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Ladies and gentlemen...

it's my honor to bring you a film called...

Daguerréotypes.

As you know, a daguerreotype was an early kind of photograph

first produced by Louis Daguerre in 1839.

But this is a motion picture shot in 1975

on Rue Daguerre in Paris

by Agnès Varda and a few technicians such as...

Nurith Aviv, William Lubchansky,

Roland Vincent, Michel Thiriet,

and Christian Bachmann for the image...

Antoine Bonfanti and Jeff Auger for the sound...

Gordon Swire and Andre Choty for the editing...

Joël David for the lighting...

and Christote Szendrö for the rest.

Eclair Laboratories, Auditorium S.I.S.

Control visa No. 44089.

Produced by Ciné-Tamaris.

I give you Agnès Varda's film...

Daguerréotypes.

THE BLUE THISTLE

It all started with the Blue Thistle,

an unusual shop near my place on Rue Daguerre in Paris.

I love its window displays.

They give off a forgotten scent

of an inventory suspended in time.

The same items have been on display for the 25 years I've lived here.

Madame Blue Thistle, as meek as a captive,

fascinates me even more than the shop,

where her husband specializes in custom perfumes

that he sells retail.

My daughter Rosalie is a regular customer.

How are you today?

Fine. Yourself?

I'd like some eau de Cologne for a girlfriend.

May I pick out the bottle?

Yes, you may.

I'd like jasmine water.

SPECIAL CREAM FOR DANDRUFF AND HAIR LOSS

FAST-ACTING CREAM FOR BLACKHEADS

It smells wonderful. Do you make it yourself?

Yes, I prepare it.

But it depends on the scent.

Some I make, others I buy.

Do you make this one?

No, I buy this one.

But I prepare other scents

like fougère, lavender, or Chypre.

But I don't prepare jasmine.

What about violet?

Yes, I make violet water.

No need to wrap it.

Three francs.

Good evening.

You have any brilliantine? - Yes, sir.

Gel, if you have it.

How much is that?

2.50.

Thank you.

Now my hair will lie down just right.

- Shall I wrap it? - No need.

Good-bye.

The passage of time in the Blue Thistle

made me sensitive to shopkeepers' sense of time.

I wanted to pass right through the shop windows on my street

and be inside with the artisans and salespeople

in the slowness and patience of their work...

in their waiting — and their customers' waiting —

in their down time and their empty moments,

in the mysteries of daily interactions.

I didn't choose the most colorful shops.

I stuck with the shopkeepers I frequent,

those I see every day,

less than 50 yards from my door.

I was having memory lapses.

Same thing happens to me.

We're not the only ones.

It's normal. I'm almost 70.

And I'm 77. How about that?

Though not far from the Tour Montparnasse,

it's a very average street,

with people passing by or chatting,

people behind each door, each window...

that silent majority behind its fearsome mask...

that nonetheless behaves with the quaint charm you'd expect,

all to the strains of an accordion.

Every morning the curtain rises on the theater of the everyday,

whose repertoire and stars we know by heart:

bread, milk, hardware, meat, and linen.

But there's also timekeeping, hairgrooming,

and always the accordion!

1.20 and .85. That's 2.05 francs.

Here you are. Thank you.

Hello.

A baguette, please.

Are you doing better? Have you been away?

85 centimes.

And one franc. Thank you.

- Do you have milk today? - Yes, ma'am.

Is it pasteurized?

No, it's sterilized.

It keeps a long time.

Any canned milk?

Yes, Gloria brand.

Good. Made by Nestlé. A small can.

Anything else?

- How much is that? - Ninety.

- How much? - Ninety centimes.

- It's not skim, right? - Yes, it is.

- You have any that isn't? - No.

Just my luck.

I have full-fat sterilized milk in quarts.

With a long shelf life.

- This isn't skim, right? - Yes, it is.

Yes, concentrate with sugar. All the Gloria is.

Fine. Here.

Thank you, ma'am.

Coming through.

Yes, I'm fine. Yourself?

Anyway, it's just a phone call away.

One can't always choose the time.

