize the eyes.

The cheeks have run too.

The teeth have slipped...

Ghostrider teeth.

All right...

So we have to imagine the whole story.

It's like some US series.

- With suspense.
- Suspense!

We'll need a CSI team.

That's very American.

What's that in French?

Pathologists.

Pathologists? Seriously?

I'm sick of DNA.
There's no more mystery.

- What?
- I agree.

- What do you suggest?
- I dunno.

Not identifying the victim is good,

but I imagined more psychology.

Psychology?

The lady knows big words!

Boys aren't into that.

We learn about the victim bit by bit...

How do you do that?
In flashbacks?

Yeah, flashbacks maybe.

A guy on the docks at night...

He's there for a reason.

Do you mean a specific area
of the docks?

Visualize the place.

It'll help you to describe the scene.

I was thinking

of the shipyard.

It's a monumental setting, it's great.

It's really La Ciotat's past.

I thought of that right away.

We all think of it.
Not very original of you.

Sorry. Forgive me, Boubacar.

Something classier

or more modern like the marina.

Yachts, billionaires...

Or someplace else...
Boston, Washington, New York...

Here isn't good?

Look around.
Le Mugel, the coves, nice places...

You and your US clichés... Gangs,

the mafia, etc.

You write a story
to escape your shit life.

The novel has to be set here?

Yes.

The idea of this workshop
is to write about your town.

A novel is fiction,

imagination.

We can't write in isolation
or looking in a mirror.

It's dumb.

You don't have to look in a mirror.

Use your imagination

to make your daily life an adventure...

What's so funny?

An adventure...

Adventure isn't always a world away.

Adventure here will be tough.

We've only just started.

Not in this place.

Let's keep talking,
but I suggest you take notes.

We write already?

No, just take notes.

If the conversation gives you an idea,
note it down somewhere.

- He goes swimming!
- And you don't?

- Towel and all...
- He wants to tan.

You can take notes?

She's just a teacher,
not much of a writer.

I don't like her fancy, arrogant air.

Pretentious, like.

Her Paris accent gets to me.

I barely understand at times.

"I'm delighted to meet you.

"We'll do good work here."

"Delighted to get a vacation
out of this."

They rented her a really fancy villa.

The bus!

Shit... Run!

Hey, Antoine!

Théo, look who's here.

- Doing ok, cuz?
- And you?

Got a kiss for me?

Stop it!

- Where were you?
- Swimming.

I wanna go swimming too.

- You do?
- I'll take you.

- See you.
- Ciao, bro.

- Love you, Théo.
- Say bye.

Ciao, bro.

Hi!

Antoine...

Well? How did it go?

Fine.

- You'll tell me about it?
- Don't worry.

PROTECT

HELP OTHERS

PREPARE

TO DEFEND OUR VALUES

THE FRENCH ARMY

Watch out, will you?

Sorry, beauty.

Hello.

Where do I put it?

Here is good.

- Had a good evening?
- And you?

- I didn't sleep.
- Why?

- I watched an action movie.
- What?

Not your type.

And what do you think I watch?

Gentle movies.

I don't know...

- Benjamin?
- No, nothing.

Ok, thanks.
But please put your phone away.

Étienne, any ideas?

Yes, but nothing really...

It's not worth it.

It is. We'll sort them after.

As we mentioned the shipyard,

why not do a story set in the past?

Interesting.

Did you have a period in mind?

I thought...

when the yard was active.

Just before it shut down,
when things heated up.

Great.
The chaos, the strikes and all.

It was wild.
They tied the manager to a crane,

burned tollbooths...
Crazy.

They cut the tracks

so the riot police were brought in.

But that was before I was born.

I wasn't born either

but my grandad left Algeria
to work here.

That makes me French now.

French? What's your name?

Chill, you Arabs.

Let's focus.

Malika's right. It doesn't have to be
a period we've known.

Yesterday you told me the idea

is to talk about our daily lives.

- You said that.
- I did.

But it can be your town's past too.

Your family's experiences.

We don't talk about that.

It's there subconsciously,
you've heard about it.

I've only been in La Ciotat five years.

My grandad told me lots of stuff.

There was pride
in being from La Ciotat.

Pride in welding in the dark
and breathing asbestos?

You saw the result?
The huge things they built?

I can ask my grandad to help us.

That's interesting.

When you write a novel,
you have to do research

to make your fiction more real.

You're dubious, Antoine?

I'm not keen on a story in the past.

I have an idea then...

Go on, we're listening.

I mentioned flashbacks.

Our story could be set today,

but the crime's motive
could lie in the past.

That's not bad.
What do you think?

Also, the victim could be black.

Or an Arab.

- Why?
- Why what?

Why black or Arab?
A racist crime?

- Maybe.
- What's the point?

He's black or Arab.

- That's all?
- Yes.

Why not a white victim
and a black or Arab killer?

- Anti-white racism?
- You said it's not racism.

You started.

Calm down, both of you.

It's good to have blacks or Arabs,
like around this table.

What black?

Who do you mean, ma'am?

But we can decide later

if it's a racist crime.

Put a question mark.

I'll do that.

"Racist dimension?"

Antoine, any ideas?

No, not really.

I liked Bouba's idea yesterday
of using the marina.

We're backtracking?

The shipyard was confirmed?

- I thought we agreed...
- We kept saying so.

Don't ask me in that case.

No, go on, express yourself.

Why are you so keen on the marina?

It's not that...

I think it's better for a thriller.

Yacht-owners make good victims.

They're rich, people envy them,

they do all kinds of shady deals...

It makes the town look better.

Drugs and trafficking?

The shipyard's dead now.

- It's history.
- Dead and buried.

All the same,
it's the first thing you see here.

We know that.

Tourists talk about it,
but it's a graveyard.

You can even see it from here.

Rather than get stuck
on the victim or killer's identity,

past or present...

I suggest you write. Simply.

- Write what?
- Whatever you want.

Whatever's easiest.

The description of a place,
character or scene.

Or a personal experience

that could be linked to the story.

You must feel free to write

without focusing on the plot.

I call it "writing around".

It's not easy.

We're not writers.

Just try.

That's all.

I'm not writing.

Why do this course in that case?

I had no choice.

That's not true.

You applied to do it.

No, the Job Centre told me
I had a course. So I came.

Weren't you glad to be picked?

It's not the World Cup.

Picked for nothing.

I don't want them to strike me off.

You can't say that.

The selection process wasn't like that.

You'd prefer what?

Council office work,
cleaning beaches?

It'd be more use.
Think we'll be writers?

Even speaking,
you make spelling mistakes.

I won't make you a writer.

But I'd like us to enjoy

thinking together to build something up.

That's why I'm here.

- That's why?
- Yes.

You're well paid to be here.

Yes, but I could earn more elsewhere.

I couldn't.

Why then?

Why does a writer like you
waste time with us?

I'm not wasting my time.

It interests me, that's all.

Besides, even if this
may sound pretentious...

I like passing on things I can do.

Thank you, ma'am, really.

Benjamin, I hope
you'll change your mind.

But don't spoil it for the others.

No worries. I'll put in my hours.

Don't ask for more,
I'll be no trouble.

That's all.

For those willing to write,

I suggest you get started.
Try it.

In the shade, the sun,
sitting, lying, whatever...

You need to be comfortable to write.

Try it and we'll see.

Foreigners aren't the problem,

nor the open borders.

No, the problem
is the EU bureaucrats

who opened those borders,

who intended
to make countries lose

more than their sovereignty,
their immunity.

A country without immunity

gradually loses its identity,

its roots,

its culture.

And I mean its true culture,

namely the set of customs
that shape and unite us.

I don't mean

the shapeless and mind-numbing
mass media.

It's up to us,

the people of our land,
to embody the French spirit

if we don't want
foreign, capitalist powers

to become even more global

and impose
their politically correct agenda.

Of course, we'll come up against
the human-rightist morality

of our right-minded detractors,

but we fight for a people,

a culture

endangered
by galloping cross-fertilization.

We also fight to preserve
European thinking

and its 35,000-year history, no less.

On the coast,
between Marseille and Toulon,

CNC is one
of the world's leading yards...

The Northern and Mediterranean yards

unite the work of the shipyards
in Dunkirk,

La Seyne and La Ciotat.

...some produce series
of identical ships,

but CNC

uses the skills and quality
of its design office...

After welding and assembly,

we'd organize the launch.

If there were no holes,
no chance of water seeping in,

then we could launch.

So the scenes of waves
flooding the town were here?

Right here or that slipway there.

- Two of them?
- Yes. Here.

The sections went there

and once it was assembled,
we'd remove the door

and let it slide down.

It didn't hit the wharf

but looked like it would
and made a huge wave.

Whenever there was a launch,
usually at noon,

my dad was soaked to his knees.

10,000 people worked here.

Until the day they said,

"It's all over."

It really messed our minds up.

50 suicides the first year,

divorces, people turning to drink...

A real tragedy.
And some fought back.

They felt better by fighting.

They fought back.

- They resisted.
- You occupied it?

Yes, I occupied the yard
and it lasted ten years.

We were up against guys
using tear gas

and clubs.

We fought back and we won.

The site is still industrial

for maritime trades.

It means that people, our children,
can come here to work.

We'll carry on along here.

On with the visit...

They sound like happy memories,
the fight and so on...

They are, even if we suffered a lot.

I had to eat at a shelter.

I got my clothes from there.

Like my colleagues,
I had no money coming in.

It's beautiful.

We've done good work.

Six weeks of renovation.

- How long is it?
- 32 metres.

Can I come on board?

You've got a nerve!

Come on, then.

- Thanks.
- Sure.

Like I told your pal,
don't make a mess!

They call this luxury.

I'm totally into it.

- You could never afford this.
- We can dream.

Not even a weekend rental.

Malika, sit up. Show respect.

This won't happen again.
Let me enjoy it.