- I'm bringing these keys back. - Didn't they work?

My husband will see to it later.

- Then I'll come back. - Very well.

- How much do I owe you? - 5.20.

I'd also like a Popsy for Laurence.

That's 5.20 and 2.80.

Eight francs.

- What's his name? - Bideau.

He cornered her outside the front door and said...

"If you keep this up...

I'll call the police! They'll lock you up!"

In a real nasty voice. And that was that.

It scared some sense into her.

Well, I have shopping to do. See you.

- How much is that? - 11.50.

Hello.

When I told my wife this could be fixed, she said...

"Then go on, hurry!"

It's nice work, older than all of us.

Here's the thing with mercury.

It works, but it gains half an hour a day.

We'll fix it for you.

If you want the stand,

it's bigger and nicer than yours. - No, no need.

I can bring it in the stroller. - What for?

In case you need it for final adjustments.

Well, take your time.

It'll be ready the end of next week.

At 72 one has seen everything!

Good-bye now.

Hello, Mrs. Otto.

What would you like? - A leg-of-mutton steak.

Very well.

Not enough for a steak here.

How about chops?

For Mr. Otto? Two?

Not too big.

Okay.

He'll enjoy these.

Nice-looking, huh?

For Mr. Otto. Five francs.

Thank you.

Keep the change?

How's Mr. Otto? A little better?

He's been a bit tired, with his heart.

He had an electrocardiogram.

It's this weather.

What will it be?

A sirloin steak.

- Just for one? - Yes.

Not too big.

That comes to six francs —

Sorry. 7.80.

Thank you.

Your mail.

- Were you skating? - It takes practice to become a star.

It's a lot of work.

Isabelle, your mail.

- How are you? - Fine, and you?

Fine.

- Closing up? - Yes, putting everything back.

Good luck.

At the outdoor market at the other end of the street,

you find political newspapers, activists, discussions.

Here... nothing.

Black hands earn white bread.

At this end of Rue Daguerre,

the sidewalk is neutral territory.

No one's interested in politics.

It's not discussed. Besides, it's bad for business.

- How ya doing? - Fine. You?

WE IRON SHEETS

- Your sheets. - Thank you.

In the streets of Paris, when night falls,

tailors are still at work when other shops close.

In hand-sewn clothing, patience is the name of the game.

I'm Lucien Bossy.

I've been a tailor for the last 25 years.

I was born in Sainte-Pazanne,

a little town between Nantes and Pornic,

Nantes and Noirmoutier.

I came to Paris to learn the trade

and become a cutter.

My name is Marie.

I was born between Rennes and Saint-Brieuc...

in a small town called Quedillac, on Highway 12.

My name's Jean Guillard.

I was born in Boisgervilly, in Ille-et-Vilaine.

I came to Paris in 1954.

I was around 42.

I'm Janine.

I was born in a small village

called Saint-Aubin-des-Coudrais on the Sarthe River.

I came to Paris at 19 years old in 1955.

I'm Yves.

I was born in a little village of 500 people,

in Saint-Aignan-sur-Sarthe, in the Sarthe Department.

I came to Paris in 1955...

and settled here on Rue Daguerre in 1962.

My name's Geneviève.

I was born in La Trinité-Porhoët, Morbihan Department.

I came to Paris in 1931.

I was born in Lège, in the Arcachon area.

I learned my trade in Limousin...

at Mézières-sur-Issoire, known for its meat.

I came up to Paris after military service.

I'm Maria Piednoir, née Danguy.

I was born in Saint-Cyr-du-Bailleul, la Manche.

My parents had a farm.

I came to Paris in 1963.

My name's Henri Piednoir.

I was born on January 21, 1910,

at Passais-la-Conception, Orne.

I started making bread at 15.

Marcelle.

My wife's name is Marcelle.

Mine is Léonce Bedrossian.

We've had our shop on Rue Daguerre since 1933.

We started out in perfumes and hosiery...

and we've continued in those same lines...

ever since.

I'm Boukraa Mustapha.

I was born at Djerba, Midoun, El Haddada.

I came to Rue Daguerre on January 22, 1973.