I could live on a yacht like this.

You'd get seasick.

Moor in a pine forest...

So buy a caravan.

This suits me as a setting.

Imagine a corpse on a yacht
in the yard.

Not bad.

We get our yard
and you, your billionaire's yacht.

It fits in with Bouba's idea.
Shot in his bath like Scarface.

What about the past,

the strikes, the fight?

So a worker comes back,
20 years after being fired,

to kill an American billionaire.
A rabid Communist?

My grandad was a Communist.

There's your killer.
An old Communist Arab in a wheelchair.

My grandad isn't handicapped.

Imagine him coming onto the boat.

"Where's the Yank to waste?"

Joking aside, we won't keep it all,

but this is interesting.

Malika's idea

of bringing in
the town's Communist past is good.

If you want a political novel,
not a thriller, say so.

I'm easy either way.

You're easy?

Who'll believe that?

It's not how I see it but...

And a thriller
can have a political side.

It often does.

Talking politics makes him uneasy.

Bullshit. It doesn't interest me.

We know what that means.

Shut your mouth!

- 1-0.
- Game over.

...but a real, crude
and asserted form of violence.

How can a young woman like you
write such awful things?

Maybe you don't know me.

Violence, then.

But also a lot of eroticism.

An eroticism I'd call

almost masculine.

Well, the two main characters are men...

Two brothers, in fact.

There's a strong hint of incest.

Antoine! Come and eat!

Coming!

Violence and desire rise.

When you say that, my book

sounds terrible.

That's not what I meant to say.

I don't see the relationship's
incestuous side.

People imagine desire between brothers,

but I think the eroticism comes from me,

from how I see them as a woman.

What interested me...

- this may sound trite -
but I wanted

to describe two very close brothers

who grow to hate each other

because each one feels

the other dictates his thoughts.

In the end,

no one can tell
the ventriloquist from the dummy.

Is that clear?

It's me. I'm off to bed.

Give me a kiss.

What is it?

It's by the lady I'm working with.

Let me see.

Olivia Déjazet. Lost Wager.

Is it good?

Not bad.

- Is that her?
- Yeah.

She's pretty.

Thanks to the photo.

It's late. Get to bed now.

A kiss.

Good night.

- Déjazet.
- Is she famous?

You bet. Are you stupid?

She's written a lot.

- She's charming.
- Very nice.

I'd write with her!

She's chill!

She can borrow my big pen anytime.

Horn dog.

She's the snooty Champs-Elysées type.

It's a gala.
She's normal otherwise.

Antoine!

Defending her? In love?

Shut your trap!

He's in love!

Teddy, take a look.

She's still hot!

I never said she'd had it.

Nice, plunging backline.

- Pissed off?
- Nah, screw that.

- She hangs out in town?
- Not her type.

Too bad, I'd buy her a pastis.

- More than a pastis!
- Quit the macho act.

- Never seen a girl before?
- Cut it out.

- I wasted you!
- That hurt!

Thought you'd beat me?

I don't train all day!

- I have stuff to do.
- She's pissed off.

- She's pissed off...
- Enough. Look at this mess.

Steph, take over.

I take the winner.

- Want to help?
- Sure.

- Take stuff to the kitchen.
- Ok.

He's not doing the dishes!

- It's nothing, ok.
- Pussy!

You're pissing me off.

Some music...

What's with you?

Move, I can't see!

What are you doing?

Shit, I was fucking winning.

What's up, kiddo?

A quick dance, then bed, ok?

Promise? Gimme five.

Let's go.

Stop it!

"That day, thousands came
to see the tanker launched.

"In the dry dock,

"workers were freeing the steel monster.

"A creaking sound is heard

"and the black hulk
slides along its track.

"It descends in slow motion.

"On the deck, workers wave flags

"and all the boats sound their horns.

"On hitting the water,

"the ship makes a wave
that reaches the shore.

"The young people who are too close
are splashed and laugh.

"The town cheers.

"Are they applauding the majestic ship
or the workers for their labour?

"The latter proudly embrace,
gazing at the ocean-going giant."

There, that's all.

That's good, Malika.
Vibrant, well constructed...

Well done.

It was like being there. Bravo.

I asked my dad.
He was little but...

I took notes.

See, it's not that hard.

Who else?

Boubacar?

Can you give me a couple of days?
What I wrote sucks.

A couple of days? Not a week.

So, who's ready?

I have something,

but it's not historical like Malika.
It's like the start of a novel.

We're listening.

"As usual, he had to struggle to get up.

"He nearly forgot
he had finished at the yard.

"The temp work was over.

"He had put
the finishing touches to the yacht

"refurbished by the 25 workers.

"He went to the dry dock.
With a terrific din,

"the crane moved the yacht to the water.

"Everyone cheered.

"His colleagues
and the engineer who never spoke to him.

"The yacht's owner was there,
an emir in a white djellaba.

"He joined the others on board.

"His blood was pounding in his ears.

"He no longer knew why he was there.

"Then the engine rumbled to life.