I'm Jean Thibaud, born in Corbigny, Nièvre.

We raise cattle there.

The land's covered with fir trees.

It's beautiful countryside.

The air trembles when they name their birthplace,

the village of their childhood.

The truth about the 14th arrondissement:

the pavement has the scent of the countryside.

But something's brewing at the corner café.

At no added charge, a festival of magic

featuring a man from far, far away — the 20th arrondissement!

Who is he? What's his name?

At the mere name Mystag...

we're transported to a world

of mystery and illusion.

For one night he'll be a catalyst

for half-conscious fears and nervous laughter.

He'll sweep aside logic and comforting certainties.

He'll awaken slumbering mediums.

He'll put to sleep an already immobile world.

The Mystag Mystery Show is about to begin.

Here's Mystag!

Ladies and gentlemen...

we'll get started even though not everyone's here yet.

Our show is 2 1/2 hours,

and we should try to finish by midnight.

It's already 9:02.

Too bad for latecomers. Next time they'll be punctual.

Tonight I have the pleasure of presenting

various conjuring tricks that qualify as science fiction.

For in an era when men have landed on the moon,

when we see films like 2001: A Space Odyssey

and Planet of the Apes, etc.,

the obvious thing for a conjurer to do

is present a show based on science fiction.

Then it's on to some feats common among fakirs.

Then I'll attempt demonstrations of "human radar" —

thought transfer, clairvoyance,

suggestion, magnetism, mesmerism,

trance, and hypnosis.

Since our first experiments fall in the realm of science fiction,

let's use our imagination

to transport ourselves to the future!

Millennia have elapsed.

Space ships have become immense star-cities.

Mankind has landed on other planets

and encountered civilizations

whose most minor achievements would baffle anyone

still back in the Atomic Age.

Among the thousands of achievements of these advanced civilizations,

I'll now present a few

using some familiar objects.

For example, here I have two empty bowls.

I'll fill one with rice, just to the brim.

A full measure, no more.

I let any excess fall back into the box.

I cover this bowl of rice

with the empty bowl.

On this Earth we all know

that one full bowl and one empty bowl

could at most yield two half-full bowls.

But on a planet where astronauts of the future have landed,

both bowls are full.

The rice above falls onto the tray...

while the bowl below is overflowing.

But could we achieve the same astonishing result with liquid?

Could these two empty bowls

somehow produce water?

Here's your answer!

What about wine?

If I'd wanted wine instead, it's quite simple.

They ask for wine, and they shall have it!

And some tangerines.

- Yes, sir. How many? - One pound.

Here you are. Anything else?

That's all.

And a bottle of mineral water.

That'll be 8.40.

My last bill. I lost on the ponies today.

You can pay next time.

We now come to a planet

where dematerializing and rematerializing matter

yield truly astonishing effects.

For example, one solid penetrating another.

This set of rings will allow me to illustrate

one of those astonishing effects.

Suppose I begin tonight with...

three rings.

Here's one...

two... three...

four... five...

six... seven.

Whisper the magic word,

and in a flash you have one... two... three.

Without the magic word,

of course there'd be just three bills left in your hand.

But the magic word transforms these three bills

into one, two, three...

four, five, six bills!

I'm going to try something special tonight.

I'm not sure I'll succeed. I ask for your indulgence.

I take six bills.

As I explained, I take away three.

I whisper the magic word...

and I have in my hands...

one, two, three, four, five, six bills!

All that was but a brief introduction

before entering the domain of the super magical,

as it's my custom to take on ever greater challenges.

You've all heard of seemingly fire-proof fakirs.

They play with fire and even eat fire.

Some witch doctors in darkest Africa do the same

for voodoo ceremonies.

I shall now eat fire!

I shall swallow the flame,

keep it in my stomach, then spit it out!

You may never witness this spectacle again,

as it's rarely performed in France or anywhere in Europe.

It's truly delicious, and great for one's health!

Mastery of fire confers other useful benefits.

You simply hold some burning ash between your hands...

then rub them together...

and you soon hear a very pleasant crackling sound.