"Slowly, as in a dream,
the boat left the harbour.

"Everyone was smiling.

"The engineer went round,
congratulating the team.

"He finally reached him.

"He held out a spotless hand.

"That did it.

"He felt he was in a black hole,
speeding towards the abyss.

"He opened his bag,
took out an AK-47,

"and, before anyone could react,
opened fire.

"Nothing could stop him.
The blood seemed to urge him on.

"The boat headed out to sea.

"No emotion. His mind's blank.
He kills.

"The last one is the other temp worker.

"The young man begs in terror,
a terror he refuses to see.

"So he fires one last time.

"He looks around,
as if discovering the scene.

"The deck is a pool of red.
Steaming blood covers the white seats.

"The air smells of death,
less sickening than expected.

"Spattered with blood and brains,

"he steps over the corpses
and the dying.

"Ignoring their pain, he goes
to the helm and, with true pride,

"steers the ghost ship
to a destination he does not even know."

Your brain's fried, man?

What's up?

You get hard writing that?

It's a crime thriller.
Not some floppy romance.

- What?
- Soppy, not floppy.

Same difference.

You're a fucking hypocrite.

You're into Scarface.

It's way more violent than this.

He thinks it's Scarface...

- We're waiting for yours.
- Don't worry.

- It's not bad...
- So what's the problem?

You go way too far.
You can't write stuff like that.

We don't decree
what we can write or not.

- Does he realize the limits?
- I don't know.

Do you see what she means?

The idea of a red line
that maybe you crossed.

I dunno.

After that, you've nothing left to say.

What can you write after? It's sick.

It's sick?

You find it sick?

What your pals did wasn't?

- At the Bataclan...
- My pals?

Quit provoking me, dickhead!

Calm down, Fadi!

Calm down, ok!

You defend a racist!

I'm not defending him!

We're here to talk and debate,

not trade insults.

He insults all Muslims
and you're on his side.

I'm not.
I don't want to hear that here.

Is that clear?

Listen,

I don't agree with Antoine,

but maybe we should discuss it.

Discuss what?

Radicalization and all that.

- A Jihadi story now?
- Why not?

Those jerks won't dictate what we write!

You can't just say they're jerks.

They've changed our lives and...

when I go out,
it's in the back of my mind.

Hear him?

More folks die on the roads
than in attacks.

And you play the wimp?

With all the stuff on TV,
I understand him.

A mall reminds you of the Bataclan.

A white truck reminds you of Nice.

We're not at war.
War's in Syria.

Those things happen everywhere.
Tunis, Paris...

In Oslo,
it was a blue-eyed blond guy like you.

It's pretty clear

this is the first discussion
that concerns us all.

I'm not interested.

I agree it's a very sensitive subject,

but we should tackle it.

You're not an Arab.
Look at him. Lumping us all together.

I bet his killer's Arab.

Not necessarily.

40% of those radicalized
are white French converts.

Who'll believe that?

White, green or yellow,
he'll be an Arab for people.

Hold on, drop the politics.

I wrote an action scene
and you're going haywire.

That's just it.

You don't seem to give a shit.

- You act smart, writing gory stuff...
- So?

You can't.

- You decide?
- What'll you do?

What'll I do? Have you lost it?

Shut your mouth! Stop smiling!

Put your hand down!
Don't threaten me!

I'll rip your head off!

Boubacar, sit down.

Let me speak.

- Illegal.
- You're the fucking illegal.

I'm more French than you, man!

Finished?

- Can I speak?
- Speak.

This may shock you.

For a first draft, Antoine's text

is quite well written.

Now, Antoine,

while cruelty may attract me,
I agree with Boubacar.

You show
a little too much complacency.

What's complacency?

It's like you're enjoying it,

as if it gets you "hard".

- Have you lost it too?
- You know what I mean.

You tell me to write,
then say it's not that!

Quit playing the victim!

We don't want to write that!

I don't complain
about your dumb noble stuff.

So what's the rule here?

There's a lot of confusion.

It's not fair
to call Malika's text "noble".

Not all positive feelings
are noble feelings.

- You others think...
- We have names.

- I know, Fadi.
- We're not animals.

I don't respect you?

Say what you want to say.

You seem to think that the author
necessarily agrees with his characters.

If so, we'd need to ban
90% of books, movies or art

and lock up all thriller writers.

Like it or not,
you can describe a massacre

without being a killer,
or a racist without being racist.

Étienne was the one
who spoke about Jihadis!

- Let me finish.
- So speak!

In fiction,
you can describe a way of thinking

in order to denounce it.

That is the power of art.

Do you follow?

What he wrote isn't the problem,
you know it.

I want to dive in.

Well, the sea's waiting for you
with open arms.

You scared me!

Sorry, I didn't know you were here.

I was just going.

We're not chasing you off?

No, I was going.

Boris, my publisher. Antoine...

- Hello.
- Hi, Antoine.

Feeling better?

Fine, I have no problem.

We can talk about it.

Everything's fine.