For the flames

have been transformed...

into one, two...

three...

four, five, six, seven 10-franc bills!

Henri, put this meat in to cook.

In the hottest spot, so it's ready for lunch.

I met my husband...

in 1923.

He was a baker in my village.

I'd look forward to Wednesdays

when he'd deliver our bread.

Six months later, we got married.

We bought a bakery near Laval in the Mayenne Department.

That's where we began our life together...

selling bread.

I met Maria in 1935 in Saint-Cyr-du-Bailleul.

I was a baker. She was a seamstress.

I'd deliver bread in her village. That's how we met.

We got married in June of 1937.

We have four children:

Nicole, Eliane, Jean-Claude, and Alain.

When I met Henri, I liked his profession.

I was happy to become a baker's wife.

And besides...

he was a good-looking fellow!

He was a young man with dark, curly hair...

very handsome, very nice, with a strong southern accent.

I met Janine in a café across from where I worked.

My buddies and I would stop in for a drink.

My mother managed a café on Rue Saint-Jacques.

I helped out as a waitress. That's how I met my husband.

I was attracted by her kindness.

We went out, and things just happened naturally.

We went out several times.

Theater, music hall, cinema.

But never dance halls.

- At a dance hall. - Which one?

A place of very ill repute on Rue Pasteur.

Why were you there?

A girlfriend dragged me along.

She'd heard that her fiancé was going there without her.

That's how it happened.

And we did see him dancing with another girl.

That's how I met my husband.

He and his work pals would go dancing there.

He dumped them and asked me to dance.

When I met my wife...

I think I was with another girl

whom I'd taken out dancing.

But I dropped her

and asked my wife to dance.

The first time I met my husband...

I was 23.

I was living with my brother, a baker out in the provinces.

It was a small village,

so of course we met.

There was a Flower Festival,

and we went together.

There were floats

and a procession and all that.

And we kept going out after that.

The first time I fell for Janine was at her uncle's

in Bonnétable.

I was working for her uncle, and she came on vacation.

A week later we went to a dance.

That was the first time.

At a dance.

He asked me to dance. I said okay.

Then we went for a drink.

And it went on from there.

She was 14.

Then he did his military service.

I think he wrote once, but I didn't reply.

Or maybe I wrote once and then stopped.

Two or three years later,

I was working in a town near her village.

We met, and it was love at first sight again.

I thought she was very pretty.

A short brunette, cute, with long hair.

And very nice.

I remember she was a very proper young girl.

Very nice.

But it's 50 years ago now that we met.

At the annual party thrown by Le Petit Journal,

near the Cadet metro station.

We've been together ever since.

We got married and moved to this street in 1933.

Our specialty is selling perfumes retail.

My wife handled hosiery

and sewing supplies.

She also handled the costume jewelry.

She had very nice taste in jewelry.

But now it's too much for her,

so we dropped that.

You have any white buttons?

- Big ones? - For a jacket.

A jacket, you said?

Three of these.

How much is that?

Sixty centimes.

Slowly ease up with your left foot,

keeping pressure on the clutch.

Always keep your eyes on the road.

There you go.

Nice and easy.

Just a tiny bit of gas.

Nice and easy.

Now you can take your left foot off.

That's it.

Turn on your signal.

Look in the mirror.

And easy on the brake to stop here.

Your coat.

- Your next lesson is scheduled? - Yes, thank you.

I'd like two flank steaks.

Right away.

Out doing your shopping tonight?

It's not too cold, huh?

There. Not too big?

Here you are.

Six francs.

Your change. Thank you.

And now for a quite shocking experiment.

In fact, if there are any sensitive souls in the audience,

I'll ask them to close their eyes.

I won't be responsible for any fainting spells.

But no need to be afraid...

since I myself will be the subject.

But I repeat: Close your eyes if you're especially sensitive.

In one side and out the other!

Now I have to remove it.

But first see for yourselves: The blade is deep in the flesh.

There!

The wound is healed instantly!

You're going to feel something that isn't actually happening.

One... two... I prepare to cut.

On three, you'll feel a cutting sensation.