Enjoy your swim.

See you tomorrow.

Lunch tomorrow?

Sure.

- Are you angry?
- No.

Call me?

Have a good evening.

Can't you move faster?

Gimme a break.

Shit...

Nearly there.

Is this Baghdad or what?

Shut the fuck up!
They spot us, we're in deep shit!

He's freaking out. Relax, man.

What's that?

The wolf.

Flashlights off now!

Shit, how many are there?

- You could hit them for real?
- No sweat.

- You need to know how.
- It takes practice.

Give it here.

Breathing's what matters most.

He's wasted.

You should've taken pills
for the shakes.

Quit hassling him...

Shut your mouth.

- It's not easy from here.
- Right.

Wish I could.

You said it, man.

Want some?

Seasick?

Shit, I can't see!

Hey, guys...

Great place, huh?

It's nice at night.

This is our place, man.

Keep it off me.

- Want some?
- No.

We'll see if you don't!

Hold him!

Think it's funny, do you?

It's ok. The next one.

Second shot.

Don't get too stressed.
Just take aim.

You're useless.

I'll show you how.

Watch and admire.

Who's the boss?
C'mon, cuz, you now.

Here.

Extend your arm.

- Breathe...
- Playing the sheriff?

- And shoot.
- Hold on.

- He'll do it, you'll see.
- He won't.

- He's a loser.
- He's good.

He's good, ok.

- Practice.
- He was lucky.

I expected more of a recoil...

You got lucky.

You got lucky.

- What did I say?
- Hold on.

Beginner's luck.

Call it quits!

That's good.

She freaked out.

What're you doing?

- Having a dip.
- It's too cold. You're nuts.

Let him strip for us.

Go for it, cuz.

Want a strip?

- He's crazy!
- Totally wild!

Come back, Antoine, we love you!

I've done a portrait.

We have the setting: the yacht.
We have a lot.

As for the investigator,

she should be local.

All I said was that it's too vague.

I was thinking about

our guide at the yard.

- Ronaldo.
- Rinaldi.

Rinaldi.

It'd be a surprise if he was the killer.

No one would expect it.

Because it'd never happen
in real life, right?

No, it's a good idea.

An old worker
who hates what the yard has become,

seeing them build rich guys' yachts,
no more pride...

I suggested that before.

Imagine workers taking up arms.

Exactly what I suggested.

Be glad we picked your idea.

It reminds me
of my grandad and his pals.

It was a while
since you mentioned Grandpa.

Imagine the old men.

They meet and get mad
about the yard's situation.

How it's declined,
with guys who could build

250-metre boats being told,

"Hands off, it's luxury work."

So they talk about it.

I was thinking that Rinaldi,
our character,

could blow a fuse one night
or drink too much

and ice a billionaire, by accident.

- By accident?
- Yeah.

- He's not a killer then.
- He is.

I think it'd be interesting

if he wants to kill

and his only motive is the need to kill.

Are you nuts?
You don't kill like that.

It happens.

You went haywire last time,
but at the Bataclan...

Not again!

Let me explain!

Let him speak.

At the Bataclan,

they said they did it
because music is Satan's trap,

France waged war in Syria...

But I think

they just wanted to shoot people.

They were gonna die,
so it was a good way to go.

You're scary,
you seem to understand them.

I'm not saying I understand them.

I can just imagine wanting to kill.

Bullshit. Shut up.

Not happy? I'm defending them.

You say that cos I'm Muslim?

Happy with what they did?

Don't start again...

No, but I don't need to justify myself.

Maybe you're a bad Muslim then.

- Where's your veil?
- Oh, no...

I don't need your permission!

Your big brother's then?

Antoine, enough. This...

this endless provocation is exhausting.

You ruin your interesting ideas
with this crap.

What was interesting?

It's interesting to define the limits

between murder, terrorism,
armed struggle.

You make it interesting.

I just don't think
gratuitous murder exists.

You said the opposite.

I didn't say the opposite.

I picked the wrong words.

The guys at the Bataclan...

in their minds, they were heroes.
They thought,

"Let's let off steam
by killing infidels."

I'm not saying...

they were right
but it's comprehensible.

I hope you're joking.

What?
Haven't you ever wanted to kill?

You write about sordid murders all day.

You've never wanted to kill?

I imagine what a character thinks.

I've never wanted to kill.

For a love story,
you use your own experience.

You can't confuse love and murder.

- That's why your stuff doesn't work.
- What?

- I read one of your books.
- Really?

I'm flattered.

- Which one?
- Lost Wager.

Not the mildest one.

What are you doing?

Reading it to us?

- Do you mind?
- No, not at all.

"Just as his hand was about to grab
the breezeblock,

Jérémy was overcome
by burning yet sterile remorse.

Indeed, his hand showed no hesitation

as his fingers closed
on the granular mass.

He was like a witness of his own act,

of the majesty in the arc
his arm formed

before the block
struck his brother's skull.

The impact sparked
a strange sadness:

a sense of the irreparable,
yet of infinite beauty.

He stood gazing
at the debris at his feet,

carefully avoiding his brother's gaze

and those eyes that died in an instant,
without a sound or a whimper."

What's your point?

It's like you listen to yourself.

They're pretty sentences,

nicely constructed.
You write well but...

you don't seem to feel the thing.

I thought it was pretty good.

Like slow motion.

A guy thinks all that in a flash?

- Why not?
- Maybe not, but it's literature.

Literature's dumb then.

Thanks a lot.

You aim for style with long sentences

and old words like...

I dunno...

"granular".

With small grains.

- I realized.
- So everything's fine.

The problem is
you use a pretentious word,

not an everyday one.

Literature isn't simply telling a story.

You look for the right word,
one that sounds right.

So you pick a dead word!

I don't set out to.

In this precise case,
I could have used "grainy",

but it's so dull!

- Do you say "granular" to people?
- No.

So it's a bit out-dated.

You're pissing her off.

What's up? We're talking.

I say she doesn't know
what a killer thinks.

- And she gets mad.
- I'm not.

Anyone can see you're pissed off.

I'm not here to be insulted, ok.

Take your things and go.

It's worse than I thought.

Maybe it's just temporary.

I shouldn't have told you.

What's the problem?

- Is it Yann?
- Yes.

And the other characters.

When I reread it,
I feel I'm exploiting them,

putting my words in their mouths.

Sorry to state the obvious but...

isn't writing always like that?

But it's as if Yann has no autonomy.

He's waiting with his big eyes

for me to dress and feed him.
I feel like his mother.

"Wear a scarf, dear, it's chilly."

I dreamt of a teenager who'd be

lively,

almost brutal sometimes,

sexy as the devil...

The more I work, the less I like him.

Want me to come down next weekend?

No, please.

Sorry, but I...

I think I need to be alone.

I won't insist.

Thanks for calling.

Lots of love.

Yeah, lots of love.

Sorry to bother you.

I'm Olivia Déjazet.
I run the writing workshop.

All right.

Is Antoine in?

Yes. Is there a problem?

No. Do you think I could talk to him?

Of course. Come in. Second floor.

Ok. Thank you.

Good evening.

Come in, please.

Hello, Olivia Déjazet.

How do you do?

Would you like a drink?

No, I won't disturb you.

Tell us if there's a problem.

- Not at all.
- He says nothing.

So we're a bit...

Don't worry, it's fine.

He never hears when he's in his room.

Come with me.

Shit, you scared me!

Don't exaggerate.

- Ah... Hello.
- Hello, Antoine.

I'll leave you.

Sorry to disturb you.

But I've come here because

I wanted to make it clear that...

you can come back tomorrow.

I planned to anyway.

Good.

So no misunderstandings?

No, it's fine.

May I come in? Do you mind?

Here.

It's nice here.

It's great!

Listen...

We need to talk about
what's happening

with the others.

I'm ok.

I'd just like to say

you could drop the provocation,
couldn't you?

I don't provoke.

You know what I mean.

The continual clashes become tiring.

You seem to make insulting remarks
just to annoy everyone.

Malika, for instance.

No idea what you mean.

You don't have to be friends.

But you should be able to communicate.

It is group work after all.

Why are you telling me this?

I've had loads of ideas.

That's why I don't understand
why you suddenly say sick things

you don't even believe.

You know what I think now?

No, I don't.

But they ring false.

I just say what I think.

Too bad if it shocks the others.
I don't need them.

You seem very lonely.

What do you know?

Shit...

It's a struggle helping you.

Helping me?

What is this? I don't need help.

It got you mad
when I talked about your book.

I don't really think so.

Be honest.

It wasn't pleasant but...

It felt like you wanted revenge.

Bullshit.

That's how it felt anyhow.

It's silly, but I'm vulnerable
when people mock what I write.

That's your problem.

Maybe I shouldn't have reacted
like that.

I'll be going.

See you tomorrow.

Our ideas are making headway.

We have a lot in common
with interesting people.

People like Dieudonné,

Zemmour and others.

It's very interesting

and important
how they've freed speech.

But what can we do?

Good question.

I was coming to that.

Why are our ideas making headway?

We're not pantomime activists
like in traditional parties.

We're ready
to get up at 4 am for the party,

post bills
or sit in a cell all night.

We're even ready to get beaten up!

If you join us, we'll ask a lot of you.

But it's not a lot compared
to what we'll lose if we do fuck all.

- Steph, what's up?
- El Diablo!

Hand it over.

Know who I am?
Know who I am?

I'm Teddy Chauvin, man.

Bang-bang, you too!

- Seen your wimpy mug?
- She's playin' the dealer.

Where's my 20?

Arabs wear shells now?

Your sunhat's ruining your hair!

Fashion disaster...

You're gorgeous, babe.

The ape knows how to talk!

- We thought you'd forgotten.
- Sorry.

How are you today?

You overslept, ma'am?

I got to sleep late.

- How come? You went out?
- Not even.

- Shall we sit outside?
- Sure.