Look in my eyes. No pain, right?

On one, I begin pressing.

Two... I'm ready to cut.

And three!

Nothing happened! You can all verify.

You can put your glasses back on.

- Very nice. - Time for lunch, huh?

And inland from Nice?

Inland is the Vaucluse.

It's extraordinary.

Cannes is beautiful.

Prettier than Nice.

I'm not fond of the coast.

Is your son working hard at school?

- Not too bad. - He's not the lazy type?

Is he learning a bit? - He's not terribly gifted.

- That's too bad. - It's hard.

What's he best at?

He struggles in everything.

He's still a bit of a baby, you know.

And he doesn't like school much.

Does he have many friends?

Yes, quite a few.

And his teacher is a very nice man.

In this picture, the car ahead

is in the middle of the road, and you want to pass.

What's the correct answer?

"You honk for the car to move over."

Right? So the correct answer is C.

Understand? Good.

Question No. 2:

The correct answer?

A and C.

In this case, you must yield the right of way.

The sign indicates an intersection of two branch roads.

You must drive at a moderate pace.

These are warning signs:

dangerous curves, starting to the left.

Speaking of signs,

I'll just point out that there are different types.

You have warning signs,

prohibitory signs, and compulsory signs.

You must learn them all by heart.

Don't confuse them.

Warning signs are a yellow triangle.

Prohibitory signs are round...

with a red border on a white background.

Don't confuse them.

Really get them in your head.

Twenty-five!

I want to hear "Ouch!"

Twenty-seven!

That's not nice.

Thirty-three!

With all those knives and swords,

you're thinking that her head can't possibly still be inside.

And you're right!

As you can see...

Danièle François spirited her head away.

Her head has vanished! Look carefully.

It's knives and swords all the way back!

Her head has disappeared. It no longer exists.

So don't lose your head.

Keep a cool head!

I emphasize this point,

because things don't always go smoothly.

The examiner may speak...

rather quickly, sometimes even harshly.

So once again: Don't lose your head.

Some of you here tonight

will take the actual road test tomorrow.

As those who've already failed it a time or two know...

it's getting harder and harder.

You can now see that her head...

that her head fills practically the entire box.

For this I'll use only the power of suggestion.

Once this man's in a trance, I'll need two assistants.

When I call on you, sir, please take his shoulders.

Quiet, please!

Sir, please take his feet.

First I'll try one arm

to see if he has the nerves and will required.

Follow me with your mind.

Imagine that your arm is growing stiff.

It's becoming rigid.

It's growing hard.

It feels so rigid

that the strongest man in the world couldn't bend it.

Very hard.

Stiff and rigid.

This gentleman has a strong will.

His arm's going rigid, while his shoulder remains supple.

Now your arm presses tightly against your body.

You're obeying well.

Now your chest is growing rigid.

Let yourself fall backwards. Head too.

Your whole body's stiff.

Gentlemen, come take his shoulders and feet.

Your head leans back easily.

You can take your seats, gentlemen.

- Cut off a bit at least, right? - The tiniest bit.

He feels nothing. He's stiff as a board.

Hold the chairs steady. You have them?

Now we'll stand him up again.

Come help with his shoulders. I'll grab your wrist underneath.

Here we go.

Place his feet there, and raise his upper body.

Good. You can sit down now, gentlemen.

His first arm relaxes.

He's coming to.

His first arm is relaxed. Now the other one.

And your chest.

Bravo, sir!

Relax. Don't resist.

I'll draw you backward.

Don't be afraid. I'm here.

Don't be afraid. Once again.

Relax. My hands are right behind you.

Don't resist.

I move my hands just inches away and draw you back.

Now you come backwards. You won't fall.

Don't be afraid. I'm right behind you.

It's hard, because you're not relaxing.

I became a concierge —

I prefer the word "doorwoman" —

in 1945.

I handle four stairways...

48 tenants.

I have my garden and flowers. It's quite pleasant.

And I hope to retire in two or three years.

To contact the spirits I need a medium.

A mysterious "ectoplasm" will emanate from the medium

and act along with me.

Inspect these pages.