Everything ok?

Yeah, fine.

20 or 30 years after being fired,

they find their old foreman
who's doing well,

working for a big company.

They decide to kidnap him

for a ransom.
They take him to the yard.

They hold him
on a yacht being refurbished,

but things don't go as planned.

The guy's a bit arrogant.

It's annoying
and one of them hits him.

He tries to flee.

In the struggle, he falls overboard,

strikes the scaffolding

and hits the ground, dead.

To cover up,
they hide him on the yacht...

Not bad.

What do you think?

I dunno...

It's a bit of a let-down,
an accident...

I'm not dissing your work,
but it could be better.

Antoine, you're not usually so quiet.

Let him sleep, it's a nice change.

I also think it's a pity
it's not a real murder...

But I don't care.

That settles it.

All right. So what do we do?

How's it going?

- Taking a walk?
- Yes.

Actually, I wanted to see you.

- You followed me?
- No.

I knew you'd probably be here.

You were very quiet today.

I did as you said.

I didn't agree with their stuff.

- I kept quiet.
- Even so...

You can express yourself.

You keep changing, you're complicated.

No, you're weird.

I'm not weird.

That's not what I wanted to talk about.

It's about the book I'm writing.

You could help me.

Help you write?

Let's say...

I'd like to ask you about your life,

about your ideas...

I think it could help me.

- You want to write about me?
- No.

The book's advancing nicely,
but you could help feed my characters.

How long would your thing take?

Not too long.

- A couple of hours.
- That long?

You're not obliged to accept.

I'll see.

When?

Any time.
An evening, a weekend...

I'll think about it.

There he is, guys.

Everyone on the crystals.
Take out the little monsters.

All strike the ice now!

Go on, uphill!

Fuck, I'm dying!

I'm dying, I need a heal.

I'm dying!

Fuck!

"They loved recalling the past fight,

"the mass demonstrations,

"the meetings to change the world...

"They were young then.

"The three of them would meet up
to drink and to have a good laugh.

"They'd recall times
when there were 50 or 100 of them

"in the union offices,

"packed with people and hope.

"They'd spend evenings
recalling old stories,

"days of triumph or failure,

"names of colleagues
who fought with them.

"At times, they'd recall a face,
not the name.

"They'd spend hours
trying to remember it..."

Come in, it's not locked.

Sorry I'm late.

I thought you'd forgotten.

No, I was just busy.

Come on.

Come on in.

It's this way.

Want a drink?

- What have you got?
- Everything.

Coke, orange juice, beer...

Orange juice is good.

Sit down if you want.

We'll work at the table.

Sit down.

Mind if I record you?

No. Why would I?

Some people don't like it.

Do you often question people?

No, but it happens.

Want a cake first?

No, I ate not long ago.

So, for starters,
what do you like to do with your days?

With the workshop,
I don't have time for much else.

I meant the days you don't go.

On days I don't work, I like to walk.

I go down to the cove.

I stay a couple of hours...

Then, I go to eat with my parents.

You get on with your parents?

They're cool.

My dad yells at me sometimes
cos I don't talk much...

True, I don't talk much.

After I finish eating,

I go to my room

and watch stuff online.

What kind of stuff?

Loads of stuff.

Like most people.

You said, "When I don't work."
You work sometimes?

I didn't know.

Last year,
I worked a few days a week.

A kids' club supervisor.

Did you like it?

I like kids, so...

Why not this year?

There was trouble.

You won't say more?

- It was the parents.
- What?

They said I spoke badly to their kids.

Anyhow, I'll join the army.

Really? You've applied?

I checked it out online.

I get the impression

you're alone a lot.

I don't need people on my back
all the time.

- You have friends?
- Of course.

You don't see them much?

I do.

My cousin lives downstairs.
I see him and the guys.

What do you do together?
Go out, talk...

We go out, we talk...

Normal stuff.

Do politics interest you?

No.

We see each other for fun,
for a laugh.

Not to waste time on crap like that.

Do the others work?
What does your cousin do?

He's a mason.

He's with a temp agency.

He doesn't make much.

Even so,
I guess he can do more than you.

I dunno. I'm at my parents'.

He has his wife and kid.
Dependents.

He clearly states his political views...

What do you mean?

I'll try to be clearer.
Teddy is your cousin?

You know him?

I saw his Internet profile.

You found it by accident?

Not by accident.
He's one of your friends.

You saw mine too?

He clearly states his opinions anyhow.

He's even posted a video

of a meeting he was at
with a guy

who has extreme right-wing ideas.

You've been investigating?

No, I'm not a cop.

I was surprised
to find that unprotected.

Is it smart using free access?

Proves it's not extreme right-wing.
They're just opposed to the system.

That's how the far right defines itself.

For you lot, they're Nazis.

"You lot"?

You know what I mean.

I don't, but never mind.

I saw a video of you
on a beach at night.

You, Teddy your cousin, friends...

You did?

You were having fun.

You'd camouflaged your face with dirt.
Remember?