Make sure there's no chalk on them.

No chalk. They're clean, right?

Let me have those back.

I wrap the slates in them and return them to you.

It will all happen in your hands. Hold them like this.

Now I ask the spirits

to make my hand appear on the slates.

Change register for the next section.

Check and see. I may have to try again.

There!

I'd like some foundation for my daughter.

Something that goes with her hair.

I'll show you the different shades.

Dark or light?

- Light. - But this is too pale.

What do you have in a flesh tone?

There's a new shade, but I don't have it in yet.

Never mind. We'll take some of that lipstick.

Which one?

Bourjois brand?

Yes. This one here.

I'll give you Pink Azalea.

- You like that? - Yes, that one.

- How much is that? - 3.50.

Don't go outside.

Why?

Around 6:00, before the sun sets...

she wants to go out, but she doesn't.

She doesn't want to leave.

That's the idea, the feeling.

She doesn't want to leave.

But in the evening...

some inner force induces her to go out.

Not to go out, but to want to go out.

But she's never wandered off.

I dream too.

But it's quite normal to dream.

I see lots of clocks,

but sometimes I dream about one in particular,

usually the one I'm having trouble fixing.

Perhaps we all want to make off at dusk.

No doubt we're all prisoners in our own lives.

But to those proud to be "normal, " to dream is an illness.

They'd rather discuss their work than their dreams.

They deny having any daydreams or inner life.

It's truly the silence of a deep sleep...

a resistance to change.

I think our dreams are mixed up with our work.

When tired, you automatically think about work problems.

That's all. I don't have bizarre dreams, no.

Yes, I dream at night.

Sometimes about my job.

I relive what I did that day at work.

I'm serving a customer. Or I'm asked for a cut I don't have.

I give them good service or bad service.

Stuff about work.

Yes, a short nap every day.

Not too long, but it breaks up the day.

I lie down for half an hour.

I don't sleep, but I doze off.

Dream? We have no time!

Sundays? Some TV, then off to bed.

Yes, I dream a lot.

Romantic dreams.

After a pretty customer has come in, for example.

Good-bye. Study hard.

Study hard. Don't goof off.

Sometimes I dream about far-off things...

like when I was young.

What I should or shouldn't have done.

Yes, I dream often.

No, I don't dream. Never.

I'm the romantic type,

so things come back to me in my dreams.

Yes, I'm the romantic type.

I just got married.

I dream a lot about my family, my wife,

and my mother, who's living alone in Djerba.

Yes, I often dream.

Sometimes I even walk in my sleep.

Sometimes I get up.

What do I dream about?

You're afraid, you wake up,

you want to get out of bed and take off.

He stops when I turn on the light.

It happened to me in Auvergne when I was young.

I walked down three flights

and ended up in the street.

The cold pavement woke me up.

Yes, I dream...

about my pupils or the lessons I gave that day.

It gives me nightmares.

And sometimes I dream about becoming rich.

Like all bakers, I don't sleep much.

But when I do, I often dream about my work

and all the headaches we have in this tough business.

And all the problems we go through with the IRS.

Or with the dough...

which sometimes just won't cooperate.

Though the work's hard, I don't complain.

I sleep well, I rest.

I often have funny dreams about traveling.

Alas, when I wake up...

I haven't moved from my bed!

Dreams can be very strange.

Sometimes you go far away.

You want things to be idyllic.

Then, alas, everything is once again...

how shall I say?... normal.

In the morning you get up

and start your daily chores again.

Now you will awaken.

Your eyes are opening...

and you're fully awake!

I will now put you all to sleep.

Listen to my voice.

Concentrate on my words.

You're in a deep sleep.

You're sleeping... sleeping...

These color daguerreotypes, these old-fashioned images,

this collective and almost stereotyped portrait

of the men and women of Rue Daguerre...

these images and sounds trying to be discreet and unobtrusive

faced with the gray silence enveloping Mrs. Blue Thistle —

does all this form a report?

An homage? An essay? A regret?

A reproach? An approach?

In the end, it's a film by their neighbor...

"Daguerréotype-Agnès."