It was at dawn.

Maybe.

I saw you strip too.

Jeez...

And I saw you had a gun.

What do you do with it?

Use it to scare yourself?

We have fun.

Odd way to have fun, isn't it?

We don't hurt anyone.

I don't know about that.

Then again, I'm not a cop.

What I'd like to understand

is what you're thinking then.

Why do you show yourselves like that?

What do you tell yourselves

when you make those videos?

I'll have one after all.

Help yourself.

I don't get what you're after.
What can I tell you?

I don't know yet.

But I'm listening.

I have nothing smart to say.

So you say...

For me, you think non-stop.

You're a lot smarter
than you want us to think.

I may not be very smart.

Maybe I'm totally dumb.

I think I know why I interest you.

Really? So tell me.

It's because I scare you.

Really?

I dunno...

It turns you on?

No, I'm just trying to understand.

That's what you tell yourself.

But I see how you look at me.

- I don't like it.
- What?

All this.

Your questions and stuff.

It's kind of sick.

You act like a vampire.

You suck people's blood
and use it to make money.

You confuse everything.
It's tiring.

Let's stop.

You bet we'll stop.

It isn't always easy.

In a group,
you always have conflicting ideas.

I get pissed off sometimes,

but in the long run,

I've met people I'd never have met
in real life.

We work hard. It's no holiday.

We'll try to make something good.

I knew we wouldn't write a best-seller.

But it's better than mixing cement

or laying cables.

It's fun, we're having a laugh.

It's cool.

Writing a novel, quite frankly...

I never thought I would.

It's a totally awesome experience.

On my CV,

it'll look really good.

Before this, I wrote a lot,
so it's an opportunity

in relation to my future career

as a writer or just a journalist.

In any case, we talk a lot.

I've discovered ways of thinking
I never suspected.

Who are these youngsters?

It's a social integration course, right?

They're like other youngsters

who didn't get much out of school

or culture either.

I hope

they'll discover a relationship
with free and personal writing

to reconcile them with literature

and the world.

Ambitious, isn't it?

We need to remember

that the goal is to write a thriller.

A thriller destined to be published.

Yes, absolutely.

It will be,
and that's important.

There's nothing more stimulating

than creating a work,

whatever its literary value.

We're not writing for nothing
or for fun.

There's a result.

The most interesting thing

is to see them change over time.

The way they view themselves alters.

Writing is a good way to shake yourself,

escape idleness
and gain in confidence.

The novel is a pretext,

the means to do that.

What are you doing here?

What's that gun?

Are you crazy?

I'm ok.

I don't understand.

What do you want me to say?

What do you want me to do?

What can I do?

Can I help you?

I don't need help.

So put the gun down, please.

No.

Stop pointing it at me at least.

I'm getting really scared.

We'll go for a ride.

In your car.
I'll tell you where to go.

Let's talk, Antoine.

Explain everything.

Do you trust me?

You know you can trust me.

Right, Antoine?

I won't tell anyone.

Maybe we misunderstood each other.

Maybe you can explain.

Take that track on the left.

Where are we going?

Stop here.

We'll walk from here.

What do you want?

I don't wanna talk.

It's weird.

I'd never been at night.

Are you cold?

No.

Go if you want.

- Olivia?
- Yes?

Do you have a synonym for "bury"?

Inter.

Lay to rest, entomb...

Inter is good.

Look who's back!

Hello.

I want to read something I wrote.

It's to say goodbye for good.

Why d'you piss us off?

We don't give a shit.

- Looking for applause?
- He drifts in and out.

I thought about sending it,

but I preferred to read it here.

I don't know now.

It's not too long?

Go on, we're listening.

"Yes...

A man can kill out of boredom,
just to see.

He could have shot someone
out of boredom,

just for something to happen.

He'd have told the cops

he shot the guy
for being an Arab or a Jew or gay.

They'd have understood.

No explaining to do.

But the victim didn't matter.

He could even have shot himself.

They'd have understood too.

They'd have said
he had no future, no friends...

But he did neither one.

He was too weak.

He had done nothing.

So he got bored and waited.

But for what?

He drifted along.

Just to pass the time.

To kill time, as they say.

But the town was killing him.

Always the same routes.

Sometimes, to dispel his boredom,
he'd take a long detour.

But it didn't work.

He knew all the roads and tracks.

He had travelled them so often,
alone, always alone.

Always the same landscape.

The yard that no one could avoid.

The crane that was religiously preserved
like a work of art.

He didn't share that nostalgia.

He didn't care about the yard,

the workers or the tankers built there.

That wasn't his story.

He'd meet people he knew
and pretend to be happy.

He knew everyone,
so tried to avoid them.

He felt
these people smiling at him,

who claimed to love or help him,
talked to him like an animal.

An animal to be trained.

He had to realize,
that even if he was bored,

even if his friends were strangers,

even with no future, no friends, no job,

he should feel lucky."

There.

I'll leave you.

Goodbye.

Subtitles by Ian Burley

Subtitling TITRAFILM